His Heir, Her Secret - Chapter 47: Chapter 47
You are reading His Heir, Her Secret, Chapter 47: Chapter 47. Read more chapters of His Heir, Her Secret.
Lucien
I stared at the letter again, the glossy corporate paper bearing Damon Cross’s law firm’s crest like a personal insult.
Petition for Custody.
The words were clinical. Precise. But I knew what they really meant.
A declaration of war.
I paced the length of my penthouse office, the skyline of Manhattan stretching endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lights sparkled like a thousand eyes watching me, as if the entire city held its breath.
“She’s not going to handle this well,” I muttered under my breath.
The “she” didn’t need clarifying. Isla had already given too much — her peace, her freedom, her sense of safety — all to protect Leo. And now this?
Now, Damon wanted to pretend he had the right to take any of that from her. From us.
My phone buzzed on the desk, and I snatched it up without checking the screen.
“Talk.”
My lawyer, Victor Lang, didn’t even flinch. “I’ve read the petition three times. He’s leaning heavily on the fact that you only recently acknowledged paternity.”
“He wasn’t invited into Leo’s life for a reason,” I snapped. “Because he’s dangerous.”
Victor sighed. “You and I know that. But the court system? They care about optics, Lucien. And right now, you’ve got two things working against you: one, your relationship with Isla has only just gone public. And two, Damon has no criminal record.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. “He won’t for long.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve hired a private investigator. Discreet. Elite. If Damon so much as jaywalked in 1998, I’ll know about it before breakfast.”
There was a pause on the line. “That’s good. We’ll need more than hearsay. We need evidence, Lucien. Judges aren’t impressed by emotion — they’re impressed by proof.”
I hung up after a few more details, then turned to the leather folder on my desk. I opened it slowly.
Inside were photos of Leo.
I’d been compiling them in secret, moments I’d missed but cherished all the same: Isla holding him at the beach, his toothy grin while devouring pancakes, a sleepy-eyed Leo tucked under a blanket watching cartoons. Moments I should’ve been there for.
Moments Damon would never get to steal.
I would burn the world down before I let that man get close to my son.
Just then, a soft knock at the door broke the tension in my chest.
It was Harper, my assistant. Her presence was calm, but her eyes were too alert.
“What is it?” I asked.
“There’s someone here to see you.” She paused. “Unannounced.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
She hesitated. “Your mother.”
I blinked.
“Let her in.”
It had been weeks since I’d spoken to her. Ever since the press conference where I declared Leo as my son, the phone had rung off the hook — investors, journalists, former friends clawing for relevance. But my mother? She had stayed silent.
Until now.
She entered the room like she belonged in it, her pearl earrings gleaming beneath the chandeliers, her sharp gaze assessing every inch of my face.
“Lucien.”
“Mother.”
She sat without being asked, which was fitting. Frances Laurent never waited for permission.
“I saw the announcement,” she said crisply, folding her gloved hands in her lap. “Your son is quite charming.”
I said nothing.
“I also saw the headlines this morning,” she continued, lifting one sculpted brow. “‘Custody Battle Looms Between Tech Billionaire and London Financier.’ Quite the story.”
“I didn’t stage it for headlines.”
“No. But they’ve certainly taken notice.”
I waited. This wasn’t a social call.
Finally, she gave me what I expected. “Do you know who Damon Cross’s father is?”
My spine straightened.
“I assume you’re about to tell me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Gerald Cross. Former ambassador. Old-money elite. The Cross family has been circling politics for generations. If Damon decides to lean into that legacy, he won’t be walking into court alone. He’ll bring the press, the prestige, the narrative.”
I clenched my jaw. “And what narrative would that be?”
“That you’re the reckless billionaire who impregnated a young woman and abandoned her. And that Damon—no matter how unworthy we know him to be—is the bloodline father trying to make things right.”
I slammed my hand against the desk. “Leo isn’t a prop.”
“Neither is your reputation,” she snapped back. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a private matter anymore. Everything you do from this moment forMonroe is public record. So if you want to win—”
“I will win.”
She rose slowly. “Then you’d better start fighting like it.”
As she turned to leave, her voice softened just enough to sting.
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. You’re choosing to protect your family. That’s what your father would’ve done.”
And then she was gone.
I sat back in my chair, heart pounding. The shadows of legacy, bloodlines, and privilege were closing in.
But I had something none of them did.
Love.
I knew Isla’s laugh in the dark. I knew the curve of Leo’s hand when he curled into sleep. I knew what it was to earn family, not just inherit it.
That made me dangerous.
Because I wasn’t going to let them lose.
I stared at the letter again, the glossy corporate paper bearing Damon Cross’s law firm’s crest like a personal insult.
Petition for Custody.
The words were clinical. Precise. But I knew what they really meant.
A declaration of war.
I paced the length of my penthouse office, the skyline of Manhattan stretching endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lights sparkled like a thousand eyes watching me, as if the entire city held its breath.
“She’s not going to handle this well,” I muttered under my breath.
The “she” didn’t need clarifying. Isla had already given too much — her peace, her freedom, her sense of safety — all to protect Leo. And now this?
Now, Damon wanted to pretend he had the right to take any of that from her. From us.
My phone buzzed on the desk, and I snatched it up without checking the screen.
“Talk.”
My lawyer, Victor Lang, didn’t even flinch. “I’ve read the petition three times. He’s leaning heavily on the fact that you only recently acknowledged paternity.”
“He wasn’t invited into Leo’s life for a reason,” I snapped. “Because he’s dangerous.”
Victor sighed. “You and I know that. But the court system? They care about optics, Lucien. And right now, you’ve got two things working against you: one, your relationship with Isla has only just gone public. And two, Damon has no criminal record.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. “He won’t for long.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve hired a private investigator. Discreet. Elite. If Damon so much as jaywalked in 1998, I’ll know about it before breakfast.”
There was a pause on the line. “That’s good. We’ll need more than hearsay. We need evidence, Lucien. Judges aren’t impressed by emotion — they’re impressed by proof.”
I hung up after a few more details, then turned to the leather folder on my desk. I opened it slowly.
Inside were photos of Leo.
I’d been compiling them in secret, moments I’d missed but cherished all the same: Isla holding him at the beach, his toothy grin while devouring pancakes, a sleepy-eyed Leo tucked under a blanket watching cartoons. Moments I should’ve been there for.
Moments Damon would never get to steal.
I would burn the world down before I let that man get close to my son.
Just then, a soft knock at the door broke the tension in my chest.
It was Harper, my assistant. Her presence was calm, but her eyes were too alert.
“What is it?” I asked.
“There’s someone here to see you.” She paused. “Unannounced.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
She hesitated. “Your mother.”
I blinked.
“Let her in.”
It had been weeks since I’d spoken to her. Ever since the press conference where I declared Leo as my son, the phone had rung off the hook — investors, journalists, former friends clawing for relevance. But my mother? She had stayed silent.
Until now.
She entered the room like she belonged in it, her pearl earrings gleaming beneath the chandeliers, her sharp gaze assessing every inch of my face.
“Lucien.”
“Mother.”
She sat without being asked, which was fitting. Frances Laurent never waited for permission.
“I saw the announcement,” she said crisply, folding her gloved hands in her lap. “Your son is quite charming.”
I said nothing.
“I also saw the headlines this morning,” she continued, lifting one sculpted brow. “‘Custody Battle Looms Between Tech Billionaire and London Financier.’ Quite the story.”
“I didn’t stage it for headlines.”
“No. But they’ve certainly taken notice.”
I waited. This wasn’t a social call.
Finally, she gave me what I expected. “Do you know who Damon Cross’s father is?”
My spine straightened.
“I assume you’re about to tell me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Gerald Cross. Former ambassador. Old-money elite. The Cross family has been circling politics for generations. If Damon decides to lean into that legacy, he won’t be walking into court alone. He’ll bring the press, the prestige, the narrative.”
I clenched my jaw. “And what narrative would that be?”
“That you’re the reckless billionaire who impregnated a young woman and abandoned her. And that Damon—no matter how unworthy we know him to be—is the bloodline father trying to make things right.”
I slammed my hand against the desk. “Leo isn’t a prop.”
“Neither is your reputation,” she snapped back. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a private matter anymore. Everything you do from this moment forMonroe is public record. So if you want to win—”
“I will win.”
She rose slowly. “Then you’d better start fighting like it.”
As she turned to leave, her voice softened just enough to sting.
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. You’re choosing to protect your family. That’s what your father would’ve done.”
And then she was gone.
I sat back in my chair, heart pounding. The shadows of legacy, bloodlines, and privilege were closing in.
But I had something none of them did.
Love.
I knew Isla’s laugh in the dark. I knew the curve of Leo’s hand when he curled into sleep. I knew what it was to earn family, not just inherit it.
That made me dangerous.
Because I wasn’t going to let them lose.
End of His Heir, Her Secret Chapter 47. Continue reading Chapter 48 or return to His Heir, Her Secret book page.