His Heir, Her Secret - Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Isla
I didn’t sleep that night.
Not really.
I just lay there with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling while the soft sound of Leo’s breathing filtered in from down the hall. He always snored a little when he was overtired, and after his day with Lucien, he’d practically collapsed into bed.
But I couldn’t shut my mind off.
I kept seeing Lucien’s face as he read Leo a story—his voice softer than I remembered, more patient, less like the man who used to bark orders over a phone line. His hand had rested gently on Leo’s blanket the entire time, as if anchoring himself there.
And then his eyes when he looked at me.
Like he saw something he hadn’t let himself see before.
I turned onto my side and shut my eyes.
But it was no use.
When the sun finally crept through the blinds, I forced myself out of bed and into motion. Leo would be up soon, and if I didn’t beat him to the kitchen, he’d try to make pancakes on his own. Last time he nearly microwaved a fork.
Sure enough, I heard his small feet padding across the hardwood as I flipped the first pancake onto a plate.
“Morning, baby,” I said, not even turning around.
“Hi, Mommy,” he said through a yawn, dragging his stuffed tiger behind him like it had survived a battle.
He climbed up on the stool at the counter and rested his cheek on his hand.
“Is Mr. Lucien coming again today?”
I froze.
The spatula hovered mid-air.
Mr. Lucien.
There was something about the way he said it—with that quiet hopefulness—that made my heart twist. He hadn’t called anyone “Dad.” Not ever. Not even by accident. And I wasn’t ready to hear it if he did.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t know, honey. He has work.”
Leo made a face. “He said he’d teach me how to draw a dragon today.”
I placed a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Let’s see if he texts, okay? No promises.”
He gave a solemn nod and dug into his food. For all his energy and wild imagination, Leo was good at reading the room. I think a part of him already knew this was delicate ground. He just didn’t know why.
And I wasn’t sure how—or when—I’d tell him.
After dropping Leo off at school, I went home, made coffee, and paced the living room like a woman waiting for a verdict.
At 9:07 a.m., my phone buzzed.
Lucien: Made it to the office. Thinking about that kid of ours. Call me later if you want.
Ours.
The word was sharp. Soft. Terrifying.
I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I sat with it. Let it breathe. Let it hurt a little.
Because that’s what I needed. Not sweet words or nostalgia—but proof.
Proof he meant it.
Proof he wouldn’t run again.
After nearly an hour of staring at my laptop without absorbing a single word of the proposal I was supposed to be editing for my freelance client, I picked up my phone and dialed.
Lucien answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” he said, voice warm and easy.
I didn’t bother with pleasantries.
“I want to talk,” I said. “Face to face. Tonight.”
His tone shifted. “Of course. Do you want me to come by?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Not with Leo around. Can you meet me after his bedtime? Ten?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Name the place.”
I chose a small corner café in Williamsburg that stayed open late and served chamomile tea strong enough to calm an army. It was quiet when I arrived, just a couple typing on laptops and an older man reading a newspaper in the back booth.
Lucien showed up right on time, dressed in a dark coat and no tie, his hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it a dozen times before walking in. He looked tired, but alert—like a man who’d been running on adrenaline and second chances.
He spotted me and crossed the room, sliding into the seat across from mine.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” he said.
“I didn’t.”
He studied me for a beat. “Neither did I.”
We didn’t touch our drinks.
We just sat there, two people who used to be everything to each other, now trying to figure out what was left.
“I want to know why you didn’t come,” I said finally. “To the hospital. When Leo was born.”
Lucien leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I didn’t know you were pregnant, Isla. I swear to you, I didn’t.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You left me.”
“I did,” he said without flinching. “Because I was scared. Because I was selfish. Because I thought I had time to fix it later. But I didn’t know, Isla. If I had…”
His voice broke a little, and that told me more than anything.
“I would’ve come. I would’ve been there every day, every minute.”
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.
“You didn’t even look for me.”
“I did,” he said fiercely. “You disappeared. Changed your number. Quit your job. I hired a PI and all they found were dead ends. I thought maybe you went overseas. Maybe you didn’t want to be found.”
I didn’t respond.
Because part of that was true.
I’d made it hard to be found.
But I’d been angry. Betrayed. Pregnant. Alone. And I’d chosen survival over reconciliation.
“I didn’t do this to punish you,” I said quietly. “I did it to protect him.”
Lucien swallowed hard. “I know.”
Silence.
Then, softly, “Do you regret it?”
The question hit me in the ribs.
“Every day,” I whispered. “But not for the reasons you think. I regret that he didn’t know you. That I had to lie every time he asked why other kids had dads who picked them up from school. But I don’t regret protecting myself. And I don’t regret raising him with love.”
Lucien nodded slowly. “I don’t blame you. I just want a chance to be in his life now.”
My eyes met his. “This can’t be temporary, Lucien. If you walk into his life, you’re staying. He’s not a weekend project. He’s not a guilt fix.”
“I know that,” he said. “And I want him. And if you’ll let me—I want you too.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Start with him,” I said. “Show me I can trust you with our son.”
Lucien reached across the table, palm up.
“Then let me earn both of you. One day at a time.”
I didn’t take his hand.
But I didn’t walk away either..