Page 12 of Secret Heir

“Who is he?” Daniel’s eyes quickly flick to me in the mirror, then away.

“He’s…” Aria hesitates. I can see her struggling for the lie, and I’m curious to know what the slippery snake will say. “He’s someone I used to know a long time ago.”

Not quite a lie. But not the truth either.

“Is he going to hurt us?” The fear in my son’s voice is a knife to the gut.

“No, sweetheart.” Aria kisses the top of his head and smooths his hair. “No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”

Another lie. She can’t promise that. She has no power here or control. She’s completely at my mercy, and she knows it.

“Mama, I’m scared.” Daniel burrows closer to her, and I see his small hand clutching the fabric of her sweater. “I don’t like this.”

“I know, baby. I know. But it’s going to be okay. I’ll keep you safe.”

Will she?

Will she keep him safe the way she has been?

Letting him go hungry?

Letting him wear clothes with holes in them?

Letting him live in poverty when his father could have given him everything?

I bite my tongue before I say something I’ll regret.

The drive to the airfield takes forty minutes.

Neither of them speak again.

Aria keeps her arms around Daniel, and he keeps his face hidden against her shoulder.

Every few minutes, I catch her looking out the window like she’s memorizing the route and planning an escape.

I let her plan. It won’t do her any good.

The private jet is waiting on the tarmac, fueled and ready. Len pulls the SUV right up to the stairs, and I get out first. The night air is cold, even though it’s summer.

I open their door. “Let’s go.”

Aria doesn’t move. She’s staring at the plane like it’s a guillotine.

“Now, Aria.” I keep my voice controlled. “Don’t make me carry you.”

That gets her moving even though she shoots a glare at me. She climbs out with Daniel, who’s looking around with wide eyes. He’s never seen a private plane before. Hell, he’s probably never been on any plane before.

“This way.” I gesture toward the stairs.

Aria walks like she’s heading toward her execution, each step slow and deliberate. Daniel is clutching her hand, his other hand holding something—a stuffed rabbit, I realize. It’s brown and threadbare, one ear hanging by threads, patches sewn over spots where the fur has worn through.

My son’s beloved toy is falling apart.

I follow them up the stairs and into the cabin. The interior is exactly as I requested with leather seats and soft lighting. There’s food laid out on the table: sandwiches, fruit, pastries, juice boxes. My staff knows how to prepare for children, even if I don’t.

Daniel stops just inside the door, his mouth falling open.

He’s staring at everything like he’s stepped into another world.