Damian Blackwood had stared down hostile boards, ruthless investors, and men who would happily ruin him for profit.
Nothing had ever slowed his pulse like this.
His private lounge felt suddenly too small.
Two little boys sat on the leather couch, legs swinging in careless rhythm, juice boxes clenched in their hands like trophies. Identical dark hair. Identical storm-grey eyes. Identical expressions that looked unsettlingly… familiar.
One boy tilted his head, studying Damian.
The other followed suit.
Mirrors.
Miniature, living mirrors.
Damian's throat tightened. His mouth opened—but no sound came out.
Before he could recover, the door behind him opened.
Soft footsteps crossed the floor.
Careful. Controlled.
Then a voice he hadn't heard in three years—and yet had never stopped hearing.
"I heard you found my children."
Damian turned.
And the world stalled.
Lena Hart stood in the doorway.
Not the girl he remembered.
Not the timid woman who used to hover at the edge of his life.
This Lena was composed. Immaculate. Distant. Her long waves framed a sharper jawline, her gaze cool and guarded. She wore black—tailored, expensive—and heels that announced authority with every step.
She looked untouchable.
She didn't look at him.
She walked past him as if he were furniture and knelt in front of the boys.
"Liam. Leo. Are you two okay?"
"Mommy!" they shouted in unison, launching themselves at her.
The word hit Damian like a blade.
Mommy.
He watched her kiss their foreheads, smooth their hair, murmur reassurances. Her touch was gentle. Certain. The touch of someone who had never doubted her place.
When she stood, she finally met his eyes.
There was no warmth there.
Not even curiosity.
Damian felt something ugly coil in his chest.
"You left them alone at the airport?" he asked, voice low.
Lena arched a brow. "I went to the restroom, Damian. Humans do that."
The jab landed cleanly.
She wasn't afraid of him.
That realization unsettled him more than anger ever could.
"We need to talk."
"About what?" she asked coolly. "Your schedule? The weather? Or my children you've known for exactly ten minutes?"
My children.
She said it without hesitation.
Without permission.
Damian stepped closer. "Why did you leave?"
She laughed—quiet, sharp. "That's where you're starting?"
"You disappeared," he said. "No note. No explanation."
"You didn't earn one."
The words were calm.
Final.
"You vanished for three years," he pressed. "Do you know what that did—"
"To you?" she cut in smoothly. "Did your empire survive the trauma?"
He had expected guilt.
Tears.
Not this controlled fire.
"Don't play games," he said. "I looked for you."
She shrugged. "I'm sure."
The boys' voices broke the tension.
"Mommy, who's that angry man?" one whispered.
Damian inhaled sharply.
"He looks like us," the other added. "Maybe he's our uncle."
Lena straightened. "Boys, go wait by the chairs."
They obeyed instantly, whispering together as they walked away.
Damian watched them.
His sons.
The truth surged hot and undeniable.
"You had my children," he said quietly.
She turned back, eyes cold. "You made it clear you didn't want a family."
"That's not—"
"You made me sign a contract forbidding pregnancy," she snapped. "Did you forget?"
His throat closed.
"You treated me like a liability," she continued. "Like something temporary. And the one night you touched me, you spent the morning making sure I knew it was a mistake."
Regret—real, brutal—cut through him.
"You should've told me," he said hoarsely.
"And why?" she shot back. "So you could punish me for breaking your rules?"
He had no answer.
"This isn't just about us," he said. "The boys—"
"My sons."
"They're mine too."
She didn't blink. "Biology doesn't raise children. I did."
The truth struck deep.
"You're not taking them away again," he said.
She laughed softly. "I never planned to see you again, Damian."
The words hollowed him out.
"And them?" he asked. "Don't they deserve their father?"
Her gaze softened—just for a second—as she looked at the twins.
"I'll tell them," she said. "When I decide."
"When you decide."
"Yes."
"And if I want to be involved now?"
She met his stare. "Then you'll learn what it's like to want something you don't control."
The door opened.
"Ms. Hart," security said. "Your car is ready."
She reached for the boys' hands.
Damian stepped in front of her.
"You're not leaving."
She smiled—slow, dangerous. "Move."
"No."
She leaned in, voice like steel wrapped in silk.
"If you think you can intimidate me the way you used to… you're years too late."
Then, softly:
"You'll get your answers. Just not today."
She brushed past him.
The twins followed.
Damian stood frozen, watching them disappear down the corridor.
His sons.
His past.
His mistake.
But one truth burned brighter than everything else.
Lena Hart had returned.
And Damian Blackwood did not lose what was his—
not twice.