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“That’s exactly what it’s about. You’re angry because this forces you to admit there’s still something here.”

“There’s nothing,” I protested with a tight-lipped snap of the jaw. I was lying, and he knew it. He read me the way I read him. The game of cat and mouse would end up with me being devoured if I wasn’t careful.

“Liar.” The word hung there, sharp and unforgiving. I felt it like a slap.

My body stayed rooted, but I could feel the cracks forming. I didn’t want to let him see it, didn’t want him to know how right he might be. He looked at me like he already did.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, softer now.

I kept my chin up, determined to toe the line. “I’m not afraid of anything,” I lied.

But I was. Not of him or what we did six years ago—but of what I had kept from him.

The truth lived in my house with peanut butter-stained pajamas and a pair of laugh lines that matched his when they giggled.

Leo had his eyes; Cal had his charm. I’d told myself a thousand times that I was doing the right thing by staying silent, that keeping them a secret had been the only option.

And maybe it was. But if the press kept pushing this narrative, if the photos circulated, someone would eventually connect the dots.

When they did, the fallout wouldn’t just be mine to deal with—it would touch them too. I wasn’t afraid of Dominic. I was afraid of what he’d see when he looked at them and realized I’d kept them from him. And worse—what it would cost them if this whole thing came crashing down in public view.

“You’ve been afraid since you saw me again. You’ve been afraid since the day I left.” His words were leading. He was baiting me, hoping I’d crack, but one thought of my boys strengthened my resolve, and anger surged again.

“Don’t tell me how I feel.” I looked away. My pulse was in my throat. My grip tightened around my middle, and I realized I was hugging myself defensively.

“Then say it. Say you don’t want me. Say you feel nothing.” He stepped closer, not enough to crowd me, but enough to make me feel the tension stretch between us like wire ready to snap. “You can’t,” he said.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because if I opened my mouth, I might not be able to stop.

I might tell him everything—about the twins, about the nights I stayed up staring at their faces, wondering if keeping them from him was unforgivable.

About how many times I practiced the conversation in my head and still couldn’t find the words.

He didn’t know he had two sons. He didn’t know he’d left more than just a memory behind. And now, with headlines spinning and our names tied together in the press, the risk of someone else figuring it out before he did was too high to ignore.

And what would my father think?

“Stay away from me, Dominic.” I backed away one step, trying to keep him from touching me. His touch did things to me, things I wanted him to do to me, but things that would bring my walls crashing down faster than I could stop them.

His voice dropped low and rumbled through his chest as he took a step closer. “Stop lying to yourself.”

I turned, grabbed the door handle, and pulled the door open. My throat was too tight to speak.

“Savannah.”

My heels snapped on the tile as I walked back to my office, echoing down the hallway.

I didn’t answer the intern who tried to hand me a folder.

I slammed the door behind me and stood there for a long moment, staring at the clean surface of my desk hoping it would clear my mind.

But I was trapped in a loop where my worst fears imaginable came to be reality.

What if I lost everything—the job, my father, and my boys?

I crossed the room and dropped into my desk chair, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes.

Angry tears burned at the edges, but I refused to let them fall.

I pulled my phone out, desperate to redirect my brain, but the screen only made things worse.

There it was again—another headline, this time from a fashion gossip blog closely tied to market research trends.

Investor’s New Flame? Raven & Rhodes Strategist Linked to Billionaire Merger Partner

My photo was beneath it—a laugh caught mid-frame, angled toward Dominic like we were flirting.

It was a candid, probably snapped during the Fashion Week planning session by one of the interns.

It wasn’t like we had press in that meeting, so this was a personal shot.

It was great for the company. Great for optics.

But not for me.

I swallowed hard and locked my phone. My chest hurt.

If this got back to Dad—and it would—it wouldn’t be the headline that unraveled me.

It would be the questions, the context, the timeline.

There wasn’t a safe path through this for me or my sons, and not for the man whose name would be tied to mine in every headline from here on out.

My father had been Dominic’s best friend for years, ever since Dominic donated to his very first political campaign. He trusted Dominic, respected him. And now, with another campaign underway and every detail of our lives under a microscope, this wasn’t just a personal risk. It was political.

A headline like this wouldn’t stay in the gossip columns.

It would spiral. People would dig. And if anyone uncovered the truth about Leo and Cal—if anyone figured out that the candidate’s daughter quietly had twins with the man now headlining every business blog in the country—Dad’s campaign would implode.

I could lose everything. And worse, so could he.