Page 14 of Secret Heir

He freezes, sandwich halfway to his mouth, eyes wide with fear.

Fuck. I didn’t mean to scare him.

“I mean take your time,” I say, softening my voice. “There’s plenty. You can eat as much as you want. No one will take it from you.”

He nods, but I can see he doesn’t believe me. He takes another bite then glances at the food still on the table. Calculating. Planning.

Then I see him do it.

He takes two more sandwiches and stuffs them in the pockets of his hoodie with quick, furtive movements like he’s stealing.

It’s as if he expects someone to stop him.

Food hoarding. I’ve seen it before in children who’ve gone hungry and learned that food is scarce.

My son has been starving.

My son has been living like a street urchin while his mother worked herself to death in a failing gallery.

My son has been going without while I’ve been searching for him.

I’ve had wealth and everything he needed right here waiting for him.

The rage is a red tide behind my eyes.

I want to grab Aria and demand to know how she could let this happen.

How she could watch our son go hungry and not come to me.

Not ask for help.

Not give him the life he deserved.

But I don’t. I sit perfectly still and watch Daniel hoard food in his pockets.

He’s calculating how much he can take without being noticed. He’s learned to survive in ways a seven-year-old should never have to learn.

Aria is crying silently, tears streaming down her face as she watches him. She knows what this means.

She knows I’m seeing exactly what kind of life she’s given our son.

Good. Let her see it through my eyes. Let her understand what she’s done.

“Daniel,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to hide the food. If you’re still hungry later, there will be more. I promise.”

He looks at me with those gray Sokolov eyes and I see the distrust there. The wariness of a child who’s learned that promises mean nothing.

“Okay,” he says but he doesn’t take the sandwiches out of his pockets.

The flight to the Hamptons takes less than two hours. Daniel eventually curls up in his seat, the rabbit tucked under his chin, and falls asleep. The sandwiches are still in his pockets.

Aria sits rigid beside him, one hand on his shoulder like she’s making sure he’s still there. Her face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She looks destroyed.

It brings me joy.

“We need to talk,” I say when I’m sure Daniel is deeply asleep. “About why you ran.”

She doesn’t look at me and she stiffens. “I have nothing to say to you.”