Aiden's POV
The silence after Michael's question lasted only a heartbeat, but it felt like eternity. I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to be in a business meeting with him at that very moment.
Then everything exploded.
"You've been hiding children from me?" Michael's voice rose, cracking with fury. He pushed past me into the office, his focus locked on Elara. "For five years? FIVE YEARS, Elara?"
"I didn't hide them from you specifically—" Her voice trembled. "I didn't know who the father was. I still don't—"
"So you just decided neither of us deserved to know?" He laughed bitterly, the sound sharp enough to draw blood. "You ran away, had babies, raised them alone, and never thought to pick up a phone?"
"I was scared! I was twenty-one and pregnant and I didn't know what—"
"Scared?" He stepped closer, and I saw Elara flinch.
Something protective and primal surged through me. I moved without thinking, positioning myself between them, hand raised in warning.
"That's enough." My voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "This isn't the place."
Michael's eyes snapped to me, blazing. "Stay out of this, Wolfe. This is between me and her."
"You're in my office. My building. Making a scene my entire staff can hear." I didn't raise my voice, but the authority was unmistakable. "Whatever needs to be said can wait until we're somewhere private."
"Private?" Another harsh laugh. "She's had five years of private. Five years of secrets while I married the wrong woman and built a life on lies."
"I didn't know!" Elara was crying now. "I still don't know! That's what I've been trying to tell you both—I don't know whose children they are."
Movement in my peripheral vision—employees gathered in the hallway, security approaching. This was spiraling out of control.
"We're done here," I said firmly. "Michael, leave. Elara, take the rest of the day. We'll discuss this later, like rational adults."
"Rational?" Michael shook his head, backing toward the door. "There's nothing rational about any of this." He pointed at Elara, hand trembling. "This isn't over. Those children could be mine, and I have a right to know."
He stormed out, brushing past security, leaving whispers and stares in his wake. I closed my office door, shutting out the curious eyes.
When I turned back, Elara had collapsed into a chair, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. She looked small. Broken. Like she'd been carrying an impossible weight and finally crumbled.
I wanted to hold her. Promise everything would be okay. But I didn't know if that was true.
I didn't know anything anymore—except that the woman I'd searched for was crying in my office, and the children she'd raised might be mine.
Might be mine.
The thought crashed over me in waves. Three children in Brooklyn who might have my eyes. My stubborn jaw. Three children who'd grown up without me, who didn't know I existed.
I crossed to her slowly, knelt beside her chair. "Elara."
She didn't look up.
"I want to meet them." The words came out before I'd fully decided. "Not as your boss. As someone who might be their father."
She raised her head, eyes red and swollen. "Aiden, I can't—"
"I'm not asking for a DNA test tonight. I just want to meet them. To know them, even a little." I paused, keeping my voice gentle. "I could come to you—your place, your turf. Whatever makes you comfortable. I'll bring groceries, cook dinner. Keep it simple."
She stared at me—this billionaire CEO offering to cook in her tiny Brooklyn apartment for children who might not be his.
"You don't have to do this," she whispered.
"I know. I want to."
Something shifted in her expression. The walls didn't fall—not entirely—but a crack appeared.
"Okay. Tonight." She almost smiled. "But I'm warning you—it's chaos."
"I like chaos."
That evening, I stood outside a Brooklyn brownstone holding two bags of groceries, more nervous than I'd ever been in a boardroom.
Elara opened the door, and I heard them immediately. High-pitched voices, laughter, something crashing.
"Last chance to run," she said.
I stepped inside.
The apartment was small—warm, lived-in. Toys scattered everywhere, artwork taped to the refrigerator, a unicorn blanket on the couch. It smelled like cinnamon and something possibly burning.
Three small faces peered at me from behind Elara's legs. Dark hair, suspicious eyes.
"Who's that?" the girl demanded. Lily. The one who liked unicorns.
"Mama's friend Aiden. He's making dinner."
"Can he make pizza?" One of the boys—Oliver, the stubborn one.
"I can make pasta. With lots of cheese."
The kids exchanged looks, conducting some silent negotiation. Then Ethan nodded solemnly. "Cheese is acceptable."
I bit back a laugh. "Then cheese it is."
The evening was chaos. Oliver refused anything green, pushing his broccoli around the plate with theatrical disgust. Lily nearly pulled the pot off the stove trying to help stir, and I caught it just in time, heart hammering. Ethan asked four hundred questions about pasta, cheese, volcanoes, and why the sky was blue. The apartment was loud and messy and overwhelming.
I loved every second of it.
I watched them while I cooked. Really watched. Oliver had Elara's coloring, but his jaw was sharp, his brow heavy when he frowned. Ethan's eyes were dark and intense, constantly analyzing—an observer, like me. Lily chattered nonstop, her laugh bright and unrestrained.
Like her mother's. Like the laugh I'd never forgotten.
After dinner, the kids piled around me on the couch with a picture book. Some story about a dragon who couldn't breathe fire. I did different voices for each character—growly for the dragon, squeaky for the mouse, pompous for the king—until they were giggling uncontrollably.
Oliver fell asleep first, slumping against my chest mid-sentence. His small hand curled into my shirt, holding on even in sleep. The weight of him, warm and trusting against my heart.
Something cracked open inside me. Something I didn't know was closed.
Elara appeared in the kitchen doorway and stopped. She stared at the tableau—her children piled around me, her son sleeping against my chest like he belonged there.
Her eyes filled with tears.
I didn't say anything. Just held Oliver closer and kept reading, softer now, until Lily and Ethan drifted off too.
Later, after the kids were tucked into bed, I stood by the door. Not ready to leave. Elara stood opposite me, arms wrapped around herself, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For tonight. For being so good with them."
"They're amazing. You've done an incredible job."
She shook her head. "They're a lot. I know they're a lot."
"They're perfect."
She looked at me then—really looked, searching for something.
"Whatever the test says," I said quietly, "I'm not going anywhere."
Her breath caught. "You don't know that. You don't know what the results will be. You might not be—"
"I know." I held her gaze. "And I'm telling you anyway. Whatever happens—I'm not leaving. Not you. Not them."
She stared at me, tears glistening on her lashes. Then she nodded, just once, and something shifted between us.
Not a promise. Not yet. But something close.
I walked home through Brooklyn, my shirt still warm where Oliver had slept against me. The city was quiet at this hour, streetlights pooling on empty sidewalks, the distant rumble of the subway beneath my feet.
I thought about fate. About the woman I'd found and lost and found again. About three children who might be mine, might not, who were already carving themselves into my heart regardless.
Oliver's hand curled in my shirt. Lily's laugh echoing through a tiny apartment. Ethan's serious eyes, watching everything, missing nothing.
Whatever came next, I was ready.
I wasn't going anywhere.