The CEO's Secret Son

Get the hell away from me. Do you really think a loser like you is worthy of fathering my child?

The man who once held the city in the palm of his hand was now on his knees in the dirt. He begged me to keep our baby.

I responded by kicking him in the chest.

His eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and fury, locked onto mine. "Naomi. I swear to God... don't let me ever see you again."

Five years later.

He reclaimed his throne. The wealthiest titan in the city. Unstoppable. Cold.

Outside the airport arrivals terminal, I held the hand of a little boy who shared his exact jawline and brooding eyes. I tapped on the tinted glass of a Rolls-Royce.

The window slid down.

"Archie," I said, smoothing the boy's hair. "Say hello to Daddy."

Alistair stared at the miniature version of himself. His face went dark. The temperature dropped ten degrees.

"What kind of sick game are you playing now?"

Chapter 1

Even when Alistair hit rock bottom, he treated me like I was fragile glass. The man was a former king of industry, yet he carried the weight of his ruin with a terrifying kind of grace.

He ate stale gas station sandwiches just to buy me fresh organic berries. He wore shirts with fraying cuffs so I wouldn't have to sell my designer bags.

"I'll rise again, Naomi," he would say, his voice rough with fatigue but steady as steel. "Just wait for me. I won't let you suffer. I promise."

He would borrow money. He would beg. He would take whatever tantrum I threw, whatever object I smashed.

Just keep the baby, he begged. Thats all.

He didn't know the truth.

I wasn't just Naomi. I was a transmigrator trapped in a narrative I couldn't control, shackled to the role of the "Wicked Ex-Wife." The script demanded cruelty.

We stood on the cracked pavement outside our rental. He was on his knees, clutching my hand, begging me not to terminate the pregnancy.

My phone buzzed. The sound was like a gunshot in the silence.

"Ms. Naomi," the receptionists voice was crisp, professional. "Your surgery is scheduled for 1:00 PM today. Please be on time."

I hung up.

Alistair closed his eyes. It wasn't a blink. It was a collapse. The light inside him simply went out. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. He was trying to salvage my conscience. To find a heartbeat where there was none.

"The baby didn't do anything wrong," he whispered. "Please. Naomi. Don't do this."

He gripped the hem of my skirt. His knuckles were white. His pride was gone, dissolved in fear. "I swear, I'll work harder. I'll make enough. You and the baby... you'll have everything."

I looked down at him.

I knew he would make it. His bankruptcy was just a plot device, a temporary setback before his meteoric rise. Five years from now, Alistair would be the terrifyingly powerful King of Commerce.

He would have the world. He would have Madisonthe gentle, kind heroine who would heal his heart.

And I? I was the trauma. The villain the world would spit on.

The Systems warning blared in my skull. Execute the script.

I pulled my skirt free from his grip and kicked him.

Hard.

He stumbled back, shock replacing the grief on his face. "You want me to birth this thing?"

I laughed, cold and sharp. "Not a chance in hell."

I looked him up and down, sneering at his worn-out shoes. "Look at you. You reek of poverty. Its disgusting."

I leaned in, delivering the final blow. "I must have been blind to choose you over Bryce. At least he has a future. You? You're nothing."

I turned on my heel. I didn't look back.

Behind me, I heard the sound of something breaking inside him. He sat paralyzed on the dirty ground, staring at my retreating figure with a darkness that could swallow the sun.

"Naomi," he choked out, the hate vibrating in every syllable. "Don't let me see you again."

Sorry, Alistair. I failed you on that one.

Five years later, he rose from the ashes.

And I came back. With his son.

Chapter 2

The sun in the city didnt just shine; it burned.

Five years ago, the System held a gun to my head, forcing me to play the villain and shatter Alistairs heart. Today, the leash snapped. The System unbound itself.

Translation: I was finally free to be me.

I tightened my grip on Archies hand and walked out of the terminal.

A Bentley purred at the curb. The rear window glided down, framing a profile carved from cold marble.

Alistair.

He sat in the back, immaculate in a bespoke suit. Five years hadnt aged him; it had simply sharpened his edges. He looked colder. More dangerous.

The door opened. A woman in a flowing aqua dress stepped out.

She offered Alistair a smile that was all sugar and light. "Thanks for picking me up."

I recognized her instantly. Madison. The canon heroine. The "Soulmate." Luckily, they were barely past the acquaintance stage.

I bent down to my five-year-old sons level. "Archie, you see the man in the car? Thats your daddy."

I smoothed his collar. "Mommys happiness is in your hands now."

Archie flashed me a confident 'OK' sign. "Got it."

Clutching his superhero action figure, he sprinted toward the Bentley. His voice was a sweet, sugar-coated missile. "Daddy!"

Alistairs head snapped toward the sound.

His composure cracked. His pupils dilated, trembling with a chaotic mix of shock, confusion, and sudden, overwhelming recognition. There was no denying biology. Archie wasn't just similar; he was the spitting image of Alistair, shrunk down and given a brighter smile.

"Daddy, Ive missed you so much!"

Archie pressed his hands against the car door, looking up with wide, adoring eyes. "Mommy shows me your picture every day. Im so happy to finally see the real you."

Then, the little traitor pointed a finger back at me. "Mommy missed you too."

Alistairs gaze followed the boys finger. The moment his eyes landed on me, the awe vanished. The temperature plummeted. His eyes went dead.

I walked up to the car, leaning in slightly. "Long time no see."

Madison, still standing by the door, felt the shift. Her smile faltered. "Alistair... who is she?"

I turned to her, offering my most dazzling, sharp-edged smile. "Hi. Im Naomi. Alistairs ex-wife."

The color drained from Madisons face. Her smile disintegrated, and her eyes instantly welled up with tears.

Archie tilted his head, looking at her with innocent brutality. "Lady, were having a family reunion. Why are you crying?"

Madison clenched her hands at her sides, her knuckles turning white. She liked Alistairthat was obviousbut they were strictly business partners right now. She had no ring, no title, and absolutely no right to throw a jealousy tantrum.

Alistair was glaring at me with pure hatred, but I knew what I saw. Before his gaze landed on me, when he was just looking at Archie...

He had been grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

Chapter 3

Alistair turned his head toward Madison. His voice was polite, but it carried the finality of a gavel strike. "I apologize. I have a family situation to handle. We'll have to reschedule the contract review."

Madison knew when she wasn't wanted. She opened her door. But as she brushed past me on the curb, she leaned in. Her voice dropped to a territorial hiss, meant only for my ears.

"Youre just the ex-wife."

Her eyes narrowed. "Im the future."

God, I hate these trashy romance tropes. Why does the universe always demand a greedy, villainous ex just to make the saintly, money-hating heroine look better? Why couldn't we just skip the drama and be a happy, wealthy family?

I kept my smile plastic-perfect. "Actually," I said, loud enough for the wind to carry it. "Were getting remarried."

"You..." Madisons jaw worked. Her face twisted into a scowl before she stomped away.

I turned back to the car.

Archie was already scrambling into the backseat, burying his face in Alistairs expensive suit. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Alistair held the boy, grinning like a fool. It was pure, unfiltered joyuntil he looked up and saw me. The smile vanished. The shutters came down.

The ride home was suffocating.

Alistair didn't say a word. He wouldn't fight in front of our son.

As soon as we walked through the front door of the mansion, Nancy, the housekeeper, appeared.

"Nancy, take Archie to get cleaned up and rest," Alistair ordered.

The moment the boy was out of earshot, the temperature in the room dropped to sub-zero. Alistair collapsed onto the leather sofa and stared at me with eyes like frozen glass.

"I appreciate you having him. Ill take full custody from here."

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a black card, and slid it across the coffee table. "Take the money. Get out."

I didn't move.

His brow furrowed, impatience radiating off him in waves. "It's an unlimited black card. Is that not enough for your appetite?"

Of course. In his mind, I was still the gold-digger. The woman who only spoke the language of currency. He thought I was holding out for a better offer.

I didn't take the card. I walked over to the sofa and straddled his lap.

My arms looped loosely around his neck. I leaned in, invading his personal space until I could count the eyelashes framing his cold eyes.

"Hey, handsome. Long time no see. Miss me?"

His entire body went rigid. Muscle turned to stone beneath my thighs. For a split second, I felt his breath hitcha tiny, traitorous reactionbefore he gripped my wrists.

He tried to pry me off, his grip bruising. "What kind of sick game are you playing now?"

As he pushed, I pulled.

My dress was a strapless number. The struggle worked against gravity. The fabric slipped, dipping dangerously low.

Alistairs gaze dropped involuntarily. His ears turned a violent shade of red.

"Cover yourself up," he gritted out, his voice tight.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and suppressed rage. I rubbed my cheek against his skin. "Make me."

"Naomi!" The anger vibrated in his chest, resonating against my own. "You threw me away like I was nothing. What the hell do you want?"

"Regret," I whispered against his pulse point. "I want to fix this. I want us back."

"Is that so?" A dark, jagged laugh tore from his throat.

He moved fast.

One second I was on his lap, the next I was pinned to the mattress in the master bedroom. He hovered over me, his weight heavy, threatening.

"You want to play house? You want to be a wife?"

He sneered. "Fine. Let's start with your marital duties."

He was bluffing. He was trying to disgust me. He remembered the old Naomithe one who flinched if his hand brushed hers, the one who acted like his touch was poison. He expected me to scream. To push him away.

He didn't know Id been craving this for five years.

"Bet."

I didn't flinch. I reached up. My fingers hooked onto the top button of his dress shirt.

He froze. He stopped breathing. He watched my hands, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and wariness, waiting for the inevitable recoil.

It never came.

The buttons gave way under my fingers. The shirt fell open. I stared at the landscape of his torso. The heavy, rapid rise and fall of his chest. The thick, ropey veins traversing his abdomen, pulsing with adrenaline. The skin was hot, radiating a feverish heat that I could feel without even touching him.

I didn't just look. I flattened my palm against his stomach, feeling the hard ridges of muscle jump under my touch. I traced a vein downward.

Chapter 4

Alistair was a steel cable pulled to the breaking point. He hovered over me, his gaze surgical, dissecting every micro-expression. He was looking for the crack in the mask.

He found nothing.

A cold, jagged smirk cut across his face. He didn't buy it. In his mind, I was the ultimate con artist. He was convinced this was a long con, a humiliation ritual I was enduring just to get my claws into his bank account.

He remembered the history.

Before the bankruptcy, I treated him like a contagion. I spent my days sexting Bryce, the trust-fund baby, making Alistair the punchline of every country club joke. When he went broke, I escalated. I called him trash. A loser. A waste of space.

To him, I wasn't a wife. I was a malignant tumor. Tumors don't just turn benign overnight.

He leaned in closer. His breath ghosted over my lips. It was a dare. He wanted me to flinch. He wanted the real Naomi to snap and shove him away.

"Stop testing me," I whispered.

I grabbed his lapels and yanked.

Hard.

The sudden motion threw him off balance. Panic flared in his eyesa flight response kicking in. He tried to scramble back.

I didn't let him. I hauled him down and crashed my mouth against his.

It wasn't a kiss. It was an ambush.

Alistair froze, his system shock-locked. His face went from pale to a flushed, dark red in a heartbeat.

I didn't give him a second to think. I was hungry. I nipped at his bottom lip, worrying the soft flesh with my teeth, tasting him.

His brain short-circuited. The logic, the suspicion, the hatredit all dissolved under the friction. His hands, large and veined, clamped onto the back of my skull.

He didn't push me away. He locked me in.

He kissed me back with a violence that bordered on desperation. He was trying to grind me into dust. His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming the space, robbing me of oxygen. The sound of our breathing filled the roomragged, wet, desperate gasps.

Then, the clarity hit him.

Alistair tore himself away. He scrambled off the bed, chest heaving. He looked down at melips swollen, dress disheveled, skin flushed. He stared for a second too long. His pupils were blown wide, black holes swallowing the iris.

Panic took over. He grabbed the duvet and threw it over my head, effectively burying me.

"Alistair!" I clawed the blanket down, gasping. "Are you out of your mind?"

He didn't answer. He turned his back on me and stalked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

I sat there, watching him.

The man was a masterpiece of tension. The white dress shirt strained across his broad shoulders. The black trousers tapered down to a lean waist. Even standing still, he radiated a lethal, magnetic kind of power.

He stood there for a long time, staring out at the garden, fighting a war inside his own head.

Finally, he turned. His face was a blank slate again.

"Archie needs stability. He needs a mother." His voice was flat. "You stay at the manor. For now."

My eyes lit up.

I didn't just smile; I launched myself.

I flew off the bed and wrapped my arms around his neck, hooking my legs around his waist. "You forgave me! I knew it!"

Alistair stiffened. He refused to look at me. His hands clamped onto my waistnot to hold me, but to peel me off. He set me back on the floor with deliberate, cold precision.

"Don't delude yourself," he said, stepping back to create a safe distance. "I haven't forgiven anything. This is strictly for the boy."

He turned on his heel and walked out. The door clicked shut.

Sure, Alistair. Keep telling yourself that.

Chapter 5

I walked downstairs the next morning to a table groaning under the weight of a feast.

My favorites. Every single dish. Spicy Penne all'Arrabbiata, lobster ravioli, and those specific chocolate clairs I used to crave at 2 AM.

I froze, blinking. I looked up at Alistair.

He set his fork down, his face a mask of indifference. "Don't get any ideas. The kid demanded it."

I looked at Archie. He was holding a glass of milk, looking at the spicy pasta with mild horror. He hates spice. He hates seafood. The kid lives on dairy and toast.

Archie took a long sip of milk, deadpan. "Whatever makes you happy, Dad."

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

This spread must have taken hours. Alistair must have woken Nancy up before dawn to orchestrate this specific menu.

The man was a liar. A terrible, adorable liar.

I walked over to his chair, wrapped my arms around his neck from behind, and planted a loud, wet kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Hubby."

Alistair choked.

His ears turned a violent shade of crimson, contrasting sharply with his icy tone. "I'm not your husband," he corrected, standing up abruptly. "We aren't remarried."

He checked his watch, refusing to make eye contact. "I have meetings. If you or the boy need anything, tell Nancy. I'm leaving."

I watched him go. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, the way his suit jacket moved when he walked. The man was lethal.

Archie set his glass down. "Did he forgive you?"

I shrugged. "Nope. Not even close."

"Well, you better step up your game," Archie said, sounding more like a life coach than a kindergartner. "I don't want a stepmom."

"You little traitor," I poked his nose. "Even if I don't get him back, you think I'd leave you behind? You're coming with me."

Archie sighed, wiping a milk mustache. He looked me dead in the eye. "Mom. Be realistic. With his money and his lawyers? You think hed ever let you take me?"

He had a point. In a custody battle against the wealthiest man in the city, Id be crushed. If I wanted my son, I needed the father.

"Okay," I said, clapping my hands. "Operation: Lunch Delivery. We're packing him a gourmet lunch."

Archie nodded obediently.

Noon. The corporate headquarters.

I held the thermal container in one hand and Archies hand in the other as we navigated the glass-and-steel lobby. We reached the executive floor.

Through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the CEO's office, I saw them. Alistair was at his desk. Madison was there.

They were talking. It looked professional enough, until Madison looked up and saw me standing outside.

Her eyes narrowed. She didn't wave. She didn't acknowledge me.

Instead, she turned back to Alistair and threw her arms around him.

It was a performance. A calculated, theatrical hug.

She looked over Alistairs shoulder, locked eyes with me, and smirked. Then, she reached out and hit the button on the wall.

Whirrrrr.

The automated blinds descended. The view was cut off. Complete blackout.

The message was clear: Private. Keep out.

The bullpen outside the office exploded into whispers.

"Did you see that?"

Amanda, one of the assistants, leaned over her cubicle wall. "Madison is definitely the future Mrs. CEO. The Boss never lets anyone get that close."

"Totally," another employee chimed in. "She's gorgeous, she's gentle... they're perfect for each other."

"I don't know..." a brave soul countered. "I saw the whole thing. He was just signing a contract. She practically threw herself at him."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Don't you know the rumors?"

She lowered her voice, leaning in conspiratorially. "There's a reason the Boss has been celibate for five years..."

Chapter 6

The employees huddled together, voices dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. Amanda led the charge.

"So, whats the real story? Why the monk lifestyle?"

"I heard the Boss had an ex-wife. A total smoke showfamous in the city for her looksbut completely toxic. Loose morals, cruel, the whole package."

"Its worse than that. Rumor has it that when he went bankrupt, she terminated the pregnancy at six months. Just got rid of the kid and ran off with some trust fund baby."

"No wonder hes traumatized. She broke him."

"God, how can a woman be that disgusting?"

Id heard enough.

"Ahem."

I coughed. Loudly.

The huddle broke. They spun around, annoyance flashing across their facesuntil they actually looked at me. For a second, I saw the grudging admiration. My face was my currency, after all.

"Can we help you?" Amanda asked, skepticism creeping back in.

"Im here to see Alistair," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Call his office and let him know I'm here."

Alistair had blocked my number five years ago. I was still on his blocked list.

Their eyes dropped to the bento box in my hand. The disdain returned, heavier this time.

"Great. Another one."

Amanda rolled her eyes, not bothering to lower her voice. "We see your type every day, honey. Pretty face, empty head. You really think a lunch box is going to get you past security? We turn away dozens of gold diggers like you every week."

"Save yourself the embarrassment," another chimed in. "The Boss is inside with our future Lady of the Manor. Theyre busy playing house. He doesnt have time for you."

I opened my mouth to roast them, but the office door clicked open.

Madison stepped out. She paused for effect, making sure every eye was on her. Slowly, deliberately, she buttoned the top of her blouse.

It was a gesture that screamed intimacy. We just finished.

She walked up to me, her voice a sickly sweet purr. "Alistair is just... too much sometimes. No self-control. He practically ripped my new dress off."

She smoothed her collar, feigning exhaustion. "But he promised to take me shopping this afternoon to replace it."

Her gaze flicked to the lunch box. "You can take your Tupperware and go. Alistair doesn't have the stomach for slop made by a wicked ex-wife."

She emphasized "Wicked Ex-Wife" like it was a title on a business card. She wanted the audience to hear it.

And they did. The atmosphere in the bullpen shifted from annoyance to open hostility.

"Wait, that's her?"

"The one who killed his baby? And she has the nerve to come crawling back now that hes rich again? That is psychotic."

Madison smirked. She leaned in close, her breath hot against my ear. "If I were you, Id die of shame. Get out of here. Youre pathetic."

I almost laughed. This? This was her play?

Back when I was forced to be the villain, I wouldn't have stooped to something this basic.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, matching her volume. "I'm staying right here to piss you off. I have thick skin. I don't embarrass easily."

The mask slipped. Madisons face contorted. "How can you be so shameless?"

"Keep watching," I smiled. "You'll see."

Inside the office, Alistair must have heard the commotion. Heavy footsteps approached the door.

Madison heard them too. Her eyes flashed with calculation. She grabbed my wrist. "Hey!"

She yanked my hand. The lunch box flew.

Crash.

Pasta, sauce, and vegetables splattered across the polished floorand all over Madisons expensive skirt. I hadn't even touched her, but she threw herself backward, crumpling to the floor like a broken doll.

Tears instantly flooded her eyes as she looked up at the opening door. "Alistair!" she sobbed, voice trembling. "Miss Naomi saw us together... she got jealous... she pushed me!"

Wow.

I stood there, genuinely impressed. I used to play the villain because a script forced me to. This girl? She was rotten to the core. A natural-born snake.

Alistair stood in the doorway, his silhouette imposing, his face unreadable. He looked at the mess on the floor. He looked at Madison weeping.

Then, his cold, dark eyes locked onto mine. "Did you push her?"

Chapter 7

"I didn't push her."

I said it flatly. No drama. No defense. Just a fact.

In the corner, Archie scrambled off his chair. He sprinted over, holding his phone up like a trophy. "Dad! Look! I got it in 4K"

He was ready to present the digital evidence, but Alistair didn't even look at the screen. He kept his cold gaze fixed on Madison.

"She didn't push you," Alistair said, his voice stripping the oxygen from the room. "Apologize."

Madison, still crumpled on the floor, turned a violent shade of red. She scrambled to her feet, abandoning the fragile victim act for pure indignation.

"You believe her? She's a gold-digging witch! Have you forgotten what she did to you? The bankruptcy? The humiliation?"

She pointed a trembling finger at me. "Alistair, open your eyes! She's only back because youre rich again. Shes looking for a permanent meal ticket!"

"Silence."

The word was spoken softly, but it hit like a hammer. Alistair stepped forward, shielding me from her accusation. "I know exactly who Naomi is. Better than anyone."

His jaw tightened. "She is vicious. She is cruel. But she is arrogant. And she is far too proud to lie about something this petty."

He looked at Madison with the detachment of a man inspecting a spreadsheet error. "And Miss Madison, let's be clear. We are business partners. Nothing more. You do not have the right to comment on my family."

Tears of genuine humiliation welled in Madison's eyes. She clenched her fists, turned on her heel, and marched toward the door.

"Stop."

Alistairs voice arrested her mid-step. "Apologize to Naomi."

He checked his watch. "Or the contract is void. Right now."

Madison froze. She vibrated with rage. She ground her teeth so hard I could almost hear the enamel crack. But money talks.

She turned to me, eyes burning with hate. "I'm sorry."

She stepped closer, invading my personal space as she brushed past to leave. Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper, meant only for me. "Don't get cocky. You popped out a kid; that's your only leverage. If you hadn't birthed that boy, Alistair wouldn't even look at you."

She sneered. "Know your place. He's tolerating you for the child. He doesn't want you."

She stormed out.

Nice try, Madison. But you're wrong. She misread the room. She misread him.

Alistair didn't tolerate me. He was obsessed with me. The hate wasn't the opposite of love; it was the fuel for it.

Five years ago, he was convinced I was in love with Bryce. He thought I wanted to abort our child because it was his, not Bryce's.

We grew up togethera chaotic, wealthy trio. The whole city knew I was Bryces little shadow. When I chose to marry Alistair instead, the entire social circle went into shock.

But Alistair... he had been quietly ecstatic.

It went back to childhood. I had saved his life once. The cost was a jagged, ugly scar across my face. While other kids mocked me or looked away in disgust, Alistair didn't. He wasn't like Bryce, who filled the air with sweet, empty compliments to distract me.

Alistair was silent action. When I locked myself in my room, refusing to be seen, he would sit outside my door for hours. Just sitting.

I remembered his voice from back thenyoung, cracking, trembling with a terrifying intensity. "I will find the best doctors. I will fix this. I promise."

He was a man of his word. He found the specialists. He paid the bills. The scar faded, leaving my skin flawless.

Then, the script took over. I became the villain. I became the gold digger.

I bullied him. I teamed up with Bryce to humiliate him. And sometimes, when the guilt of the "System" ate me alive, I would push him to the edge, just to see if he would break.

"I'm so evil," I used to taunt him, searching his eyes for a sign of release. "Do you hate me yet?"

Chapter 8

Memory pulled me back to a night from our youth.

The moon was dim, barely cutting through the campus fog. I sat on the cold concrete steps. Alistair knelt in the dirt before me, lowering his tall frame until we were eye-to-eye.

He rested his chin on my knees. "I like you," he whispered. "Even when you're cruel."

I looked down at him. "And if I like someone else?"

His eyelashes trembleda glitch in his perfect composure. "Then I would hate you."

Silence stretched between us. Then, his hand came up, cupping my cheek with a touch that was possessive, bordering on desperate. "Naomi. Please. Just love me. Only me."

I didn't listen.

After we married, the script forced my hand. I spent my days texting Bryceplotting how to scam Alistairs fortune, sending flirtatious messages that I knew Alistair would see.

And he did.

The man was known for his iron control came home one night with eyes rimmed red. He snatched my phone, reading the messages. His hand shook. With a guttural roar, he smashed the device against the marble floor. It shattered.

He turned to me, ready to scream, to rage.

But when he saw me flinch, the anger died instantly, replaced by a crushing defeat. He dropped to his knees. The CEO, the titan, crouching like a beggar.

"Cant we just... be a family?" His voice cracked. "Ill be good to you. Anything I have, its yours. Just stop."

It didn't matter how low he bowed. The plot demanded I stay cold.

I remembered the night Bryce dropped me off. Alistair didn't say a word to me. He went into the study and punched the wall until his knuckles were a bloody ruin of shredded skin and bone.

That night, he cried in his sleep.

I lay awake, listening to his muffled sobs, hearing him ask the questions he was too terrified to ask when he was awake. Why are you with me? Did you ever love me?

He never asked me in the daylight. He was too afraid of the answer. He preferred the lie.

I pushed him past every limit. I tested every boundary. And all I got in return was tolerance.

The only time he ever fought back was the day I left him in the dirt.

Naomi, don't let me ever see you again.

"Dad! Stop! It's literally off the floor! That's gross!"

Archies shrill scream snapped me back to the present. I blinked, disoriented.

I looked down. Archie was tugging frantically on Alistairs suit jacket, looking at his father with pure horror.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"The lunch box fell," Archie yelled, pointing. "And Daddy is eating it off the floor!"

My stomach dropped. Alistair was crouched on the linoleum, picking up pieces of the spilled meal. He wasn't just cleaning it up. He was eating it.

I rushed forward, reaching out to slap the ruined food from his hand. "Alistair, stop!"

He recoiled, twisting his body to shield the garbage from me. He held the broken container against his chest like it was a rare diamond.

He looked up. His eyes were red, raw with an emotion I couldn't name.

"Archie said..." He swallowed hard. "He said you made this. Personally."

I stared at him, stunned.

"It's dirty," I whispered. "It's full of glass and dust. Throw it away."

He didn't move. He stared at the mess in his hands, silence hanging heavy and suffocating in the hallway.

"You've never cooked for me," he said softly. "Not once."

Something in my chest shattered. A sharp, physical ache spread behind my eyes