His Heir, Her Secret - Chapter 48: Chapter 48

Lucien
I used to think my boardroom was where I fought my hardest battles. Hostile takeovers, corporate coups, backroom betrayals—all child’s play compared to this.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my penthouse office, the Manhattan skyline glittering like it had secrets to tell. The media storm from my press conference hadn’t died down. If anything, it had fanned the flames Damon ignited. My public declaration had exposed the truth, but Damon’s legal move had turned it into war.
Now, I was fighting for my son.
“Sir,” Marissa said gently as she stepped into the office, her clipboard tucked against her chest like armor. “Your legal team is ready downstairs. They’ve compiled everything.”
I didn’t move immediately. My hands were clenched behind my back, and my reflection in the glass looked foreign—hollowed out but burning.
“Thank you. I’ll be down in five.”
She nodded, understanding I needed the moment. Everyone was walking on eggshells around me now. I didn’t blame them. I was barely holding my temper in check.
The news had broken early that morning. Damon Sinclair had filed for joint custody of Leo, claiming paternal proximity and stable financial paternity. That bastard had no shame. He wasn’t Leo’s biological father, wasn’t even his father in any real sense. But he had documents—ones forged with Isla’s signature during their marriage. And I had a feeling this was just the start.
I turned from the window, fury driving each step as I descended into the private conference room below. The space was silent when I entered—my legal team seated at the sleek, obsidian table, laptops open, files spread.
“Walk me through it again,” I said, dropping into the chair at the head.
“Damon’s attorneys filed in family court first thing this morning,” said Clarissa Dane, my lead counsel. Her voice was calm but clipped. “They’re leveraging the fact that he was legally married to Isla when Leo was born. Despite the annulment, there’s a window of presumed paternity under state law. It’s thin, but it gives them enough footing to drag it out.”
“He’s not Leo’s father,” I snapped. “There are paternity tests.”
“Which we’ll use,” Clarissa nodded. “But he’s also claiming that during the marriage, he acted as a father. There are school forms, pediatric records… his name appears in multiple places.”
Because Isla was protecting herself. Protecting Leo.
And now it was being twisted into ammunition.
“Then we show the abuse,” I said.
“We will. But Isla hasn’t filed any formal police reports. That makes it harder to prove. We’ll need character witnesses, statements, past hospital visits—anything we can use to paint the truth.”
The truth. Damon had terrorized them for years. But in the court’s eyes, silence looked like complicity.
“Then we make noise,” I said coldly. “We drown him in it.”
Clarissa raised a brow. “You’re suggesting…?”
“A full campaign,” I said. “Let’s show the world what kind of man Damon Sinclair really is. Background checks, internal audits, witness accounts—nothing is off limits.”
There were murmurs around the table. My team was good—brilliant, even—but this wasn’t just corporate litigation. It was messier. More personal.
I would burn down my reputation to protect my son. There was no room for second chances.
“We’ll proceed carefully,” Clarissa said. “But we’ll need Isla’s full cooperation. Her voice will matter more than anyone’s.”
That, at least, I could control.
I found her later that afternoon, seated in Leo’s room in the penthouse. She looked tired, her arms wrapped around herself as Leo played with blocks on the rug. Her eyes flicked to mine when I entered, cautious, unreadable.
“Is it bad?” she asked softly.
I sat beside her, brushing a hand through Leo’s hair. “He’s trying to paint himself as a victim. A father being shut out.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t speak. I could see her slipping into that old armor—detached, cold. The woman who had survived Damon Sinclair didn’t cry. She endured.
“He wants to hurt me,” she whispered. “He doesn’t care about Leo. Not really.”
“I know.”
She looked at me then, a flicker of raw emotion breaking through. “What do you need from me?”
Her voice was steady. But underneath, I heard the fear. Not for herself. For our son.
“We need you to tell the truth. All of it. The threats, the bruises, the fear you lived with. Isla, we need to build a case, not just an accusation.”
She stared down at her hands. “It’ll be in the papers.”
“It’s already in the papers,” I said gently. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Leo looked up at us, his eyes so much like hers, blinking in confusion at the silence between us. Isla reached for him, cradled him to her chest.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Whatever it takes. I’m not letting him near Leo again. Ever.”
I nodded, something tightening in my chest.
Later that evening, I sat on the terrace with a scotch in hand, watching the city flicker beneath the stars. Isla had gone to bed, exhausted from the day, but I couldn’t sleep.
A soft chime came from my phone.
It was a text. From an unknown number.
“Enjoy your moment, Lucien. But I’m not done. You took my wife. Now I’ll take your son.”
My grip tightened around the glass.
Let him come.
He’d find out exactly what kind of monster he woke.