Page 89 of Sinful Obsession

My heart skipped, their words slicing through me.

I gripped the steering wheel, forcing a neutral tone. “What man?”

“The one you were arguing with,” Asher said, his voice louder. “By the car.”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing for a lie. “That was the man whose car you drew on. I was begging him not to sue us, that’s all. And you two better stop messing with people’s cars—you’ll get us in trouble.”

Aria frowned, undeterred. “But why does he look like us?”

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice tight. “Just... drop it.”

“I’ll look into him,” Asher whispered to Aria, his tone conspiratorial.

I bit back a retort.Look into him?They were five years old—how could they even try?

But the thought of them digging, of Cassian getting closer, sent a chill through me.

Three hours later, I was home, the twins sprawled on the living room rug, building a fort out of blankets and pillows.

The house smelled of warm vanilla from a candle I’d lit to calm my nerves.

A sharp knock at the door startled me, and I froze, half-expecting Cassian. Instead, I opened it to find two men in crisp suits, their expressions stern and official.

“Charlotte Grayson?” the taller one asked, holding up a badge. “We’re from Kessler & Associates, representing Cassian Moretti. You’ve been served with a summons and complaint for a child custody hearing.”

My blood ran cold as he handed me a thick envelope, the paper heavy with legal weight. “The petition seeks joint custody of the minor children, Asher and Aria Grayson, filed under Family Code Section 3120, with a hearing scheduled for November 12, at the Moscow City Court. You’re required to respond within seven days, or a default judgment may be entered.”

I forced my voice steady, though my hands shook. “This is absurd. He can’t just—”

“Ma’am, we’re just delivering the documents,” the second lawyer said, his tone clipped. “You’ll need to address your concerns in court or through counsel.”

They turned and left, their footsteps echoing down the porch steps.

I shut the door, my knees weak, and tore open the envelope.

The date stared back at me—one week away. Fighting Cassian Moretti in court was like facing a lion with a paper sword.

His wealth, his connections, his ruthlessness—he’d have judges and lawyers in his pocket.

I thought he’d agreed to stay away, but this was his retaliation, his way of clawing back control.

My mood plummeted, a heavy fog settling over me.

I slipped into my bedroom, avoiding the twins’ laughter in the living room, and grabbed the phone.

My fingers dialed Cassian’s number before I could second-guess myself.

“Cassian, what the hell are you doing?” I hissed when he answered. “I thought we agreed you’d stay out of their lives.”

“What agreement?” His voice was calm, almost mocking.

“You can’t be part of their lives,” I said, pacing the room, the hardwood cool under my feet. “They’re better off without you, trust me.”

“My life’s meaningless without you and the kids,” he said, his tone softening. “It’s worse now, knowing they exist.”

“Cancel the subpoena,” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “They can’t live without me, Cassian. They’re all I have.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You said I’m dying. If that’s true, I want to spend my last days as their father. Don’t you think that’s fair?”