Too Late To Claim His Hidden Heir

Zoriana's footsteps stopped somewhere behind me.

I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. The silence that followed told me everything. Two hundred people had just watched the city's favorite heiress get shoved aside, and now she was standing alone in a soaked silver gown, waiting for him to come back.

He didn't.

He kept his eyes on me, and what was in them made my stomach drop.

It wasn't anger. I could have handled anger.

It was everything at once. Relief so raw it looked like pain. Guilt deep enough to drown in. And underneath it, something he was holding down so hard that a muscle jumped in his cheek.

"Mairenn." His voice scraped out of him, like he hadn't used it in days. "I've been looking for you for three years."

Somewhere to my left, a woman whispered, "Looking for her? Who *is* she?"

"I heard she runs a fund out of Zurich," someone answered.

"Look at Zoriana's face. Oh my God."

I didn't look at Zoriana's face. I kept my eyes on Roark's crooked tie and put on the smile I used for bankers who wanted more than I was willing to give.

"Mr. Thibault." I held out my hand. "Mairenn Sauvage, Sauvage Capital. I believe we've met. A charity gala, maybe? Or was it a shipping conference?"

He stared at my hand like it was a weapon.

"Don't," he said.

"Don't what? Introduce myself?" I let my hand hang there, steady. "It's polite. You remember polite. Your family was very big on it."

His jaw worked. He didn't take my hand.

So I lowered it and smoothed the front of my dress, like the moment had never happened.

"Well," I said brightly. "If Thibault Group is ever looking for venture partners in biotech or logistics, have your people call my office. We're taking meetings starting Monday."

"My *people*." He laughed once, a sound with no humor in it. "You think I chased you across a ballroom to talk about logistics?"

"I think I don't care why you did it."

"Mairenn, look at me."

"I am looking at you, Mr. Thibault."

"Stop calling me that."

"What would you prefer? Sir?"

His hand came up, fast, like he meant to touch my face. It stopped an inch away. Hovered. Then dropped back to his side and curled into a fist.

That was new. The old Roark never hesitated.

*Look at me and say that.*

He had. On a rainy night, he had looked straight at me and said it.

And three weeks later, I was standing on a street in Lisbon with a suitcase and a positive test folded inside my wallet.

The wheel of the suitcase had cracked on the cobblestones. I remember dragging it anyway, the plastic grinding and shrieking, past cafés full of people who spoke a language I didn't know. One hand on the handle. The other pressed flat against my stomach, as if I could keep everything inside me from falling apart.

I hadn't cried that day. I'd been too busy trying to find an address on a map that made no sense.

"Mairenn?"

I came back to the ballroom. To the ice swan dripping onto silver. To Roark watching me with that same raw, terrible look.

"Where did you just go?" he asked quietly.

"Nowhere you've been invited."

He flinched. Actually flinched. I filed that away and hated myself a little for doing it.

"Ms. Sauvage." Tobin appeared at my elbow, tablet clutched like a shield. His eyes jumped between us. "Your car's out front. Whenever you're ready. Which, uh, could be now."

"Thank you, Tobin. Now is perfect."

Roark didn't even glance at him. "Give us a minute."

"Actually, sir," Tobin said, voice wobbling but holding, "she has a pretty full schedule."

"Tobin," I said. "Go get the car."

"But—"

"Go."

He went, throwing one last worried look over his shoulder.

I turned to the side and stepped around Roark. Not toward the gray door. He was still blocking that. Toward the main exit, through the crowd, where everyone could see me walking calmly away.

"Excuse me," I said to the senator's wife in my path.

She jumped aside like I might bite.

I heard Roark behind me. He didn't call my name. He didn't need to. People pulled back from him too, and the whispers rose like a wave following us both.

"Roark." Zoriana's voice cut through it, thin and shaking. "Roark, you're embarrassing me."

Two steps of silence. Then his voice, low and flat.

"Not now, Zoriana."

I almost stumbled. Not because of him. Because of her. Because I had been that woman once, standing alone while he walked away, and I knew exactly how the floor felt under her feet.

I didn't look back. I pushed through the gilded doors into the lobby, past the doorman, out into the cold.

The night air hit my bare arms like a slap. Good. I needed it.

The valet stand was empty. Of course it was. Tobin was probably still arguing with someone about where they'd parked the car. I kept walking down the ramp into the parking lot anyway, gravel crunching under my shoes, because standing still meant he would catch up.

He caught up anyway.

"You're running," Roark said.

"I'm walking to my car."

"Your car's not here. Your assistant went the other way."

I stopped between two black sedans and swung around to face him. Under the orange parking lights, the scar through his eyebrow looked deeper. Older.

"What do you want, Roark?"

It was the first time I'd said his name. I saw it land. His shoulders dropped half an inch, like he'd been holding a weight and someone had finally taken it off him.

"There it is," he murmured.

"Don't make it into something. It's just a name."

"It's never been just a name." He took one step closer. Not enough to touch. "You left the city the week after. You changed your number. You closed every account. I hired three investigators, Mairenn. Three. Not one of them found you."

"Maybe I didn't want to be found."

"I know you didn't." His voice cracked down the middle. "I'm asking why."

I stared at him.

Then I laughed again. Softer this time. Tired.

"You're asking me why," I repeated. "You. Of all people."

"Yes."

"You told me your family couldn't survive a scandal. You told me you were giving me up. And now you want to know why I didn't stay to watch?"

"That's not—" He stopped. Pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. When he dropped it, his face was stripped bare. "That's not the whole story. It was never the whole story."

Headlights swept across the lot. Tobin, finally.

I stepped back toward the light.

Roark's hand shot out and closed around my wrist. Gently. So gently it scared me more than if he'd grabbed hard.

"There's something you need to know about that night," he said. "Something my father made sure you'd never hear."

Behind us, a car door slammed.

And a woman's voice, cold and very close, said, "Roark. Your father is on the phone. He says it's about her."