"Absolutely not."

I stare at the contract my lawyer has just handed me, the words "full custody" and "parental rights" jumping off the page like accusations.


"He can't be serious," I continue, pacing the suite's living room while Caroline watches calmly from the sofa. "The DNA test results aren't even back yet."

"Ethan Knight didn't build a billion-dollar empire by waiting for things to happen," Caroline replies, crossing her legs. "He's getting ahead of the inevitable. The contract is actually quite generous—"

"Generous?" I interrupt, my voice rising before I catch myself, glancing toward Leo's bedroom door. He's napping after our morning at Knight Industries, exhausted from the excitement and tension he's too young to fully understand.


I lower my voice. "He wants shared custody. Weekends, holidays, his name on the birth certificate. This isn't generosity, Caroline. It's a takeover."

Caroline sighs, removing her glasses. "Olivia, from a legal standpoint, he's being reasonable. Most men in his position would be demanding paternity fraud damages, back child support payments, even primary custody given his resources compared to yours."


"My resources are considerable," I remind her.

"Yes, but your company is new. His is established. His family name carries weight. And there's the matter of your... history."

The unspoken hangs between us—the scandal that drove me from New York five years ago. The false accusations of unprofessional conduct, the whispers of drug use and promiscuity that Cassandra so carefully orchestrated.

"He doesn't know the full story," I say finally. "About that night."

Caroline's expression sharpens. "What full story?"

I hesitate. I've never told anyone the complete truth—not even Caroline, who knows only that I left New York under a cloud of scandal and returned with a child and a fortune.

"It doesn't matter," I say, waving away the question. "What matters is that I won't sign this. Leo is my son. Mine. For five years, Ethan Knight didn't even know he existed."

"Because you didn't tell him," Caroline points out gently.

"Because I couldn't!" The words escape before I can stop them, raw with five years of buried pain. "You have no idea what I went through, what was taken from me. Leo was the only thing I had left."

Caroline studies me for a long moment. "Olivia, I'm your lawyer, not your therapist. But as someone who's handled hundreds of paternity cases, I can tell you this: fighting Ethan Knight will be expensive, exhausting, and public. Is that what you want for Leo?"

The question hits its mark. Everything I've done since returning to New York has been calculated, controlled. A public custody battle would derail my carefully laid plans for revenge.

"No," I admit reluctantly. "But I won't just hand over my son to a stranger."

"Then negotiate," Caroline advises. "Offer terms that protect your interests while acknowledging his rights. He clearly wants to be part of Leo's life. Use that."

Use that. The words echo in my mind, aligning with thoughts I've been considering since yesterday's meeting. Perhaps there's a way to turn this situation to my advantage—to bind Ethan Knight to me in a way that serves my larger purpose.

"What if..." I begin slowly, an idea taking shape. "What if I proposed marriage?"

Caroline's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"A marriage of convenience," I clarify. "One year, with clear terms. Leo gets stability—two parents in one household. Ethan gets daily access to his son without the messiness of custody schedules. And I maintain primary authority over Leo's upbringing."

"And what do you get?" Caroline asks shrewdly.

What indeed? Access to Ethan's resources, his connections, his power. The perfect cover for my revenge against Cassandra and Diana. And most importantly, time to determine whether Ethan was complicit in my downfall or merely another victim.

"Protection," I say simply. "For Leo and for myself."

Caroline looks skeptical. "Ethan Knight is one of New York's most eligible bachelors. Why would he agree to a loveless marriage when he could simply fight for custody?"

"Because a public custody battle would damage his reputation and distract from his business. Because Leo needs stability, not parents who are at war. And because..." I pause, calculating my next words carefully. "Because I think he feels guilty about that night, even if he doesn't remember it."

Caroline studies me for a long moment. "This is unorthodox, to say the least. But if you're serious, I can draft a proposal. Prenuptial agreement, clear terms for dissolution after one year, provisions for Leo's care."

"Do it," I decide. "I'll present it to him tonight at dinner."

After Caroline leaves, I check on Leo, who's still sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. Looking at him, I feel a momentary pang of doubt. Am I using my own child as a pawn in my revenge?

No, I tell myself firmly. Everything I do is for his future, for his birthright. The Morgan legacy belongs to him as much as to me.

I close his door softly and return to my bedroom to prepare for tonight's dinner with Ethan. The white Armani dress I've chosen is both elegant and strategic—sophisticated enough for a business dinner, alluring enough to remind Ethan of what he can't remember from that night five years ago.

As I apply my makeup, I study my reflection, searching for traces of the old Olivia. She's gone, replaced by this harder, colder version who calculates every move like a chess grandmaster.

My phone buzzes with a text from Marcus:

*"Diana Morgan spotted at Le Bernardin with Maxwell Pierce. Surveillance photos incoming."*

Maxwell Pierce—CEO of Pierce Industries and father to Nathaniel, Cassandra's accomplice in my downfall. What business would Diana have with him after all these years?

The photos arrive moments later—Diana and Maxwell, heads close together over wine glasses, their expressions serious. This isn't a social lunch; it's a business meeting. Or something worse.

I forward the photos to my investigator with instructions to dig deeper. Diana has always been the power behind Cassandra's throne, the architect of my mother's death and possibly my own destruction. Whatever she's planning with Maxwell Pierce can't be good.

Another text arrives, this one from an unknown number:

*"Car will pick you up at 6:45. -EK"*

Presumptuous, sending a car without asking. But then, Ethan Knight has spent a lifetime having the world bend to his will. He's in for a surprise tonight.

At 6:30, I kiss a sleepy Leo goodbye, leaving him in Marcus's capable hands with strict instructions for bedtime. At 6:45 precisely, the concierge calls to announce my car has arrived.

The sleek black Bentley purrs at the curb, a uniformed driver holding the door. As I slide into the leather interior, I'm surprised to find Ethan himself waiting inside.

"I thought we were meeting at the restaurant," I say, maintaining my composure despite the unexpected change in plans.

He looks devastating in a charcoal suit that emphasizes his broad shoulders, his blue eyes intent on my face. "I prefer to conduct sensitive business discussions in private. I've arranged a dining room at Lumière."

Of course he has. Ethan Knight doesn't do business in public where others might overhear.

"Very well," I reply coolly. "Though I was under the impression this dinner was about the Morgan Group acquisition, not our personal situation."

"It's about both," he says as the car pulls away from the curb. "The DNA results came back early."

My heart skips a beat. "And?"

"99.9998% probability that I'm Leo's father." His voice is carefully neutral, but I can see the emotion he's restraining—anger, wonder, perhaps even hurt. "Though I didn't need a test to tell me what was obvious from the moment I saw him."

I say nothing, watching the city lights blur past the window. I'd expected the results tomorrow, had planned my approach accordingly. Ethan is once again forcing me to adapt.

"Your lawyer delivered your counter-proposal this afternoon," he continues. "I've reviewed it with my team."

"And?" I ask again, turning to face him.

"It's unacceptable." His jaw tightens. "I won't be a part-time father with 'visitation rights.' Leo is my son. I've already missed five years of his life."

"Through no fault of mine," I reply sharply. "I didn't even know your name when I woke up in that hotel room. By the time I discovered I was pregnant, my life was in ruins and you were unreachable."

It's not entirely true—I could have found him if I'd tried hard enough. But the lie serves my purpose.

"We both know that's not the full story," Ethan says, his eyes never leaving mine. "Something happened that night. Something neither of us remembers clearly."

The car pulls up to Lumière, saving me from having to respond. The restaurant's owner, Julian, greets us personally at a private entrance, leading us through the kitchen to a secluded dining room in the back.

"Your usual room, Mr. Knight," Julian says, gesturing to a beautifully set table for two. "The chef has prepared a special menu for this evening."

"Thank you, Julian," Ethan replies. "We're not to be disturbed except for service."

Julian nods and withdraws, closing the door behind him. The room is intimate, lit by candles and a small crystal chandelier, with views of the garden courtyard through French doors.

"You come here often," I observe as Ethan holds my chair.

"I own it," he replies simply, taking his seat across from me. "A sound investment. The chef has three Michelin stars."

Of course he owns it. Ethan Knight collects businesses like other men collect watches or cars.