My Boss, My Babydaddy

Chapter 38

Jocelyn’s POV

I shouldn’t be here.

The penthouse feels like enemy territory now—all glass and steel and the ghost of a marriage I thought was real. But the school called. Mia needs updated records, birth certificate copies, documents I'd filed away in Zayden's office back when I still trusted him with our paperwork.

Back when I was stupid enough to believe we were building something permanent.

His office smells like him—cedar and expensive cologne and lies. I move through it like a burglar, quick and silent, hunting through file cabinets for the folder marked ‘Mia–Legal.’

That's when I see the box.

Shoved behind tax returns and corporate acquisition files in the back of his closet. Manila folder tipping out like it's been waiting for me to find it.

The moment my fingers touch the edge, I know this is going to hurt.

‘Hartwell-Wolfe Separation Agreement–DRAFT’

My name screams from the page in cold, professional font. Dated four years ago, three months after Mia was born.

The floor drops out from under me.

My hands shake as I scan clauses written in legal language designed to sound civilized while destroying lives. Lump sum payment, confidentiality agreement, zero contact provisions, termination of parental rights.

He'd planned it all. Mapped out my disappearance with the same surgical precision he'd used on Natasha.

‘In exchange for $5,000,000 and monthly child support payments, Subject agrees to relinquish all claims on the Wolfe name and estate…’

Subject. Not Jocelyn, not the mother of his child—a variable to be managed and eliminated.

The date stamp shows multiple revisions. Version 1.0, 1.1, 1.2—each iteration refining the language, tightening the legal noose. He'd spent weeks perfecting the contract that would erase us from his life.

Then at the bottom, in his handwriting: ‘Never filed. J. deserves better than this.’

The note doesn't make it better. Makes it worse, actually. Proves he'd come that close to reducing our family to a transaction before his conscience—or his guilt—stopped him.

I'm still holding the papers when the front door opens.

Zayden calls out, "Jocelyn? I saw your car…"

He stops when he sees me standing in his office doorway, sees the folder in my hands. The expression that wipes across his face tells me everything.

"When were you planning to tell me about this?" My voice comes out lethal.

"Those are old drafts. They don't—"

"Nearly six years old. Mia was three months old."

I read from the contract, each word a knife.

"'Subject will relocate a minimum of 500 miles from New York City and will not attempt contact with Zayden Wolfe or any member of the Wolfe family for a period of no less than eighteen years.'"

"I never filed them."

"You wrote them." I throw the folder at his chest. Papers scatter across expensive hardwood. "You sat in this office and calculated exactly how much money it would take to make us disappear!"

Zayden doesn't pick up the papers, just stands there, jaw tight, shoulders rigid. "I was different then. Scared. I didn't know how to…"

"How to what? Be a human being?" I move toward him, feeding on his discomfort. "You treated me exactly like you treated Natasha. Like we're problems to be solved with the right combination of zeros on a check."

"I understand that the way I used to be is..."

"No, you don’t." The laugh that rips from my throat is ugly. "You've reduced every woman in your life to variables in an equation. Pay this much, they go away. Sign these papers, problem solved. Is that what love looks like in your world?"

"I changed my mind!"

"After you'd already written the contract!" My voice ricochets off the walls. "After you'd already planned our erasure down to the fucking zip code. What stopped you, Zayden? Conscience? Or did the math just not work out in your favor?"

He takes a step forward. I hold my ground.

"I fell in love with you," he says quietly. "That's what stopped me. The way you looked at Mia, the way you looked at me like I was someone worth believing in. I couldn't sign it after that, couldn't reduce what we had to clauses and payout schedules."

I stare at him. Let the silence stretch until it becomes its own kind of violence—until he shifts his weight, until his hands unclench and curl again, until the quiet has said everything I'm not ready to.

"Natasha was right about you." The admission costs me something, but I can't stop it from coming. "She told me you'd do this. Frame your cowardice as love. Make the woman standing in front of you feel like she should be grateful you changed your mind about erasing her."

His face goes white. "Don't compare me to this type of man."

"You mean the man you actually are?" I grab another paper from the scattered pile. "Lump sum payment upon execution of agreement. Monthly stipend contingent on continued silence. Jesus Christ, you even had an inflation adjustment clause."

"I was trying to provide for you."

"You were trying to eliminate me!" The words crack like thunder. "Provide for us would've been showing up, being present. Choosing us over your fucking reputation. This?" I wave the contract. "This is housekeeping, taking out trash you're too ashamed to acknowledge."

Zayden's hands curl into fists at his sides. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. There's nothing you can say that makes this okay."

"Then why are we still talking?" His voice rises to match mine. "Why are you still here if I'm such a monster?"

"Because Mia deserves better than watching her parents implode before she understands why!"

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Zayden moves to his desk, sits like his legs won't hold him anymore. When he speaks again, his voice has changed—hollow, defeated.

"Eli is sick."

The words don't connect at first. "What?"

"Fanconi anemia, bone marrow failure. He needs a transplant in the next three months or his organs shut down." Zayden pulls papers from his briefcase with mechanical precision. "Natasha tested every donor registry. Family members, strangers. No match."

My stomach drops. "No."

"Mia is ninety-eight percent compatible." He sets the medical reports on the desk between us like evidence in a trial. "She's his only chance."

"You're lying."

"I wish I was." His eyes meet mine, and I see something worse than guilt. Desperation. "Natasha tested her. Without permission, illegally, but the results are real."

The room tilts. I grab the desk edge to stay vertical.

"She filed the custody petition to force our hand," Zayden continues. "Give her Mia for the transplant or she goes public with everything. My family's criminal history, the payoffs—all of it."

"So this is extortion."

"This is a mother trying to save her son."

"By threatening mine!" My voice breaks. "By putting Mia in danger!"

"The procedure is low-risk for donors her age. I had three specialists review—"

"I don't care!" I'm shouting now. "I don't care about statistics or percentages or what specialists say. You don't get to ask this. Not after everything you've hidden, not after planning to erase us like we never mattered."

"Jocelyn, Eli is dying."

"Mia is six years old!"

Zayden stands, moves around the desk. I back away, hand raised. "If you think I'm letting you sacrifice our daughter to save the son you abandoned, you're insane."

"Jocelyn…"

"I'm taking Mia and leaving. Tonight. You can fight Natasha and her lawyers and your guilt alone."

"She'll destroy us." His voice cracks. "The custody petition, the public exposure—she'll burn everything down."

"Then let it burn." I'm already moving toward the door. "I've survived worse than scandal, but I won't survive watching you use Mia like currency to pay your debts."

"This isn't about money!"

I stop, turn. Let him see the full weight of my contempt.

"Everything with you is about money, Zayden. Every relationship, every problem. You just write checks and hope people disappear." I grab my purse from the hall table. "Well, congratulations. I'm finally taking the payment. Just eight years late."