Damian's Point of View
The next morning arrived before I could fully understand the weight of the decision I'd made.
I want to meet him.
My son.
Even the word felt foreign on my tongue, my first time. Son. A whole life—his life—existing without me in it. A boy I didn't know, a name I hadn't spoken, a laugh I'd never heard… but he was mine.
Ava hadn't slept. I could tell by the stiff set of her shoulders as she paced across the penthouse, her phone clutched in her hand. She kept glancing at me, uncertain, as if waiting for me to change my mind.
I didn't.
"I told Olivia we're coming," she said finally. Her voice was soft, like the words might bruise if spoken too loud. "She'll have him ready."
Ready. Like this was an interview. A reveal. But it wasn't a surprise party. It was a reckoning.
And I wasn't sure who I'd be when it was over.
Ava's Point of View
The drive to Olivia's upstate estate felt longer than usual. Damian barely spoke. I couldn't blame him. What do you say before you meet the person who should've been part of your every day?
I'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times in my head—what he'd say, how I'd explain everything, how I'd defend myself—but now that it was real, none of it mattered. All I could focus on was the child we'd created. The miracle born out of one night that never should've happened.
And the terrifying possibility that meeting him might destroy everything we'd just begun to repair.
Olivia met us at the door. She offered Damian a tight nod before turning to me. "He's out back. Drawing."
She gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. "He knows someone special is coming."
Damian's Point of View
I followed Ava through the house, the walls lined with memories I wasn't part of—photos of Ava, Olivia, and a small, curly-haired boy who had my eyes. My chest tightened the farther we walked, like the air was thinning around me.
Then I saw him.
He was sitting cross-legged under a tree, a red crayon clutched in one hand, furiously scribbling on a sheet of paper. He looked up when he heard us, blinking against the sunlight.
His eyes landed on Ava first. A grin spread across his face. "Mom!"
Mom.
That single word made my heart shudder.
He ran to her, arms thrown around her waist. She kissed the top of his head, then turned him gently toward me.
"Darling," she said softly, brushing his hair back, "I want you to meet someone very special."
The boy tilted his head, curious.
"This is Damian."
I knelt slowly, unsure if my hands were shaking or if the whole world was.
"Hi," I said, my voice tight.
The boy studied me, not afraid—just analyzing, like he was solving a puzzle.
"Are you the man from the picture?" he asked.
Ava stiffened beside me. I glanced at her, then back to him.
"I think I am," I said. "But I'm still figuring it out."
He smiled faintly. "You look like me."
That cracked something inside me wide open.
I laughed—a short, strangled sound—and nodded. "I guess I do."
He reached out and handed me his drawing. It was a stick figure family—three people holding hands beneath a crooked sun. He'd labeled them: Mommy. Me. You.
The tears came faster than I could stop them.
I pulled him into a hug, not knowing if it was too soon, not knowing anything—but he didn't resist.
He hugged me back.
Like he'd been waiting.
Rachel's Point of View
They thought I didn't know.
About the boy. The hidden child. The real reason Ava had been so desperate to keep the truth buried.
But secrets have a scent. And Ava reeked of them.
I tapped a red fingernail on my wine glass and watched the photo on my tablet screen—the same one I'd anonymously sent to three gossip blogs last night. It would hit by evening. A mother. A child. A billionaire with memory loss.
And the question on everyone's lips?
"Was it all a cover-up?"
They didn't know how to fight dirty.
But I did.
And war wasn't just coming.
It had already begun.
Ava's Point of View
Later that night, after Damian and I tucked our son into bed—his name was Liam, and he wanted to be an astronaut—I sat on the back porch, wine in hand, legs curled beneath me.
Damian joined me a few minutes later, silent as he lowered himself into the chair beside mine.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Finally, he said, "I never imagined I'd lose years and find a son in the ruins."
I turned to him. "Do you regret it?"
He looked at me, his expression solemn. "Regret not being there? Yes. Regret today? Not even for a second."
I let out a slow breath, then said what had been choking me since the moment he hugged Liam.
"There's something else."
Damian tensed. "More secrets?"
I nodded. "Yes. But not like before. This is about your father."
His jaw flexed.
I pressed on. "The clinic he took you to… it wasn't a hospital. It was a facility that specialized in memory redirection. Illegal. Dangerous. Olivia and I traced it all. He paid them to erase not just me—but anything that made you question him. Your investments, your power. He wanted you to be loyal to him, no one else."
Damian was quiet for a long time. Then he asked, "Why didn't you go to the police?"
"Because no one would've believed me. And because I had to protect Liam."
He ran a hand through his hair. "And now?"
I turned to him, fear twisting in my stomach. "Now, Rachel knows. And she's going to use this against us."
He stared out into the night.
Then he said, "Then let her try."
Rachel's Point of View
The photo dropped that evening.
The internet howled.
"Hidden Heir of the Billionaire: Was Damian Cross's Amnesia Orchestrated to Conceal a Child?"
My phone buzzed with calls, offers, whispers. Journalists. Insiders. Investors.
But none of them mattered.
Only one thing did.
Damian would come running.
And when he did, I'd be ready—with the one thing Ava never had, she can't even imagined that I had it.
I tapped a folder on the table beside my glass. Inside it? A paternity test.
Real. Dated. Signed.
But not by Damian.
By his father.
And once this went public, no amount of love, memory, or loyalty would save them.
Because the boy?
He might not be Damian's son after all.