She's real.
For six years, I've told myself that Isla Chen was a liar. A gold-digger. A woman who tried to trap me with a fake pregnancy to stop my business deal. I've replayed that day in my office a thousand times, convincing myself I made the right choice throwing her out.
But standing here, staring at her across this ballroom, every certainty I've built crumbles to dust.
She's real. And she's terrified of me.
I watch her face go pale as she reads something on her phone. Her hands shake so badly that the phone slips from her fingers. Marcus—my rival, the man who has his arm around my... around Isla—catches it and his expression turns to stone.
Something's wrong. Very wrong.
I push through the crowd, ignoring the investors trying to talk to me. James calls my name behind me, but I don't stop. I need to reach her. I need to understand why seeing me makes her look like she's watching her world end all over again.
"Isla Chen." Her name feels strange on my tongue after six years of silence. "It's been a long time."
Up close, she's even more beautiful than I remembered. But it's a different kind of beauty—harder, colder, like she's covered herself in armor. The soft, trusting girl who stumbled into my hotel room is gone. This woman looks at me like I'm a snake ready to strike.
Good. She should hate me. I earned it.
"Mr. Ashford." Her voice is ice. Not Dominic. Not even a hint of the warmth she showed me that blurry, confusing night six years ago.
Marcus steps between us, and I want to shove him aside. "Ashford. I didn't realize you knew my fiancée."
Fiancée. The word hits me like a punch to the gut. My hands curl into fists at my sides.
"We don't know each other," Isla says quickly, too quickly. "We have no connection. He made that very clear six years ago."
The bitterness in her voice cuts deeper than any business loss ever has. What did I do to make her hate me this much? Yes, I threw her out of my office, but if she was lying about the pregnancy—
"Isla, we need to talk." I keep my voice level, controlled. The voice that makes board members scramble to obey.
"We have nothing to discuss." She grabs Marcus's arm like a lifeline. "Let's go, darling."
They start to walk away, and panic—actual panic—floods my chest. She's leaving again. Disappearing. And this time, I might never find her.
"Wait!" I reach for her arm without thinking.
Marcus's hand shoots out, blocking me. "Don't touch her."
"This is none of your business, Langford."
"She's my fiancée. That makes it entirely my business."
We're causing a scene. People are staring, phones coming out. Tomorrow, this will be all over the business news. But I don't care. Let them watch. Let them gossip. I need answers.
"Isla, please." I hate how desperate I sound. "Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."
She finally looks directly at me, and the pain in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees. "You had your chance to talk six years ago, Mr. Ashford. You chose to have security drag me out instead."
The words hang in the air between us like an accusation. Around us, I hear gasps. Phones are definitely recording now.
"Security?" Marcus's voice is dangerous. "You had security remove her?"
"She came to my office making accusations—"
"I came to you telling the TRUTH!" Isla's voice cracks, and I've never seen such fury in someone's eyes. "I came to you pregnant and scared, and you called me a—"
She stops herself, breathing hard. Tears shine in her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall.
Pregnant. She said pregnant. Past tense. Which means—
"What happened to the baby?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
Isla's face goes completely blank. Empty. Like I just asked her the cruelest thing imaginable.
"We're leaving." Marcus puts his arm around her shoulders. "Don't contact her again, Ashford. My lawyers will be in touch if you try."
They turn away, and this time I let them go. I'm too stunned to move. My mind races through the math. Six years ago. She said she was pregnant. If she had the baby...
"Sir?" James appears at my elbow, his phone in his hand. "We have a problem."
"Not now." I can't tear my eyes away from Isla's retreating back.
"Sir, this can't wait." James's voice is urgent. "I just got a call from our security team. There was an incident at Memorial Park thirty minutes ago—someone tried to kidnap a child. The kid's mother is named Lily Zhang."
My blood runs cold. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because the man we caught said he was hired to grab the kid and bring him to someone at this summit." James shows me his phone screen. "And sir, he had a photo. The target wasn't just any child."
I look at the photo. The world tilts sideways.
A little boy, maybe five years old, with dark hair and a serious expression. He's building something with blocks, his small face scrunched in concentration.
The boy has my eyes. My exact silver-gray eyes. Even his facial features—the strong jawline, the way his eyebrows furrow—it's like looking at childhood photos of myself.
"That's impossible," I whisper.
"Sir, there's more." James swipes to another photo. "This was found in the kidnapper's pocket."
It's a picture of Isla, clearly taken without her knowledge. She's walking with the same little boy, holding his hand. They're both laughing.
Written on the back in red ink: "Deliver the Ashford heir to the warehouse by midnight. $500,000 on completion."
Ashford heir.
Someone knows. Someone knows I have a son I didn't know existed until thirty seconds ago. And they're trying to take him.
I look up, searching the crowd for Isla, and she's gone. Vanished with Marcus into the night, running toward her son who's in danger.
Running toward our son.
"Find them," I tell James, my voice deadly calm. "Find Isla Chen right now. And get our best security team to Memorial Park immediately."
"Sir, what's going on?"
I stare at the photo of the little boy—my son—and something fierce and protective roars to life in my chest. A feeling I've never experienced before.
"I'm a father, James. And someone just declared war on my family."
I stride toward the exit, my mind already calculating. Whoever tried to take my son made a fatal mistake. They thought Dominic Ashford was dangerous when he was protecting his business empire.
They're about to learn what I'm like when I'm protecting my child.
Behind me, I hear shocked whispers spreading through the ballroom like wildfire. Let them talk. Let them judge. None of it matters.
The only thing that matters is reaching Isla and our son before whoever wants to hurt them tries again.
But as I push through the doors into the cold night air, one question burns through my mind:
Who knew about my son before I did—and why do they want him badly enough to kill for him?