His Heir, Her Secret - Chapter 43: Chapter 43
You are reading His Heir, Her Secret, Chapter 43: Chapter 43. Read more chapters of His Heir, Her Secret.
Isla
I didn’t think I could stop shaking.
Not after watching Lucien stand at that podium—his voice calm, his words deliberate—as he looked straight into the camera and told the world that Leo was his son.
He hadn’t wavered. Not once. Even as the room of journalists exploded with questions, even as the cameras flashed like lightning in a summer storm.
I stood behind the privacy glass of his office, heart thundering in my chest, clutching a silk scarf in my hand like it could somehow anchor me to the ground.
Lucien hadn’t just claimed Leo. He’d claimed me too.
He said my name. Isla Monroe. Not just the mother of his son. The woman who had raised Leo with grace and grit. The woman he’d failed, and the woman he would now stand beside.
He didn’t say love. But every syllable—every breath—had felt like a vow.
The press ate it up like wolves around a feast.
I knew what would happen next. My face would be on headlines. There’d be speculation, analysis, trolls, support, gossip.
But none of it compared to the storm brewing inside me.
Lucien had pulled us into the light. And now, there was no going back.
I sat on the edge of the leather sofa in his office, knees together, hands laced tightly. I’d dressed carefully today—cream silk blouse, tailored navy pants, heels that made me feel taller than my fear. But my nerves had other plans. I’d chewed through the inside of my cheek during the first five minutes of the broadcast.
And now, silence.
Lucien stepped in minutes later, loosening his tie. His eyes went straight to me.
“You saw it?” he asked.
I nodded, my voice caught somewhere behind my ribs.
He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling in front of me. “Say something.”
“You really did it,” I whispered.
“I meant every word.”
I looked at him then, truly looked—his rumpled suit, the rawness behind his usual composure. “Do you know what you’ve just started?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “A war. But also a future.”
The tears came faster than I expected, pricking hot behind my eyes before I could blink them away. “Lucien, what if this makes things worse? What if Damon retaliates harder now that you’ve—”
“He was going to retaliate either way. Now he has to do it in daylight.” Lucien took my hand, thumb tracing small circles on my palm. “This isn’t just damage control anymore. This is a message. To him. To everyone.”
A knock interrupted us. Peter stepped in, tablet in hand. His expression was unreadable.
“It’s begun,” he said, offering the device.
Lucien rose and took it. I leaned forMonroe, heart hammering.
The headlines were already popping up like wildfire:
“CEO Lucien Wolfe Shocks Industry with Secret Heir Reveal”
“Who Is Isla Monroe? The Woman Behind the Wolfe Legacy”
“Romance, Scandal, and Power Plays—The Wolfe Family Drama Unfolds”
There were screenshots of the press conference, commentary pieces already forming, even early polls showing public opinion swinging in Lucien’s favor.
Peter raised a brow. “So far, it’s favorable. Your tone, the phrasing—it worked. You came off honest. Protective.”
Lucien gave a sharp nod. “And Damon?”
Peter’s expression darkened. “He’s quiet. Too quiet. But I have eyes on his legal team. They’ve gone unusually silent. Either they’re recalculating or planning something bigger.”
I stood then, smoothing my blouse. “Let me guess. He’ll find a way to paint this as manipulation. Public theater.”
“Possibly,” Peter said. “But it’s harder to argue against a man claiming responsibility for his son.”
Lucien turned to me, his jaw tightening. “We’re one step ahead now. But we need to stay there.”
I hated how right he was.
Later that evening, I found myself walking through the penthouse with bare feet, holding a glass of wine that had long since gone warm. Leo was asleep, tucked against his favorite dinosaur plushie, unaware that the world had just discovered who his father was.
Part of me wished I could keep it that way.
Lucien was in his study when I found him, staring at a fire that had burned low. He didn’t hear me enter.
“You should rest,” I said gently.
He turned. “Couldn’t sleep even if I tried.”
I hesitated, then walked to the armchair across from his and curled into it. The room smelled like sandalwood and quiet tension.
“I watched it twice,” I admitted. “Your speech.”
He arched a brow. “And?”
“You were… brave.”
He scoffed lightly. “Brave is Isla Monroe, standing tall while the world spins around her. I just spoke into a mic.”
“You changed everything with that mic.”
Silence stretched between us, soft and heavy. And then—
“You could’ve run,” I whispered. “When things got complicated. Most people would’ve.”
“I thought about it,” he said honestly. “That first day at the gallery, when I saw Leo—when it clicked—I felt the earth tilt beneath me. I had all the money in the world, all the power, and none of it could prepare me for you.”
My breath hitched.
“But I didn’t run. Because I realized something. The empire I built… it means nothing if my son thinks I’m a stranger. Or if the woman who gave him life thinks I’m just another rich man chasing control.”
I stared at him. “You’re not.”
He looked at me then, eyes raw. “Aren’t I? I tried to control everything, Isla. My world, my image, my fate. And then you came back into my life. With Leo. And suddenly, I wasn’t in control anymore. I was just a man trying to earn his family.”
Something cracked open inside me.
He stood slowly, crossing the space between us. “I can’t promise this won’t get worse before it gets better. But I will fight. For him. For you. Even if it burns everything I’ve built.”
I stood too, tears slipping past my lashes.
And when he reached for me, I let him.
There was no kiss. No dramatic plunge into each other’s arms.
Just the silence of understanding.
Of promises unspoken but deeply felt.
And the firelight between us, flickering like hope.
I didn’t think I could stop shaking.
Not after watching Lucien stand at that podium—his voice calm, his words deliberate—as he looked straight into the camera and told the world that Leo was his son.
He hadn’t wavered. Not once. Even as the room of journalists exploded with questions, even as the cameras flashed like lightning in a summer storm.
I stood behind the privacy glass of his office, heart thundering in my chest, clutching a silk scarf in my hand like it could somehow anchor me to the ground.
Lucien hadn’t just claimed Leo. He’d claimed me too.
He said my name. Isla Monroe. Not just the mother of his son. The woman who had raised Leo with grace and grit. The woman he’d failed, and the woman he would now stand beside.
He didn’t say love. But every syllable—every breath—had felt like a vow.
The press ate it up like wolves around a feast.
I knew what would happen next. My face would be on headlines. There’d be speculation, analysis, trolls, support, gossip.
But none of it compared to the storm brewing inside me.
Lucien had pulled us into the light. And now, there was no going back.
I sat on the edge of the leather sofa in his office, knees together, hands laced tightly. I’d dressed carefully today—cream silk blouse, tailored navy pants, heels that made me feel taller than my fear. But my nerves had other plans. I’d chewed through the inside of my cheek during the first five minutes of the broadcast.
And now, silence.
Lucien stepped in minutes later, loosening his tie. His eyes went straight to me.
“You saw it?” he asked.
I nodded, my voice caught somewhere behind my ribs.
He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling in front of me. “Say something.”
“You really did it,” I whispered.
“I meant every word.”
I looked at him then, truly looked—his rumpled suit, the rawness behind his usual composure. “Do you know what you’ve just started?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “A war. But also a future.”
The tears came faster than I expected, pricking hot behind my eyes before I could blink them away. “Lucien, what if this makes things worse? What if Damon retaliates harder now that you’ve—”
“He was going to retaliate either way. Now he has to do it in daylight.” Lucien took my hand, thumb tracing small circles on my palm. “This isn’t just damage control anymore. This is a message. To him. To everyone.”
A knock interrupted us. Peter stepped in, tablet in hand. His expression was unreadable.
“It’s begun,” he said, offering the device.
Lucien rose and took it. I leaned forMonroe, heart hammering.
The headlines were already popping up like wildfire:
“CEO Lucien Wolfe Shocks Industry with Secret Heir Reveal”
“Who Is Isla Monroe? The Woman Behind the Wolfe Legacy”
“Romance, Scandal, and Power Plays—The Wolfe Family Drama Unfolds”
There were screenshots of the press conference, commentary pieces already forming, even early polls showing public opinion swinging in Lucien’s favor.
Peter raised a brow. “So far, it’s favorable. Your tone, the phrasing—it worked. You came off honest. Protective.”
Lucien gave a sharp nod. “And Damon?”
Peter’s expression darkened. “He’s quiet. Too quiet. But I have eyes on his legal team. They’ve gone unusually silent. Either they’re recalculating or planning something bigger.”
I stood then, smoothing my blouse. “Let me guess. He’ll find a way to paint this as manipulation. Public theater.”
“Possibly,” Peter said. “But it’s harder to argue against a man claiming responsibility for his son.”
Lucien turned to me, his jaw tightening. “We’re one step ahead now. But we need to stay there.”
I hated how right he was.
Later that evening, I found myself walking through the penthouse with bare feet, holding a glass of wine that had long since gone warm. Leo was asleep, tucked against his favorite dinosaur plushie, unaware that the world had just discovered who his father was.
Part of me wished I could keep it that way.
Lucien was in his study when I found him, staring at a fire that had burned low. He didn’t hear me enter.
“You should rest,” I said gently.
He turned. “Couldn’t sleep even if I tried.”
I hesitated, then walked to the armchair across from his and curled into it. The room smelled like sandalwood and quiet tension.
“I watched it twice,” I admitted. “Your speech.”
He arched a brow. “And?”
“You were… brave.”
He scoffed lightly. “Brave is Isla Monroe, standing tall while the world spins around her. I just spoke into a mic.”
“You changed everything with that mic.”
Silence stretched between us, soft and heavy. And then—
“You could’ve run,” I whispered. “When things got complicated. Most people would’ve.”
“I thought about it,” he said honestly. “That first day at the gallery, when I saw Leo—when it clicked—I felt the earth tilt beneath me. I had all the money in the world, all the power, and none of it could prepare me for you.”
My breath hitched.
“But I didn’t run. Because I realized something. The empire I built… it means nothing if my son thinks I’m a stranger. Or if the woman who gave him life thinks I’m just another rich man chasing control.”
I stared at him. “You’re not.”
He looked at me then, eyes raw. “Aren’t I? I tried to control everything, Isla. My world, my image, my fate. And then you came back into my life. With Leo. And suddenly, I wasn’t in control anymore. I was just a man trying to earn his family.”
Something cracked open inside me.
He stood slowly, crossing the space between us. “I can’t promise this won’t get worse before it gets better. But I will fight. For him. For you. Even if it burns everything I’ve built.”
I stood too, tears slipping past my lashes.
And when he reached for me, I let him.
There was no kiss. No dramatic plunge into each other’s arms.
Just the silence of understanding.
Of promises unspoken but deeply felt.
And the firelight between us, flickering like hope.
End of His Heir, Her Secret Chapter 43. Continue reading Chapter 44 or return to His Heir, Her Secret book page.