His Heir, Her Secret - Chapter 38: Chapter 38
You are reading His Heir, Her Secret, Chapter 38: Chapter 38. Read more chapters of His Heir, Her Secret.
Damon’s POV
The world always had a way of biting back when you least expected it.
I was in my office, nursing a scotch far too expensive for the kind of rage pulsing in my veins, when the news broke.
I hadn’t even turned on the television—didn’t need to. My phone exploded with notifications. Mentions. Messages. Headlines blaring across my screen in bold, unapologetic fonts.
LUXURY TYCOON LUCIEN WOLFE ANNOUNCES SECRET HEIR AND LONG-LOST LOVE
The Wolfe Empire Now Has an Heir
Public Statement: “They are the best part of my life—and I intend to protect and love them…”
Protect and love.
I smashed the glass against the edge of my desk.
The sound shattered through the room, sharp and satisfying. My assistant flinched in the hallway beyond the glass door, but I didn’t call her in. Let her wonder.
Lucien. Wolfe. That self-righteous bastard.
He’d done it.
He’d announced them to the world.
He’d claimed what was mine.
I strode to the television, turned it on, and watched as every major network replayed the video of Lucien, standing next to Isla. His arm around her waist. The kid—my son—standing in front of him.
Four years I’d waited. Watching. Planning. Waiting for the moment she’d crack and come crawling back. She was supposed to run out of money, out of time, out of options.
She was supposed to fall back into my hands.
Instead, she’d fallen into Lucien’s arms.
I watched Isla smile faintly in the clip. I knew that smile. Knew the way her lips barely curved, how her eyes didn’t sparkle unless she meant it. But in that video?
She meant it.
She looked safe. Settled.
Happy.
The bile in my throat rose fast.
I sat down slowly, fingers steepled beneath my chin as I stared at the screen. The boy—Leo—had Lucien’s eyes. But I knew better. That was my blood running through him.
Lucien could parade him all over the media, dress him in designer clothes and send him to elite prep schools—but that wouldn’t change the fact that I had been there first. Isla had chosen me. She had agreed to the terms of our relationship. She knew what I was, what I expected. And she still stayed.
Until she didn’t.
Until she took him and vanished.
Lucien thinks he can rewrite the narrative. Wipe away the past with one polished press release and pretend the last five years never happened?
No.
I’d been patient. Too patient. I told myself it wasn’t time—that she wasn’t ready. That when I took her back, it needed to be clean. Legal. Bulletproof.
But patience had an expiration date.
And Lucien Wolfe just lit the fuse.
I reached for my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t used in months.
The line picked up after two rings. “Mr. Cross.”
“Activate the file,” I said.
A pause. Then, “You’re sure?”
“Do it. I want everything ready by tomorrow. Custody. Paternity. Any footage we have of Isla from her time with me—gather it. Spin it. Make her look unstable if you have to.”
There was another beat of silence. “The child… will you be filing for full custody?”
I glanced at the screen again. Lucien had picked Leo up, holding him like it came naturally. Like he’d earned the right.
My jaw clenched.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be taking back what’s mine.”
After ending the call, I sat in the stillness of the office. My reflection stared back at me in the blackened window—a man the world respected, feared even. I’d built my success on control. Strategy. Cold precision.
But Isla was the one thing I’d never fully controlled.
She had slipped through my fingers once. I wouldn’t let it happen again.
I leaned back in my chair, heart slowing to a cold, deliberate thud.
Lucien thought this was over.
He had no idea what war he’d just started.
Later that night
The legal team met me in my private suite at the Capitol Residences. My top advisor, Carrington, laid out the documents with surgical precision.
“Preliminary injunctions are being drafted. We can challenge paternity if you want, though that’s a double-edged sword now that Wolfe’s already gone public.”
“We’ll challenge anyway,” I said. “He’s put the boy’s name out there. Let’s see how protective he really is when the press starts asking about Isla’s history.”
Carrington nodded. “We’ve also compiled a file on Isla’s absence. The years she was off the grid. Her decision to raise a child without informing the father.”
He handed me a folder thick with surveillance shots, notes, and timelines. Photos of Isla walking Leo to a modest daycare. Working night shifts. Wearing secondhand coats.
It should’ve made me feel something. Pity. Regret.
Instead, I felt the burn of resentment.
She should’ve come to me. She was supposed to.
“She’s more dangerous now,” Carrington said carefully. “With Wolfe behind her.”
“She’s not dangerous,” I replied. “She’s weak. Emotional. Easy to manipulate. He’s the threat.”
Carrington didn’t argue.
I stared down at one of the photos. Isla crouched beside Leo, tying his shoe. Her hair had fallen into her face, and she’d pushed it back with that same distracted grace I remembered.
I traced the image with my thumb.
She still wore the necklace I gave her.
She’d forgotten everything else—but she still wore that.
“Leak the custody filing to the press,” I said. “Let the world see what kind of mother she really is. I’ll handle Wolfe myself.”
Carrington gave a short nod. “Understood.”
He packed up the documents and left, leaving me in the dim silence.
I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out over the city. The lights below glittered like gold veins—but they couldn’t warm the chill settling over me.
I should’ve struck sooner. Taken them both before Lucien ever had the chance. But now?
Now it would be public. Ugly. Brutal.
And I would win.
Because Isla was mine.
She just forgot for a while.
The world always had a way of biting back when you least expected it.
I was in my office, nursing a scotch far too expensive for the kind of rage pulsing in my veins, when the news broke.
I hadn’t even turned on the television—didn’t need to. My phone exploded with notifications. Mentions. Messages. Headlines blaring across my screen in bold, unapologetic fonts.
LUXURY TYCOON LUCIEN WOLFE ANNOUNCES SECRET HEIR AND LONG-LOST LOVE
The Wolfe Empire Now Has an Heir
Public Statement: “They are the best part of my life—and I intend to protect and love them…”
Protect and love.
I smashed the glass against the edge of my desk.
The sound shattered through the room, sharp and satisfying. My assistant flinched in the hallway beyond the glass door, but I didn’t call her in. Let her wonder.
Lucien. Wolfe. That self-righteous bastard.
He’d done it.
He’d announced them to the world.
He’d claimed what was mine.
I strode to the television, turned it on, and watched as every major network replayed the video of Lucien, standing next to Isla. His arm around her waist. The kid—my son—standing in front of him.
Four years I’d waited. Watching. Planning. Waiting for the moment she’d crack and come crawling back. She was supposed to run out of money, out of time, out of options.
She was supposed to fall back into my hands.
Instead, she’d fallen into Lucien’s arms.
I watched Isla smile faintly in the clip. I knew that smile. Knew the way her lips barely curved, how her eyes didn’t sparkle unless she meant it. But in that video?
She meant it.
She looked safe. Settled.
Happy.
The bile in my throat rose fast.
I sat down slowly, fingers steepled beneath my chin as I stared at the screen. The boy—Leo—had Lucien’s eyes. But I knew better. That was my blood running through him.
Lucien could parade him all over the media, dress him in designer clothes and send him to elite prep schools—but that wouldn’t change the fact that I had been there first. Isla had chosen me. She had agreed to the terms of our relationship. She knew what I was, what I expected. And she still stayed.
Until she didn’t.
Until she took him and vanished.
Lucien thinks he can rewrite the narrative. Wipe away the past with one polished press release and pretend the last five years never happened?
No.
I’d been patient. Too patient. I told myself it wasn’t time—that she wasn’t ready. That when I took her back, it needed to be clean. Legal. Bulletproof.
But patience had an expiration date.
And Lucien Wolfe just lit the fuse.
I reached for my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t used in months.
The line picked up after two rings. “Mr. Cross.”
“Activate the file,” I said.
A pause. Then, “You’re sure?”
“Do it. I want everything ready by tomorrow. Custody. Paternity. Any footage we have of Isla from her time with me—gather it. Spin it. Make her look unstable if you have to.”
There was another beat of silence. “The child… will you be filing for full custody?”
I glanced at the screen again. Lucien had picked Leo up, holding him like it came naturally. Like he’d earned the right.
My jaw clenched.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be taking back what’s mine.”
After ending the call, I sat in the stillness of the office. My reflection stared back at me in the blackened window—a man the world respected, feared even. I’d built my success on control. Strategy. Cold precision.
But Isla was the one thing I’d never fully controlled.
She had slipped through my fingers once. I wouldn’t let it happen again.
I leaned back in my chair, heart slowing to a cold, deliberate thud.
Lucien thought this was over.
He had no idea what war he’d just started.
Later that night
The legal team met me in my private suite at the Capitol Residences. My top advisor, Carrington, laid out the documents with surgical precision.
“Preliminary injunctions are being drafted. We can challenge paternity if you want, though that’s a double-edged sword now that Wolfe’s already gone public.”
“We’ll challenge anyway,” I said. “He’s put the boy’s name out there. Let’s see how protective he really is when the press starts asking about Isla’s history.”
Carrington nodded. “We’ve also compiled a file on Isla’s absence. The years she was off the grid. Her decision to raise a child without informing the father.”
He handed me a folder thick with surveillance shots, notes, and timelines. Photos of Isla walking Leo to a modest daycare. Working night shifts. Wearing secondhand coats.
It should’ve made me feel something. Pity. Regret.
Instead, I felt the burn of resentment.
She should’ve come to me. She was supposed to.
“She’s more dangerous now,” Carrington said carefully. “With Wolfe behind her.”
“She’s not dangerous,” I replied. “She’s weak. Emotional. Easy to manipulate. He’s the threat.”
Carrington didn’t argue.
I stared down at one of the photos. Isla crouched beside Leo, tying his shoe. Her hair had fallen into her face, and she’d pushed it back with that same distracted grace I remembered.
I traced the image with my thumb.
She still wore the necklace I gave her.
She’d forgotten everything else—but she still wore that.
“Leak the custody filing to the press,” I said. “Let the world see what kind of mother she really is. I’ll handle Wolfe myself.”
Carrington gave a short nod. “Understood.”
He packed up the documents and left, leaving me in the dim silence.
I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out over the city. The lights below glittered like gold veins—but they couldn’t warm the chill settling over me.
I should’ve struck sooner. Taken them both before Lucien ever had the chance. But now?
Now it would be public. Ugly. Brutal.
And I would win.
Because Isla was mine.
She just forgot for a while.
End of His Heir, Her Secret Chapter 38. Continue reading Chapter 39 or return to His Heir, Her Secret book page.