The photograph of Leo haunts me as I prepare for the day, Cassandra's message playing on repeat in my mind: "Such a precious boy. It would be a shame if his parentage became a public scandal."

A direct threat against my child—the one line no one crosses without consequences.


I've already called Marcus, instructing him to increase security around Leo's school and to investigate how Cassandra managed to get close enough to photograph him without being noticed. Now I need to tell Ethan, despite the fragile state of our relationship after last night's revelations.

I find him in the kitchen, already dressed for work in an impeccable charcoal suit, making coffee with the focused precision he brings to everything. He looks up as I enter, his expression guarded but not hostile.

"Good morning," he says, offering me a cup. "Leo's still asleep. I thought I'd let him rest a few more minutes before school."


"Thank you," I reply, accepting the coffee. "Ethan, there's something you need to see."

I show him the text from Cassandra, watching as his expression transforms from curiosity to cold fury. His fingers tighten around his phone, knuckles whitening.


"When did this come in?" he asks, voice dangerously controlled.

"Last night, after you went to bed."

"And you've already called Marcus," he concludes, noting the early hour. "What security measures has he implemented?"

The immediate shift to protective action rather than recriminations touches me deeply. Whatever his feelings about my deception, Ethan's priority is Leo's safety—just as mine is.

"Additional guards at the school, plainclothes. Background checks on all staff. Marcus is also investigating how she got close enough for that photo."

Ethan nods, already typing on his phone. "I'm adding Knight Industries security as well. Different team, different protocols—redundancy is good in these situations. And I'm calling our attorney to prepare restraining orders against both Cassandra and Nathaniel Pierce."

His efficiency is impressive, his protective instincts matching my own. For all our current complications, in this we are perfectly aligned: Leo's safety above all else.

"Thank you," I say simply.

Ethan looks up from his phone, his expression softening slightly. "You don't need to thank me for protecting our son, Olivia. Whatever is happening between us, Leo's security is non-negotiable."

Our son. The simple acknowledgment of our shared responsibility, our unbreakable connection through Leo, creates a warmth in my chest despite the circumstances.

"We should tell him something," I suggest. "Not the full situation, obviously, but enough that he understands why there will be extra security around him."

Ethan considers this. "We could frame it as a standard procedure for children of public figures. He knows I run a large company, that people sometimes take pictures of us at events. We can explain that sometimes we need extra protection from people who are too interested in our family."

The approach is perfect—truthful without being frightening, age-appropriate without being dismissive. Another reminder of what an exceptional father Ethan has become in the short time he's known Leo.

"That works," I agree. "We should tell him together, present a united front."

"Agreed," Ethan says, checking his watch. "I'll wake him now. We have time before school."

Leo takes the news better than expected, more excited than concerned about having "special guards" watching over him. "Like secret agents?" he asks, eyes wide with intrigue rather than fear.

"Something like that," Ethan confirms, helping him with his cereal. "They're very discreet—you might not even notice them. But they're there to make sure you're safe."

"Because you and Mommy are important business people," Leo recites, clearly processing the explanation we've given him.

"Exactly," I confirm, smoothing his hair. "And because you're the most important person to both of us."

Leo beams at this, secure in our love despite the tension he must sense between us. Children are remarkably resilient, especially when they feel protected and valued.

After dropping Leo at school—both of us watching until he's safely inside, noting the subtle presence of security personnel positioned strategically around the grounds—Ethan and I find ourselves alone in the car, the professional distance of our driver providing a semblance of privacy.

"We need to discuss how to handle Cassandra's threat," Ethan says, his business voice firmly in place. "Legally, financially, publicly—all angles."

"I agree," I reply, matching his professional tone. "But not here. Your office or mine?"

"Mine has better security protocols," he decides. "I'll have my assistant clear my morning schedule."

The ease with which we slip into strategic planning mode—setting aside our personal complications to focus on the threat at hand—reminds me why we make such effective partners, in business and in parenting, if not yet fully reconciled in our personal relationship.

At Knight Industries, Ethan's executive assistant greets us with practiced efficiency, not batting an eye at my unexpected presence despite the obvious tension between us. She's clearly accustomed to Ethan's demanding schedule and changing priorities.

"I've cleared your calendar until noon, Mr. Knight," she informs him. "And the secure conference room is ready as requested."

"Thank you, Jennifer," Ethan replies. "No interruptions unless it's about Leo or an absolute emergency."

The secure conference room proves to be a technological fortress—soundproofed walls, signal jammers to prevent electronic eavesdropping, and a sophisticated security system that requires Ethan's fingerprint and retinal scan for entry.

"Paranoid?" I ask with a raised eyebrow as the heavy door seals behind us.

"Prudent," Ethan corrects. "Knight Industries develops proprietary technology worth billions. This room is where we discuss our most sensitive projects and negotiations."

And now it's where we'll plan our counter-strategy against Cassandra's threats to our son. The symbolism isn't lost on me—Leo is more valuable than any corporate secret or business deal.

Ethan activates a digital display that covers one wall, then connects his phone. "I've asked our head of security to join us virtually. He's former FBI, specializes in threat assessment and protective operations."

Moments later, a serious-faced man in his fifties appears on the screen. "Mr. Knight, Mrs. Knight," he greets us with a nod. "I've been briefed on the situation. We've already deployed additional security to your son's school and are conducting background checks on all staff and regular visitors."

"Thank you, Robert," Ethan replies. "What's your assessment of the threat level?"

Robert's expression is professionally neutral. "Based on the message and Ms. Morgan's history, I'd categorize this as a credible threat requiring immediate countermeasures. However, it appears to be primarily aimed at leveraging information rather than physical harm to your son."

"Blackmail rather than violence," I clarify.

"Precisely, Mrs. Knight. Ms. Morgan seems to be threatening to expose sensitive information about your son's parentage unless certain demands are met. Though those demands weren't specified in the initial message."

"They will be," I say grimly. "This is just the opening move."

Ethan turns to me. "You know Cassandra better than anyone. What's her likely play here?"

The question acknowledges my unique insight into our adversary—a perspective that comes from growing up alongside her, watching her manipulate and scheme her way through life.

"She wants to maintain her position at Morgan Group," I analyze. "The acquisition proposal threatens that directly. If I gain significant control of the company, her days are numbered and she knows it. She'll demand I withdraw the proposal in exchange for her silence about Leo's parentage and my true identity."

"Which is no longer leverage since I already know the truth," Ethan points out.

"But the public doesn't," I counter. "A scandal about Leo's conception, about my identity, about our marriage being arranged—it would create chaos for all of us, personally and professionally. Stock prices would be affected. Board members would question your judgment. My father would face public humiliation just as he's beginning to question Cassandra's narrative."

Ethan nods, understanding the complex implications. "So we need a two-pronged approach: immediate protection for Leo and a strategic response to neutralize Cassandra's leverage."

"Three-pronged," Robert interjects. "Don't forget the legal angle. Threatening a child, even indirectly, violates several statutes. We should be documenting everything for potential legal action."

"Agreed," Ethan says. "Robert, continue with the security protocols we've established. I want daily reports on Leo's protection detail and any unusual activity around him, our home, or our offices."

"Yes, sir," Robert replies. "I'll coordinate with Mrs. Knight's security team to ensure comprehensive coverage without obvious duplication."

After Robert signs off, Ethan turns to me, his expression softening slightly. "How are you holding up? This can't be easy, especially after... everything else."

The simple question—the acknowledgment of my emotional state beyond the strategic planning—catches me off guard. "I'm angry," I admit. "And scared. But mostly determined. No one threatens my child."

"Our child," Ethan corrects gently. "And I feel exactly the same way."

Our eyes meet in a moment of perfect understanding. Whatever complications exist between us as husband and wife, as co-parents we are absolutely united.

"We need to accelerate my plan," I say, making a decision. "I can't wait for my father to complete his independent investigation. Cassandra is escalating, which means she's desperate. We need to use that desperation against her."

Ethan nods thoughtfully. "What do you propose?"

"A trap," I reply. "We make Cassandra believe her threat has worked—that I'm willing to negotiate. Meanwhile, we gather irrefutable evidence of her crimes, past and present, and prepare to expose everything at once."

"And your father?" Ethan asks. "Where does he fit in this accelerated timeline?"

I consider this carefully. "I think it's time I told him the truth directly. His independent investigation shows he's already questioning Cassandra's narrative. If he learns who I really am from me rather than from Cassandra or the Pierces, he might become an ally rather than another complication."

"That's a significant risk," Ethan observes. "Are you sure you're ready for that confrontation?"

The question is perceptive—beneath the strategic considerations lies the emotional reality of facing the father who believed the worst about me, who abandoned me when I needed him most.

"No," I admit honestly. "But Leo's safety takes priority over my emotional comfort. And strategically, having my father as an ally would significantly strengthen our position against Cassandra and Diana."

Ethan studies me for a moment, then nods. "I support your decision. And I'd like to be there when you tell him, if you're comfortable with that."

The offer surprises me—given our current strained relationship, I hadn't expected Ethan to volunteer for such an emotionally charged situation.

"You would do that?" I ask.

"Of course," he replies simply. "Whatever is happening between us personally, we're still partners in this. I won't let you face that conversation alone unless you want to."

The support—unexpected but deeply appreciated—brings a lump to my throat. "Thank you. I'd like you to be there."

Ethan nods, then returns to strategic mode. "When do you want to meet with Charles?"

"Today if possible," I decide. "Before Cassandra has a chance to make her next move. I'll call his office and request an urgent meeting."

As I reach for my phone, it buzzes with an incoming call from Marcus. "Speaking of timing," I murmur, answering the call on speaker so Ethan can hear.

"Olivia," Marcus's voice comes through, tense and urgent. "Cassandra just called an emergency board meeting at Morgan Group for tomorrow morning. The agenda includes a motion to reject Ascendant Group's acquisition proposal and approve an alternative partnership with Pierce Industries instead."

Ethan and I exchange glances. "She's moving faster than expected," I observe. "Trying to lock in a counter-deal before we can respond to her threat."

"There's more," Marcus continues. "Diana has been making calls to board members all morning, spreading rumors about 'concerning information' regarding Ascendant Group's president and her 'questionable relationship' with Ethan Knight."

"Laying groundwork to discredit me if I don't comply with their demands," I conclude. "When exactly is this board meeting scheduled?"

"Nine AM tomorrow," Marcus replies. "Charles Morgan is currently out of the office and apparently unreachable. Diana claimed he authorized the emergency meeting, but my source says that's unlikely given his recent questioning of Cassandra's decisions."

Another piece clicks into place. "They're trying to push this through while my father is unavailable to oppose it. Do we know where he is?"

"His assistant says he had a personal appointment outside the office. No details on location or when he'll return."

I make a quick decision. "Find him, Marcus. It's urgent that I speak with him before that board meeting. Use whatever resources necessary."

After ending the call, I turn to Ethan. "We need to move now. If Cassandra secures this deal with Pierce Industries before I can speak with my father, it significantly complicates our position."

Ethan is already on his feet. "I'll have my team look into the proposed Pierce Industries partnership—find any vulnerabilities or legal issues we can exploit to delay the vote if necessary. You focus on locating Charles."

As we prepare to leave the conference room, Ethan pauses, his hand on the door. "Olivia," he says, his voice softening. "Whatever happens with your father... remember you're not alone in this anymore."

The simple reassurance—a reminder that despite everything, I have a partner in this fight—means more than I can express. "Thank you," I say softly.

His eyes hold mine for a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between us—not forgiveness, not yet, but understanding. Progress.