Perfect! Here's the continuation with chapter Chapter Seven: Whispers in the Past
Damien Wolfe wasn't known for patience.
By the time the sun dipped below the Manhattan skyline, he had already made four phone calls—each one more specific than the last.
His private investigator, Marcus Gray, had never failed him. And Damien didn't care how many years had passed—he wanted answers.
Where had Ava gone?
Why had she cut all ties overnight?
And what exactly had she been doing for the past five years?
"I want employment records, hospital visits, travel logs. Any sign she was hiding something. Someone," Damien ordered over the phone.
There was a pause on the line. "Sir, may I ask… is this personal?"
Damien's jaw flexed. "It's everything."
He hung up.
Something wasn't adding up. Ava had always been emotional—vibrant, honest. Even in their worst moments, she never hid. But now? She moved like someone carrying more than grief.
She moved like a mother.
The thought struck him hard and fast—shocking him with how quickly it felt… real.
He stood abruptly, pushing away from his desk.
And for the first time in five years, he feared the truth.
Meanwhile, across the city, Ava sat curled on Jessica's worn-out couch, clutching a cup of peppermint tea that had long gone cold.
"He's going to find out," Jessica said softly, watching her from the kitchen doorway.
Ava didn't reply.
"You know that, right?" Jessica continued. "He's Damien Wolfe. You don't think he's already pulling every file, every photo, every scrap of your life?"
Ava's eyes burned. "I don't owe him anything."
"You owe your son the truth," Jessica said, her voice gentle but firm.
"I'm protecting him."
"No, Ava," she said, stepping closer. "You're protecting yourself. Because the second Damien finds out about Liam, you lose control. Over everything."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Ava whispered, "What if he takes him from me?"
Jessica's expression softened. "Then you fight. Like the mother you are. But you can't lie forever. Not when the truth looks exactly like him."
In the next room, Liam coughed.
And Ava closed her eyes.
Chapter Eight: A Father's Instinct
Damien sat alone in his penthouse suite, staring at the only photo Marcus had managed to find so far.
It was grainy. A random street snapshot in Chicago from two years ago.
But there she was—Ava, holding a toddler in her arms.
The child's face was turned away.
But the curls…
Damien's breath caught.
They were just like his.
And suddenly, the sharpest pain he'd ever known wrapped around his chest.
He had a son.
He was almost sure of it.
And she hadn't told him.
Not a single word.