The CEO's Rejected Wife And Secret Heir novel Chapter 65

Chapter 65: Chapter 65: Building Trust

Aria’s POV - Next Morning

I woke to the sound of laughter.

Not just any laughter—Noah’s delighted giggles mixed with a deeper, masculine chuckle that made my chest ache.

I grabbed my robe and padded downstairs barefoot, following the sound to the kitchen. The scene that greeted me stopped me in the doorway.

Damien stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with surprising competence. He wore jeans and a t-shirt. Noah sat on the counter beside him, his feet swinging, chocolate chips smeared across his face.

"And then the pancake flew!" Noah threw his hands up dramatically. "Right to the ceiling!"

"It did not fly to the ceiling." Damien flipped another pancake onto a plate. "It maybe went up a foot."

"It flew!" Noah insisted. "And then it landed on your head!"

Damien ruffled Noah’s hair, sending flour dust everywhere. "You’re a terrible witness. Very unreliable."

"What’s unree-liable?"

"It means you make things up."

"I don’t make things up!" Noah gasped, offended. "The pancake really flew!"

"Sure it did, buddy." Damien slid the pancake onto Noah’s plate. "Here, eat your flying pancake before it escapes again."

Noah giggled and grabbed his fork. Then he spotted me in the doorway.

"Mama!" He waved his fork enthusiastically. "Daddy made breakfast! And a pancake flew to the ceiling!"

"I see that." I moved into the kitchen, hyper-aware of Damien’s eyes tracking my movement. "That’s quite an impressive pancake."

"It barely left the pan," Damien said, his lips twitching. "Our son has a very active imagination."

"I wonder where he gets that from." I poured myself coffee from the pot Damien had already made. "You’re up early."

"Couldn’t sleep." He returned to the stove, starting another pancake. "Figured I’d make myself useful."

What he didn’t say—what hung unspoken between us—was that tonight we’d be facing Marcus. That this might be our last normal morning together.

The thought made my stomach twist.

"Want some?" Damien gestured to the pancake batter. "I can make them however you like."

"Just plain is fine."

"No chocolate chips?" Noah looked scandalized. "Mama, you have to have chocolate chips!"

"Listen to your son." Damien was already adding chips to the batter. "He knows what’s important in life."

I sat at the island, watching them work together. Noah chattered nonstop about his dreams, about the games he wanted to play today, about how Mr. Hoppy needed a friend rabbit to keep him company.

And Damien listened. Really listened, responding to every ramble with genuine interest and attention.

This was what I’d dreamed of years ago. A family breakfast, casual and warm. My husband making pancakes while our son talked his ear off. Simple domestic happiness.

"Here." Damien slid a plate in front of me. The pancake was perfectly golden, studded with chocolate chips, with a smiley face made of whipped cream. "One order of happiness, as requested by the expert."

"I didn’t request"

"Mr. Hoppy requested it." Noah held up his stuffed rabbit. "He said Mama needs to smile more."

My throat tightened. "Did he now?"

"Uh huh." Noah made the rabbit nod. "He says you’re pretty when you smile."

"Mr. Hoppy is very wise." Damien caught my eye, his expression soft.

I looked away, focusing on my pancake. "Thank you. Both of you."

We ate in companionable silence, broken only by Noah’s occasional observations about syrup viscosity and whether rabbits could eat pancakes.

It felt normal. Safe. Like we were actually a family instead of two broken people trying to protect their son from a madman.

"What are we doing today?" Noah asked, licking syrup off his fingers.

Damien and I exchanged glances. We couldn’t tell him about tonight, couldn’t let him know the danger we were walking into.

"How about the park?" I suggested. "We could feed the ducks."

"And the playground!" Noah bounced in his seat. "Can Daddy come too?"

"I wouldn’t miss it." Damien started clearing plates. "But we need to stick together, okay buddy? No running off."

"Because of the bad man?" Noah’s voice got small.

Damien froze. "What bad man?"

"The shadow man." Noah clutched Mr. Hoppy tighter. "The one who took me. He’s still out there, isn’t he?"

I wanted to lie. Wanted to tell him everything was fine, that he was safe, that monsters only existed in stories.

But I’d learned the hard way that children could sense lies. And Noah deserved honesty, as much as he could handle.

"Yes," I said gently. "The bad man is still out there. But Daddy and I are going to make sure he can’t hurt you anymore."

"How?"

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