Chapter 3
For fifteen years, my hands had signed contracts, held weapons, and buried enemies. But one night, after everyone left, I had rolled pale pink paint across the wall beneath the window.
I wanted to tell my child someday that the room had not been created by servants.
It had been created by her father.
Then the doctor had handed me the report.
Probability of paternity: 0%.
Sofia had cried, begged, and insisted the test was wrong.
When I asked who the father was, she refused to answer.
I left before rage turned me into the man everyone believed I was.
Now I sat across from the woman who had saved my life while a child with gray eyes watched me as if I might still be worth saving.
“What do I need to know about Lily?” I asked.
Isabella’s hands tightened around her handbag.
“First, you need to understand why I disappeared.”
“I searched for you.”
“I know.”
May you like
That surprised me.
“You knew?”
