POV Audrey
I wake wrapped in Shane's arms, our naked bodies tangled in hotel sheets that smell like him, like us, like everything that happened in the dark hours before dawn.
My instinct screams to slip away before he wakes. The pattern I perfected nine years ago—vanishing before morning light could expose the woman behind the mask. Before reality could intrude on stolen moments that were never meant to last.
But when I shift toward the edge of the mattress, Shane pulls me closer in his sleep. His arm tightens around my waist, his breath warm against my shoulder, and something in my chest softens against my will.
I try to relax into the moment. Try to let myself have this—the warmth of his body curved around mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back, the impossible peace of being held by someone who finally knows who I am.
The alarm shatters everything.
Our flight. Seattle. Oliver is waiting at home with questions I cannot answer and truths I cannot speak.
"Good morning," I murmur, already extracting myself from his embrace with rushed efficiency. My feet hit the cold floor as I scan the room for scattered clothing.
"Audrey." Shane's voice carries the rough edges of sleep, and when I glance back, he's propped on one elbow watching me gather my dignity piece by piece. "You look absolutely stunning in this morning light. Like something I dreamed and somehow got to keep."
"Now is not the time for poetry, Shane." I snatch my trousers from beneath his discarded jacket. "We have a flight to catch, and I refuse to explain to both our relatives why we missed it because you couldn't resist being charming at seven in the morning."
His laugh follows me as I flee to my own room, the sound warm and dangerous and entirely too appealing for my scattered nerves to process.
The moment my door closes, I'm texting Kara.
I had sex with him. Actually I slept with him too. The whole night, Kara. What have I done?
Her response arrives before I've finished stepping into fresh clothes.
AUDREY LENNOX. You spent the night together like actual lovers?! This is incredible! I'm literally screaming at my phone right now. Tell me everything immediately.
My fingers tremble over the keyboard, joy drowning beneath waves of fear I cannot contain.
Maybe I would be happy about this if Oliver wasn't waiting at home. Our son, Kara. My secret son. Shane's son. How am I supposed to build something real with him when everything between us is built on the biggest lie of my life?
The typing indicator pulses for an agonizing thirty seconds before her reply appears.
The truth will emerge eventually, Audrey. You know that. He will find out—whether you tell him or whether fate decides to be cruel about it. The question isn't if, it's when, and whether you want any control over how it happens.
I sink onto the edge of my bed, mascara wand frozen halfway to my face.
I'm terrified of how stressful the revelation will be for Oliver. He's built his whole identity around not having a father. What if learning the truth destroys him? What if Shane rejects him and breaks his heart in ways I can't repair?
Kara's response carries the gentle firmness I've relied on for fifteen years.
Oliver would be thrilled to know, and you know it. He's been searching for his father in every tall man with dark hair since he learned to walk. Stop projecting your fears onto your son and start trusting him to handle the truth better than you're handling the secret.
I don't have time to respond. Shane knocks on my door with a reminder about departure times, and I shove my phone into my bag along with all the questions I cannot answer.
The flight home feels longer than the journey out.
Shane settles into the seat beside me, his presence both comfort and complication. The private jet's engines hum beneath us as San Francisco shrinks to a glittering memory below.
"Are you alright?" His hand finds mine on the armrest, fingers threading through mine with easy intimacy. "You've been quiet since we left the hotel, and I can practically hear you thinking from here. Whatever's troubling you, I'd rather know than guess."
"I'm fine." The lie tastes bitter. "Just tired from... everything. It was an eventful trip, and I'm still processing the presentations, and the investors, and Stellan, and—"
"Audrey." He turns in his seat to face me fully, gray eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache. "We can speak openly now. After last night, after everything we shared—I don't want anything troubling you, especially if it concerns me or something I've done. If I pushed too fast, if you're having regrets about what happened between us—"
"It's not that." I squeeze his hand, surprising myself with the honesty. "I don't regret last night, Shane. Not any of it. I just... I miss Oliver desperately. Being away from him, even for a few days, it's physically painful. I cannot wait to hold my son again, to hear his voice, to make sure he's okay. He's everything to me, and being separated from him makes me feel like I'm missing a vital organ."
Shane's expression softens into something I haven't seen before—understanding tangled with patience, warmth without pressure.
"I'm waiting for you to be ready to share more about Oliver." His voice carries weight, each word chosen with obvious care. "I know you're protective of him, and I know my comments about children at the gallery were... poorly timed, to say the least. But I want you to understand something important: whatever complicated feelings I've expressed about children in general, they won't touch Oliver. Not ever. He's your son, which means he matters to me by extension, and I'm prepared to treat him with all the care and respect he deserves."
The reassurance should calm me. Instead, it tightens the knot in my stomach until I can barely breathe.
He's not just my son, I want to scream. He's yours. He has your eyes, your stubborn jaw, your strategic mind. You've been a father for eight years without knowing it, and I'm the one who stole that from you.
"Thank you," I manage instead. "That means more than you know."
I spend the remainder of the flight with headphones blocking out the world, pretending to sleep while my mind spirals through impossible questions. Should I tell Shane that Oliver is his actual son? Should I confess nine years of lies and watch everything we've built crumble beneath the weight of my deception?
And what happens to this fragile new bond between us—this tentative, terrifying, beautiful thing—when the truth finally detonates?
Seattle appears through the clouds like a judgment I'm not ready to face.