The CEO's Rejected Wife And Secret Heir novel Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Chapter 13: Emotional pain

Aria POV

"Fine." I wiped at my eyes, angry at the tears that had escaped. "I’m fine."

But I wasn’t.

Seeing Damien had cracked something open inside me. Something I’d sealed shut four years ago.

And Lucas—kind, respectful Lucas—had reminded me what it felt like to be treated like a person instead of a possession.

My phone buzzed again.

This time it was Lucas: Thank you again for tonight. Looking forward to working together. —L

I smiled despite myself, warmth blooming in my chest.

Then another message came through.

Damien again: I know you hate me. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But if you kept the baby, if I have a child, please. Please just tell me.

I stared at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Then I typed: You have nothing. You threw it all away. Don’t contact me again.

I hit send and turned off my phone with a decisive click.

The city lights blurred past the window.Tonight, I let myself feel everything I’d been holding back.

The pain.

The anger.

The terrible, awful truth that seeing Damien again had affected me more than I wanted to admit.

"We’re home, Ms. Monroe," my driver announced softly.

I looked up. My penthouse building rose above us, my sanctuary.

I stepped out of the car and rode the elevator to the top floor, watching the numbers climb.

The moment I opened the door, Noah came running, his little feet pounding on hardwood.

"Mama!" He crashed into my legs, his little arms wrapping around me with pure joy.

I dropped to my knees and pulled him close, breathing in his little-boy smell of soap and innocence, my eyes burning.

"Hi, baby." I kissed the top of his head, my voice thick. "Did you have fun with Miss Sarah?"

"We watched the dinosaur movie again!" His ice-blue eyes sparkled with excitement, so like his father’s. "And I drawed you a picture!"

He ran to get it, his footsteps thundering, leaving me kneeling on the floor.

Sarah, the sitter, smiled from the doorway with maternal warmth. "He was perfect, as always."

"Thank you." I stood, composing myself with effort. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Of course," she said, gathering her things.

After she left with a quiet click of the door, Noah returned with his drawing clutched in both hands. A family of stick figures—him, me, and a taller figure with spiky hair.

"Who’s that?" I asked, pointing to the third figure with a trembling finger.

"That’s my daddy!" Noah said happily, innocent and hopeful. "I gived him your hair color ’cause I don’t know what he looks like."

My heart stopped, the world tilting on its axis.

"Mama?" Noah looked up at me, his expression concerned. "Are you crying?"

"Happy tears, baby." I pulled him onto my lap, holding him tight. "These are happy tears."

He snuggled against me, accepting this explanation without question, his small body warm and trusting.

I sat there on the floor with Noah in my arms, his drawing crumpled between us, trying to find words that wouldn’t break his heart or mine.

"Can I meet my daddy someday?" he asked, his little fingers tracing the stick figure with spiky hair.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "Maybe someday, sweetheart."

"Does he know about me?" He tilted his head, those ice-blue eyes searching my face.

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. I thought about Damien’s messages, his desperate pleas, the raw need in his voice when he’d asked about the baby.

"It’s complicated," I said finally, brushing a dark curl from his forehead.

Noah nodded like he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly, his small brow furrowing. "Jake at school says his daddy lives far away too."

"Come on." I stood, lifting him with me, my voice deliberately bright. "It’s way past your bedtime."

I carried him to his room, going through our nightly routine on autopilot. Pajamas. Teeth brushing. Story time. But my mind was elsewhere, spinning through possibilities and consequences.

"Mama?" Noah’s voice was drowsy as I tucked him in, his hand clutching his favorite stuffed dinosaur.

Please, Aria. If there’s even a chance.

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