Sienna standing alone on a stage, accepting recognition for her work—her posture straight, her expression calm, but her eyes distant.

And then—

He froze.

One photo from six months ago.

Sunrise Gardens opening.

There she was.

And behind her

The older woman.

Holding the baby.

Logan leaned back slowly, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp, quiet exhale.

“
My son…
”

The words didn’t feel real.

They felt dangerous.

Like speaking them aloud might trigger something irreversible.

Because if that child was his—

Then everything Logan believed about the last two years was a lie.

His phone buzzed.

His mother.

Darling, Cordelia from the foundation said you left abruptly. Are you ill?

Logan stared at the message for a long moment.

Then typed:

I need to ask you something. About Austin. Two years ago.

There was a pause.

Then:

Come to my suite.

Cordelia Everett didn’t look surprised when he walked in.

She looked… resigned.

As if she had been waiting for this moment longer than he had.

“You saw her,” she said softly.

Logan stopped.

Every muscle in his body went rigid.

“You know who she is.”

It wasn’t a question.

Cordelia sighed and set down her glass.

“Yes.”

The word hit harder than anything else.

Not denial.

Not confusion.

Confirmation.

Logan’s voice dropped, sharp and controlled.

“Then start talking.”

For a moment, Cordelia said nothing.

Then she gestured for him to sit.

“I was hoping,” she said quietly, “that you would never remember that night.”

“I didn’t,” Logan snapped. “That’s the problem.”

Her eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe. Or regret.

“Logan… you weren’t supposed to.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Logan leaned forward, his voice like steel.

“Is that child mine?”

Cordelia closed her eyes briefly.

The room tilted.

Logan stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice, like a caged animal.

“Then why,” he demanded, his voice rising, “do I not remember the woman who had my child?”

Cordelia didn’t answer immediately.

And that hesitation

That single, fragile pause

told Logan everything was worse than he thought.

“Mother.”

Her gaze lifted to his.

“You were drugged.”

The word landed like a detonation.

Logan went still.

“What?”

“That night,” she said carefully, “someone slipped something into your drink. Not enough to harm you permanently. But enough to…” She hesitated. “Blur things. Memory. Judgment.”

Logan’s mind raced.

Champagne.

Scotch.

The hollow ache of grief.

“And her?” he asked. “Sienna?”

Cordelia’s expression tightened.

“She wasn’t supposed to be involved.”

A cold, creeping feeling spread through Logan’s chest.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Cordelia said slowly, “that the woman you were meant to meet that night… wasn’t Sienna.”

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Logan’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Explain.”

Cordelia stood, walking to the window, her back to him.

“There was a woman,” she said. “From a family we were considering aligning with. A strategic relationship. One that would have strengthened Everett International during a… vulnerable time.”

Logan’s stomach turned.

“You tried to arrange something.”

“It wasn’t unusual,” she said sharply. “Not in our world.”

“It is when I don’t remember it.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

“You were grieving. You were reckless. You were slipping. I made a decision.”

Logan’s laugh was hollow.

“You decided to orchestrate my personal life.”

“I decided to protect our family,” she corrected.

“And Sienna?” he pressed. “Where does she fit into your plan?”

Cordelia turned slowly.

“She doesn’t.”

The words were quiet.

“She was… a mistake.”

Logan felt something inside him snap.

“A mistake?” he repeated. “She has a child. My child.”

Cordelia’s composure cracked—just slightly.

“That was never supposed to happen.”

“Then what
was
supposed to happen?”

Another hesitation.

“The woman who was meant to be with you that night… died.”

Logan froze.

“A car accident,” Cordelia said. “On her way to the hotel.”