Page 28 of Secret Heir

Truth.

I owe him truth, even when it’s complicated.

“Yes,” I say. “I do.”

Daniel’s brows knit together. “But you’re mad at her.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

How do I explain to him that his mother kept him from me for seven years and let him suffer when one phone call would have changed everything?

That I’m furious and heartbroken and still somehow in love with her?

“Because she made choices I don’t agree with,” I say finally, sighing as I finish washing my hands. “Choices that hurt both of us. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”

He nods slowly, processing. “Mama says you’re dangerous.”

“I know.” He already told me that earlier, but it is clearly something he’s still thinking about. I turn off the water and hand him a towel. “Do you think I’m dangerous?”

He studies me for a long moment, and I hold my breath waiting for his answer.

“I don’t know yet,” he says finally and my stomach curdles at that. “You haven’t hurt me. Or Mama.” He kicks a pebble. “But Mama is scared, so maybe you’re dangerous to other people.”

Ah, smart boy. Too smart for his own good.

“I can be dangerous,” I admit. “But not to my family. Never to my family.”

“Are we your family now?” he asks cautiously, looking up at me through his fringe.

“Yes,” I tell him firmly. “You are. You always have been, even when I didn’t know you existed.”

He seems to accept this, and we walk back to the house in companionable silence.

My barber Nikita comes to the estate on the fifth morning. Daniel’s hair has gotten too long and it’s falling into his eyes.

The ends are uneven like they were cut with kitchen scissors. Which, now that I think about it, they probably were.

When I mention it to Aria, her face goes tight. “I always cut his hair,” she says coolly.

“And now someone else can.” I keep my voice level. “Nikita is good. I’ve used him for fifteen years. He won’t hurt him.”

She flushes. “That’s not the point⁠—”

“Mama.” Daniel looks up from the puzzle he’s working on. “I want a haircut.”

Aria’s mouth opens then closes.

I can see her struggling with her desire to argue but not wanting to do it in front of Daniel. Finally, she nods stiffly.

Nikita sets up in the sitting room with a towel and his scissors.

Daniel climbs into the chair, and Nikita asks the question he asks every client. “How do you want it cut?”

Daniel doesn’t hesitate. He points directly at me. “Like that.”

The world stops.