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Part 2

Sienna.

Her name didn’t just land—it
lodged somewhere deep in Logan’s chest
, like a truth that had been waiting two years to be spoken out loud.

“Sienna,” he repeated under his breath, as if saying it again might anchor her in reality instead of letting her disappear like every other fragment of that lost night.

Across the ballroom, she had already started to unravel.

Her lips moved, whispering something urgent to the older woman beside her. Logan couldn’t hear the words, but he saw the shift—the way concern turned to
sharp, protective alarm
.

The older woman’s arms came up immediately, taking the baby from Sienna as if instinct screamed danger.

And then Sienna bent down.

Too fast.

Too controlled.

Her hands shook as she gathered the fallen papers, but her face… her face was already closing off.

Like she’d practiced this.

Like she’d always known this moment might come.

Logan took another step forward, his voice low but urgent.

“Please,” he said. “Don’t run.”

For a fraction of a second, her green eyes met his again.

And in them, he saw something that hit harder than fear.

Recognition.

Then she ran.

Not a scene. Not a panic.

Just a swift, precise exit—like someone who had spent two years preparing an escape route.

Logan moved instantly, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the voices calling his name, the startled glances, the polite protests.

By the time he reached the hallway, the door was already swinging shut.

Empty.

Gone.

The echo of her footsteps faded into silence.

And Logan stood there, one hand braced against the wall, his entire body
tight with a realization too large to process
.

She knew him.

Not just recognized him.

Feared him.

That night, the city outside his hotel window blurred into meaningless lights.

Logan didn’t sleep.

He couldn’t.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again:

The baby.

The curve of his cheek.

The color of his eyes.

The unmistakable, undeniable reflection of Logan himself staring back from a child that shouldn’t exist.

At 3:42 a.m., he found her.

Sienna Blake.

The name felt both foreign and painfully familiar.

He stared at her photo on the Austin Community Development Alliance website.

Same eyes.

Same mouth.

But the smile…

The smile was different.

Careful. Guarded. Like joy had become something she rationed.

Logan clicked through every image he could find.

Sienna in construction boots, standing in front of half-built housing projects.

Sienna crouched beside children, laughing as they drew chalk houses on sidewalks.

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.