OLIVIA’S POV


    He was right.


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    Charlie is a smart boy, far smarter than most kids his age. Even though he’s still young, he’s already beginning to understand a lot of things that children aren’t supposed to grasp so early.


    He had heard me back at thepany, the day I spat out that Adrian was his father. I thought maybe he hadn’t caught on, that his fear of the situation kept the words from sinking in. But Charlie is not the kind of child you can underestimate. He heard. He processed. And he chose to remain silent.


    Why he chose silence, I don’t know.


    But I do know this now that Charlie knows his father is alive, sooner orter, he will start asking questions. It might not be today. It might not even be next month or in the next five years. But that day wille. A child can only keep silent for so long before curiosity breaks through. And when that timees, when Charlie finally looks at me with those eyes and asks about Adrian, there will be no hiding anymore. No lies. No half- truths. Just the full reality of his father.


    And then what excuse will I have? What right will I have to keep him from knowing the man who half his life?


    gave him


    That’s the thing, isn’t it? Instead of robbing my son of a father’s love for all those years, why don’t I just… swallow my pride and try to find a way to cooperate with Adrian, like he just suggested?


    The thought tasted bitter, but also strangely… right.


    That way, I could slowly reintroduce Adrian into Charlie’s life, carefully, cautiously, at a pace that would allow Charlie to adjust. And through that, maybe Charlie would get what he deserves: the affection and care of both a mother and <i>a </i>father, together, even if not as a couple.


    The truth is, Adrian might not say it out loud yet, but I can feel it if I keep pushing him away, if I keep denying him the chance to be in Charlie’s life, eventually, he will take this to court. He has every right to. And if it came to that… I would lose. The best I could hope for would be a fifty–fifty custody arrangement, and that is something I cannot ept. My son is my world. Losing half of him would destroy me.


    So now ites down to a choice.


    Choose my poison.


    Do I cling to my pride, fight Adrian at every turn, and risk losing Charlie for half of his life? Or do I set that pride aside, cooperate, and allow Adrian to be a part of his life in a way that doesn’t rob me of the bond I share with my son?


    When I think of it like that, it doesn’t look like poison anymore. It looks like the only solution that makes


    <b>sense</b>.


    I let out a long, weary sigh. My decision weighed heavily on me, but I already knew what I had to do. I turned around as the noise of the busy police station swirled around us. Uniformed officers hurried through the hall,


    their radios buzzing, their boots striking the tiles in rhythmic echoes.


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    I walked back to him. Adrian was standing where I had left him. His eyes lifted when he saw me approach, a flicker of surprise dancing there, like he hadn’t seen me turning around and walking towards him


    “Fine,” I said finally, the frustration threading my voice clear enough to make him understand this wasn’t easy for me. “But I’m doing this only for him. And let me make one thing perfectly clear, we’re not going past friends. That’s all this will ever be.”


    A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips, though he nodded with that cool, collected air he always carried. “Of course,” he said simply, his tone light as if he didn’t want to push further. Then he gestured politely toward the exit. “Now, shall we?”


    I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned back toward the doorway and began walking, my pace calm, steady, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it cost me to say those words.


    He followed, as expected, matching my stride. Side by side, though worlds apart.


    Once outside, our paths split only slightly. His car was waiting ahead of mine, his driver already alert behind the wheel. My convoy was lined up just a few feet behind, my men moving briskly to ensure everything was in order.


    We didn’t exchange another word as we stepped into our respective cars. But as the engines roared to life and the vehicles began to move, I noticed through the tinted window that his convoy took the lead. I didn’t protest. After all, it was Adrian who knew where this restaurant was.


    And so, we drove away from the station, me following him, back to back.


    We got to the restaurant and took our seats, the quiet hum of conversation filling the space as the scent of different spices and freshly cooked meals drifted through the air. The ce looked warm and inviting, far less formal than the ces I usually frequented, but still neat and well–presented.


    My eyes scrolled through the menu casually at first. Honestly, nothing caught my attention immediately. I had been to more luxurious, more extravagant restaurants in Mexico. Byparison, this one seemed simple. For a moment, I thought there was nothing special here.


    But then my eyesnded on a section tucked near the back of the menu: Specialty Dishes. African side dishes. My heart skipped, and I had to blink to make sure I was seeing it right.


    Jollof rice


    They had my favorite African dish jollof rice, with all the garnishing and sides listed out. My chest tightened with a sudden rush of nostalgia. I hadn’t tasted this dish in over six years. Not since before I left for Mexico. None of the ssy restaurants over there had anything close to this, and of course, I couldn’t be seen walking into the smaller, “ordinary” spots where it might be served. My position, my image, my reputation as a CEO had to remain untarnished.


    A small, unintentional smile curved on my lips as I stared at the menu longer than necessary.


    “You found what you want?” Adrian’s voice cut into my thoughts. His tone wasn’t mocking, just curious, though I could tell he had caught the shift in my expression.


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    “Yes,” I replied, keeping my voice calm, though I knew the gleam in my eyes must have betrayed me.


    He nodded and immediately waved the waiter over with a flick of his wrist. The waiter, a young man with a notepad in hand, approached quickly, almost reverently, as though he recognized Adrian.


    –


    When the orders were ced and the waiter disappeared back into the kitchen, silence fell between us. It wasn’t awkward exactly, but it wasn’tfortable either. There was always something heavy hanging between Adrian and me years of unspoken words, mistakes, regrets, and things we both avoided confronting.


    Thankfully, the food arrived sooner than I expected. The waiter set the steaming bowls and tes in front of us, and the aroma that wafted into the air nearly made me close my eyes in delight.


    The jollof rice looked just as delicious as I had hoped


    The vor burst across my tongue savory, rich, and warm. It was everything I remembered and more. My body practically rxed with each spoon, each taste pulling me back to a time before the chaos, before Mexico.


    I tried to control myself, to eat gracefully, but it was hard. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this until it was right in front of me.


    “You still love African food so much,” Adrian’s voice interrupted my moment, pulling me back <i>to </i>the present. He was watching me, not judgmental, but observant.


    He leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. “Anyways,” he began, his voice carrying a sharper edge now, “thisdy you said you suspect… What’s her name again?”


    I took a sip of water, buying myself a moment before I answered. Finally, I ced the ss down and lifted my chin. “Vanessa. Her father owns thepany that rivals mine back in Mexico.”


    “Vanessa…” Adrian repeated slowly, as though testing the name on his tongue. His eyes narrowed slightly. “She had issues with you before you went to Mexico?” he asked, then casually took a sip of his wine.


    “Why do you ask?” I shot back, suspicion creeping into my voice.


    He set the ss down with a small clink, his gaze locking with mine. “Because it doesn’t add up. You said this wasn’t the first time these people came after you. If you met Vanessa after you got to Mexico, then she can’t be the one. The mastermind sent those hitmen to try and kill you before you even left for Mexico, remember?”


    I froze.


    The realization hit me like a blow. He was right. How could I have overlooked that? I had been so focused on connecting the second attack to Vanessa, on ming the woman I currently saw as my greatest rival, that I blurred out the very first attempt on my


    life.


    I leaned back, my spoon resting untouched against the side of the te. My mind churned. That first attack… now, faced with Adrian’s calm logic, the truth stared me in the face.


    It wasn’t Vanessa.


    It couldn’t be.


    7:25 Fri, Sep 19


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    My chest tightened as unease settled deeper within me. If it wasn’t her, then who could it possibly be?