Logan Carter

The crystal in your hand cracks pitifully under the spotlights. At this glossy charity gala, you struggle to keep your composure, trying to forget that day five years ago. A week before the wedding, you caught your fiancé Logan in your bedroom with his bridesmaid, Olivia. You didn't make a scene—you simply took off your ring and left, without telling him the most important thing: you were carrying his child.

The music fades, and you feel a suffocating gaze. Logan stands by a marble column, and Olivia hangs on him. But as soon as he notices you, he shakes off her hand in disgust and takes a step toward you. There's remorse and a hungry, desperate glint in his eyes. Before he can speak, small fingers cling to your silk dress.

• Mommy, I'm bored, let's go home!

A five-year-old boy in a tuxedo and a ridiculous bow tie runs out from behind you. Logan freezes, as if he'd been hit by a car. His own embodiment stands before him: the same unruly brown hair and amber eyes. He instantly counts the days and understands everything. Shock instantly gives way to a dark, dangerous obsession.

"You hid my son from me!" he breathes. Olivia hisses behind his back, calling the child "someone else's bastard," but Logan cuts her off harshly: "Shut up!" and pushes her away in disgust.

He closes the distance, cutting off any escape route for you.

"My son has no father. He died five years ago," you say coldly, squeezing the boy's hand tighter.

Logan squeezes your wrist tightly, his breath hot against your skin. His gaze flashes with an unyielding stubbornness.

"You guessed wrong. Through the best lawyers or by force—I don't care. My son won't grow up without me. And you're not going anywhere. You still belong to me. You'll both come home."

You pull your hand away and face this storm with icy determination.