Leo's hand was small in Liam's. Impossibly small. Warm and trusting and everything Liam hadn't known he'd been missing until this exact moment.
His son.
His.
The word echoed through him like a war drum, primal and possessive. This child—this bright-eyed, chess-playing genius with his face and his mind—had been stolen from him. Hidden in this pathetic small-town gallery like a secret Elara had no right to keep.
Five years. Five years of birthdays and first steps and—
"Leo, honey, come here." Elara's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp with barely controlled panic.
The boy glanced back at his mother, then at Liam, confused by the tension vibrating through the air. He pulled his hand free, and Liam felt the loss like a severed limb.
Leo retreated to Elara's side, and she immediately placed herself between them again. Shielding. Denying him.
Liam rose to his full height, and the fury he'd been holding in check detonated.
"You kept my son from me." Each word was a bullet. He advanced one step, watching her flinch. Good. She should be afraid. "You think you can hide him in this... quaint little shop?" His gaze swept the gallery with open contempt. "Playing house with your art projects while my heir grows up not knowing his own father?"
Elara's spine straightened. Something flickered in her eyes—not fear. Rage.
"I didn't keep him from you." Her voice was ice over steel. "I saved him from you."
The words hit like a slap.
"Saved—" He laughed, incredulous. "You saved him? From what? From the Vance name? From wealth, power, every advantage—"
"From being raised by a man who sees people as assets." She stepped forward, matching his energy, and Liam realized with a shock that she wasn't backing down. The timid girl who'd whispered apologies for existing was gone. "From growing up thinking love is a transaction. From a father who would've seen him as another piece on his chessboard."
"You had no right—"
"I had every right!" Her voice cracked like a whip. "You were going to divorce me! You called me a pet, Liam. A sentimental mistake you couldn't wait to erase. What exactly did you think would happen when I told you I was pregnant? That you'd suddenly become father of the year?"
The back door swung open.
"Elara, they were out of oat milk so I got—"
A man entered, carrying a cardboard tray with two coffee cups. Tall, blonde, wearing jeans and a casual button-down that probably came from somewhere normal people shopped. He stopped mid-sentence, reading the room in an instant.
His eyes found Elara. Tracked to Leo. Landed on Liam with immediate recognition and something that looked like protective fury.
He moved to Elara's side without hesitation, his presence a wall of calm solidarity.
"Is there a problem here, Elara?" His voice was measured. Controlled. The kind of control that came from choosing restraint, not from lacking fire.
Liam's vision went red.
This. This was the problem. This man who walked into her gallery with her coffee, who stood beside her like he belonged there, who looked at his son with familiar affection.
"And you are?" Liam's tone could've frozen oceans.
"Alexander Reed. Elara's business partner." He didn't extend a hand. "And you're trespassing."
Business partner. The words were carefully chosen, deliberately neutral, but Liam saw past them. He catalogued everything in brutal detail: the way Reed positioned himself between Liam and Elara, the protective angle of his body, the fact that Leo wasn't afraid of him, that the boy had probably run to this man a hundred times, a thousand times, while Liam was building empires and missing everything.
"Partner." Liam's smile was a blade. "How... convenient."
"Liam—" Elara started.
"Is this him?" Liam's gaze never left Reed's face. "The replacement? The man playing father to my son?"
"I'm not playing anything," Reed said evenly. "And Leo isn't a pawn in whatever game you think you're playing."
"Xander," Elara warned, touching his arm. "Don't."
But Liam had already seen it. The familiarity. The casual touch. The way she said his name—Xander—with trust and intimacy that used to be his.
The jealousy was a living thing, clawing up his throat.
"I'm taking him for a DNA test." The words came out flat. Final. "Now."
"No." Elara's voice was stone.
"This isn't a negotiation—"
"You're right. It's not." She stepped forward, and her eyes were chips of frozen amber. "You will do nothing. You gave up all rights the day you called your unborn child a 'distraction' and his mother a 'pet.'" She leaned in, her voice dropping to something lethal. "I was there, Liam. In the hallway. I heard every word you said to Isabelle. Every. Single. Word."
The floor dropped out from under him.
She'd heard?
"So no," Elara continued, her voice shaking with five years of buried rage. "You don't get to show up here and make demands. You don't get to waltz into our lives like you have any claim. You don't get him." She pointed to the door. "Get out."
Liam's mind was reeling, trying to process, trying to recalibrate. She'd heard? That night? The divorce papers, the plans with Isabelle, the—
He'd never known she was pregnant.
The realization should've mattered. It didn't. What mattered was the boy standing behind Reed's legs now, watching with those too-intelligent eyes. What mattered was five years of stolen time.
What mattered was winning.
"You think you can dismiss me?" His voice dropped to something subterranean. Dangerous. "I'm Liam Vance. I have armies of lawyers who will bury you in litigation until you're begging me to take him. I will prove you're an unfit mother. I will take everything—this gallery, your home, your freedom to see him unsupervised." He stepped closer, watching her face pale. "I will destroy you."
Reed moved, but Elara stopped him with a hand. Her face was bloodless, but her voice stayed steady.
"Try it," she whispered. "Try to take him, and I will make sure every media outlet from here to Hong Kong knows exactly what kind of father you are. I kept records, Liam. Emails. Recorded conversations. Five years of evidence of your neglect, your infidelity, your—"
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Her smile was bitter. "You want to play this game? Fine. But you will lose."
They stared at each other, two people who'd once stood at an altar and promised forever, now locked in a war that had no winners.
Liam's hands flexed at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to end this now, to call his legal team, to crush her and take what was his.
But the boy was watching. His son was watching, and the fear in those grey eyes—eyes like Liam's own—was a cold blade between his ribs.
He couldn't lose. Not this. Not him.
So he did the only thing a man like Liam Vance knew how to do when brute force failed.
He smiled.
It was cold. Calculated. Terrifying in its control.
"This isn't a request, Elara." He buttoned his suit jacket with deliberate precision. "This is a warning. You have until tomorrow to come to your senses." His gaze flicked to Leo, then back to her, and the promise in his eyes was absolute. "Or I will take him, and you will never see him again."
He turned, David falling into step behind him, and walked toward the door.
"Liam."
He paused, glancing back.
Elara stood there, Leo clutched against her side, Reed's hand on her shoulder, and for a moment—just a moment—Liam saw the girl from the penthouse. Small. Afraid.
Then her chin lifted.
"You're not the only one who knows how to fight dirty," she said quietly. "And unlike you, I have everything to lose."
The bell chimed as he exited, cheerful and obscene.
Outside, the autumn air bit at his skin. Liam stood on the sidewalk, staring at the gallery sign—Haven, in elegant script—and felt something crack in his chest.
She'd heard everything.
She'd been pregnant.
She'd run because of him.
The thoughts tried to take root, tried to inject doubt into the righteous fury, but he crushed them. He couldn't afford doubt. Couldn't afford guilt.
He'd deal with the past later.
Right now, he had a son to claim.
And a woman who'd just declared war.
"Sir?" David's voice. Careful. "What are your orders?"
Liam pulled out his phone, already dialing his head attorney.
"Burn it all down," he said softly. "I want custody papers filed by morning. Find every angle, every weakness. I want a case so airtight she'll have no choice but to negotiate."
He paused, finger hovering over the call button, and glanced back at the gallery.
Through the window, he could see her—Elara, crouched beside Leo, probably explaining, probably comforting, probably turning their son against him before he'd even had a chance.
Reed stood behind them, protective, present, everything Liam wasn't.
The jealousy was acid in his throat.
"And David?" Liam's voice went deadly quiet. "Find out everything about Alexander Reed. Everything."
He pressed dial.
The war had begun.