I Left the Masquerade Pregnant

Chapter 20

"Attendance is not optional."

Victor's voice crackles through my phone like a threat dressed in silk, and I stare at the ceiling wondering when my life became a series of summons I can't refuse.

"Seven o'clock. Don't be late."

He hangs up before I can respond.

The Voss estate looms against the evening sky like a monument to generational dysfunction. I carry Milo up the front steps, his warm weight against my chest the only thing keeping my heart from crawling out of my throat.

"There she is." Rowena materializes in the foyer, champagne flute in hand, blonde hair swept into a chignon so tight it looks painful. "And our little question mark. How precious."

"His name is Milo."

"For now." She takes a sip, watching me over the rim. "Names can change. Circumstances can change. Mothers can be deemed unfit."

Don't react. Don't give her the satisfaction.

"Fascinating legal theory, Rowena. Did you Google that yourself, or did Victor's attorneys draft it for you?"

Her smile tightens. "The dining room is through there. Try not to make a scene."

The dining room is already a powder keg waiting for a spark. Victor sits at the head of the table, silver hair immaculate, a manila envelope positioned beside his plate like a loaded weapon.

Caspian stands by the window, jaw carved from granite, hands clasped behind his back in that way he does when he's holding himself together through sheer force of will.

And Rhys.

Rhys leans against the sideboard with whiskey in hand, all tousled hair and undone collar, the picture of casual elegance. When our eyes meet, something flickers across his face—quick, searching—before that easy smile slides back into place.

"Elara." He raises his glass. "You look radiant."

"Thank you."

"Milo's getting bigger every time I see him." He pushes off the sideboard and crosses toward us, movements fluid, unhurried. "May I?"

I hold Milo tighter without meaning to. "He's fussy tonight."

"Children love me." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Ask anyone."

"Perhaps later."

Rhys's gaze travels from me to Caspian and back again, and I watch him catalog something I can't see. The way Caspian shifts his weight toward us. The way I angle my body away from Rhys without thinking.

"Now that we're assembled," Victor cuts in, tapping the envelope, "we can proceed with the paternity results."

The word lands like a grenade in a china shop.

"I never agreed to a test."

"You didn't need to." Victor's smile could end careers and has. "The water glass from our last meeting provided adequate genetic material. And my people visited Milo's daycare. The staff was quite accommodating once we explained the family connection."

The violation hits me like a physical blow.

They walked into his daycare. Past whatever security I thought I had. Put their hands on my son without my knowledge or consent.

"You took my DNA without consent. That's illegal."

"That's a family protecting its interests." Victor slides the envelope toward me. "You should do the honors. Unless you'd prefer I read it aloud for everyone?"

Breathe. Just breathe.

My hands shake as I tear open the seal. The words blur, then resolve into a single conclusion that rewrites everything.

"Caspian is the biological father." My voice sounds distant, foreign. "Ninety-nine point nine percent."

Silence crashes through the room like a wave.

I look up at Caspian. Something cracks behind his eyes—relief, wonder, terror—before his expression smooths back to stone. But his hands unclasp from behind his back, and I see them trembling.

"May I hold him?"

I nod, unable to speak.

He crosses the room and takes Milo from my arms with a gentleness that makes my chest crack open. His thumb brushes across Milo's cheek, tracing features I've memorized in the dark. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to.

"Well." Rhys's voice comes from somewhere behind me, smooth as glass. "The Voss dynasty continues. Congratulations, cousin."

I turn to face him.

His smile is perfect. Charming. Exactly right for the occasion. But his knuckles are white around the whiskey glass, and something raw flickers behind his eyes before the mask settles back into place.

"This must be such a relief for you, Elara." He takes a measured sip. "All that uncertainty, finally resolved. You can stop hedging your bets now."

"Rhys."

"No, truly." He sets down his glass with exaggerated care. "I'm happy for you both. The perfect little family, reunited at last. It's practically a fairy tale."

"That's enough." Caspian's voice is low, controlled, dangerous.

"Is it?" Rhys turns to him, and I watch the charm curdle into something sharper. "I'm being supportive. Isn't that what family does? Support each other through difficult times?"

"You're being cruel."

"I'm being honest. There's a difference." His gaze slides back to me. "She knows the difference. Don't you, Elara? You know exactly what honesty sounds like when it's whispered in the dark."

Caspian moves so fast I barely track it—one moment he's holding Milo, the next he's handed our son to me and positioned himself between us, his back a wall of charcoal wool and barely contained rage.

"Choose your next words carefully."

"Or what?" Rhys's smile is a knife's edge. "You'll hit me? In front of your son? That would be quite the lesson in Voss family values."

"Gentlemen." Victor's voice cracks like a whip. "This is neither the time nor the place."

Rhys straightens his collar, though no one touched him. "You're right, of course. Forgive me." He retrieves his glass and drains it. "I should go. Leave you to your celebrations."

He pauses at the door, turning back to look at me one last time.

"I hope he makes you happy, Elara. I hope he finally sees you the way you deserve to be seen." His voice softens, and for one moment, the mask slips entirely. "I would have, you know. I would have seen you."

He leaves without waiting for a response.

The silence he leaves behind feels like a wound.

Later, in the car, Caspian drives with both hands white-knuckled on the wheel. Milo sleeps in his car seat, oblivious to the war we're all too exhausted to fight.

"I want to talk about where we go from here."

"Tonight?" I stare out the window at the city lights blurring past. "I don't have any answers tonight, Caspian."

"I'm not asking for answers." His voice is rough, scraped raw. "I'm asking for a chance."

A chance. Like it's that simple. Like three years of silence can be erased by one DNA test and one whispered request.

"I need time."

He nods once. Says nothing else.

He drops me at my building without another word, and I carry Milo upstairs alone, the weight of everything I can't decide pressing down on my chest like a stone.

My phone lights up in the darkness.

Rhys: I meant what I said. I would have seen you. I still do.

I stare at the screen until it goes dark.

Delete it. Delete it and move on.

My thumb hovers over the message.

I don't delete it.