His Heir, Her Secret - Chapter 17: Chapter 17
You are reading His Heir, Her Secret, Chapter 17: Chapter 17. Read more chapters of His Heir, Her Secret.
Lucien
She said yes.
It wasn’t a grand declaration. Just two words on a screen—One dinner. But they landed like a shot of adrenaline straight to my chest.
I’d been prepared for more distance, more cold stares, more guarded silences. But Isla, ever pragmatic, always led with what mattered. And she was giving me a chance—one dinner, one conversation. I wasn’t going to waste it.
I’d reserved a private table at Vesper, a quiet place tucked behind ivy-covered walls in Tribeca. Not flashy. Not over-the-top. Just… thoughtful. I remembered her favorite wine. I remembered she hated loud restaurants and long menus. I remembered everything.
Because forgetting Isla had never been the problem.
I arrived early. Nerves weren’t a thing I was used to. I’d closed multimillion-dollar deals in less time than it took to choose a tie for tonight. But this wasn’t about control or confidence.
This was about the woman I’d once left behind—and the son she’d raised without me.
When she walked in, I forgot how to breathe.
She wore a soft navy dress that brushed her knees, with her hair pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder. No armor. No walls. Just Isla—quiet, strong, beautiful in a way that felt like memory and hope all at once.
She paused when she saw me. Then gave a small, almost reluctant smile.
“Lucien,” she said softly, sliding into the seat across from me. “You remembered the wine.”
I nodded, trying to play it cool even as my heart thudded like a teenager’s.
“I remember everything,” I said.
Her eyes flicked up, curious. Maybe a little wounded. “That’s dangerous.”
I didn’t deny it.
We ordered—her usual, pasta with no cheese, and grilled vegetables. I skipped the steak for once. It felt too indulgent. Too… me.
“So,” she said after a sip of wine, “you want to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Then talk.”
I leaned forward, both hands resting on the linen-covered table. “I was a coward.”
Isla blinked, surprised. “That’s not where I expected you to start.”
“It’s the truth. I loved you. But when you got close—too close—I panicked. I was so afraid of losing control, I didn’t realize I was already losing something far more important.”
Her fingers tightened around her glass, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t know about Leo. I’m not making excuses for leaving, but if I had known…” My voice cracked slightly. “God, Isla, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to be there.”
Her eyes softened, but only slightly. “And now?”
“Now I want to make it right. I want to be a father. A real one. I want to be at his school plays and doctor appointments. I want to hold his hand when he’s scared and teach him how to throw a baseball, even if he doesn’t care about sports.”
“And me?” she asked quietly.
I looked at her—really looked. “I want you too. But only if that’s something you want. This isn’t about reclaiming what I lost. It’s about earning back what I gave up.”
She looked down at her hands, twisting the stem of her glass between her fingers. “You hurt me, Lucien. I don’t just mean the breakup. I mean the silence. The vanishing. I carried Leo, gave birth to him alone, raised him… and you were living your best life in the pages of Forbes.”
Shame flooded my chest. “I know. And nothing I say can change that. But I can show you—every day—that I’m not the same man I was.”
She stared at me for a long moment, her silence louder than anything else in the room.
Then she said, “Leo already believes in you.”
That hit harder than anything.
“But I don’t,” she added softly.
“I’ll earn it,” I said.
Her lips curved, just a little. “You’re not used to waiting for things, are you?”
“No,” I admitted. “But for this—for you—I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
There was a silence between us, but it wasn’t cold. It was the kind of quiet that holds breath and possibilities.
She leaned back. “You were good with him. At pickup. You knew how to talk to him. You listened.”
“I was scared out of my mind.”
“Really?”
I laughed. “Terrified. He’s smart. He could see right through me.”
Isla smiled, and for a second, I saw the girl I used to love—the one who made me feel like more than the sum of my ambition.
We finished dinner in companionable quiet, and when the check came, she surprised me by sliding her card across the table.
“Let me,” she said. “It’s just dinner.”
But I gently pushed it back. “Let me show you how I’ve changed. Starting with this.”
She didn’t argue.
Outside, the night was crisp, a breeze threading through the narrow street.
I walked her to her car, not expecting anything more. I wasn’t going to push. But just before she stepped inside, she turned to me.
“You really wrote to him?”
I blinked. “What?”
“The letters. Leo found the one you wrote. He said it had his name on it and asked me to read it.”
My throat closed.
“He made me read it twice,” she said softly. “Then he asked if you were coming back tomorrow.”
“I am.”
She nodded. “Then maybe… we start there.”
I reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.
Small victories.
And sometimes, those were the ones that mattered most.
She said yes.
It wasn’t a grand declaration. Just two words on a screen—One dinner. But they landed like a shot of adrenaline straight to my chest.
I’d been prepared for more distance, more cold stares, more guarded silences. But Isla, ever pragmatic, always led with what mattered. And she was giving me a chance—one dinner, one conversation. I wasn’t going to waste it.
I’d reserved a private table at Vesper, a quiet place tucked behind ivy-covered walls in Tribeca. Not flashy. Not over-the-top. Just… thoughtful. I remembered her favorite wine. I remembered she hated loud restaurants and long menus. I remembered everything.
Because forgetting Isla had never been the problem.
I arrived early. Nerves weren’t a thing I was used to. I’d closed multimillion-dollar deals in less time than it took to choose a tie for tonight. But this wasn’t about control or confidence.
This was about the woman I’d once left behind—and the son she’d raised without me.
When she walked in, I forgot how to breathe.
She wore a soft navy dress that brushed her knees, with her hair pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder. No armor. No walls. Just Isla—quiet, strong, beautiful in a way that felt like memory and hope all at once.
She paused when she saw me. Then gave a small, almost reluctant smile.
“Lucien,” she said softly, sliding into the seat across from me. “You remembered the wine.”
I nodded, trying to play it cool even as my heart thudded like a teenager’s.
“I remember everything,” I said.
Her eyes flicked up, curious. Maybe a little wounded. “That’s dangerous.”
I didn’t deny it.
We ordered—her usual, pasta with no cheese, and grilled vegetables. I skipped the steak for once. It felt too indulgent. Too… me.
“So,” she said after a sip of wine, “you want to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Then talk.”
I leaned forward, both hands resting on the linen-covered table. “I was a coward.”
Isla blinked, surprised. “That’s not where I expected you to start.”
“It’s the truth. I loved you. But when you got close—too close—I panicked. I was so afraid of losing control, I didn’t realize I was already losing something far more important.”
Her fingers tightened around her glass, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t know about Leo. I’m not making excuses for leaving, but if I had known…” My voice cracked slightly. “God, Isla, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to be there.”
Her eyes softened, but only slightly. “And now?”
“Now I want to make it right. I want to be a father. A real one. I want to be at his school plays and doctor appointments. I want to hold his hand when he’s scared and teach him how to throw a baseball, even if he doesn’t care about sports.”
“And me?” she asked quietly.
I looked at her—really looked. “I want you too. But only if that’s something you want. This isn’t about reclaiming what I lost. It’s about earning back what I gave up.”
She looked down at her hands, twisting the stem of her glass between her fingers. “You hurt me, Lucien. I don’t just mean the breakup. I mean the silence. The vanishing. I carried Leo, gave birth to him alone, raised him… and you were living your best life in the pages of Forbes.”
Shame flooded my chest. “I know. And nothing I say can change that. But I can show you—every day—that I’m not the same man I was.”
She stared at me for a long moment, her silence louder than anything else in the room.
Then she said, “Leo already believes in you.”
That hit harder than anything.
“But I don’t,” she added softly.
“I’ll earn it,” I said.
Her lips curved, just a little. “You’re not used to waiting for things, are you?”
“No,” I admitted. “But for this—for you—I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
There was a silence between us, but it wasn’t cold. It was the kind of quiet that holds breath and possibilities.
She leaned back. “You were good with him. At pickup. You knew how to talk to him. You listened.”
“I was scared out of my mind.”
“Really?”
I laughed. “Terrified. He’s smart. He could see right through me.”
Isla smiled, and for a second, I saw the girl I used to love—the one who made me feel like more than the sum of my ambition.
We finished dinner in companionable quiet, and when the check came, she surprised me by sliding her card across the table.
“Let me,” she said. “It’s just dinner.”
But I gently pushed it back. “Let me show you how I’ve changed. Starting with this.”
She didn’t argue.
Outside, the night was crisp, a breeze threading through the narrow street.
I walked her to her car, not expecting anything more. I wasn’t going to push. But just before she stepped inside, she turned to me.
“You really wrote to him?”
I blinked. “What?”
“The letters. Leo found the one you wrote. He said it had his name on it and asked me to read it.”
My throat closed.
“He made me read it twice,” she said softly. “Then he asked if you were coming back tomorrow.”
“I am.”
She nodded. “Then maybe… we start there.”
I reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.
Small victories.
And sometimes, those were the ones that mattered most.
End of His Heir, Her Secret Chapter 17. Continue reading Chapter 18 or return to His Heir, Her Secret book page.