Chapter Fifteen: Two Worlds, One Secret

Mia adjusted the small backpack on her son's shoulders, crouching down to his eye level just outside the Sinclair Enterprises daycare.

"Be good for Miss Clara, okay?" she said softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

Liam gave a solemn nod, his big brown eyes wide with curiosity. He was only six, but he was sharp—too sharp sometimes. The kind of kid who noticed when his mom was extra tired or when her voice shook just a little too much.

"Will you pick me up, Mommy?" he asked, tilting his head.

Mia's heart tugged. Always. No matter what.

She cupped his small cheeks, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. "Always," she whispered.

He hugged her neck tightly, and for a moment, the world didn't feel so heavy.

But as soon as she stepped into Eleanor Sinclair's office, that warmth vanished, replaced by the icy weight of reality.

The Office of Eleanor Sinclair

Eleanor didn't look up from the mountain of paperwork on her desk.

"You're late," she said crisply.

Mia swallowed hard. She wasn't late—it was 8:59 AM—but she knew better than to argue.

"It won't happen again," she said evenly.

Eleanor finally glanced at her, her gaze like a scalpel—sharp and unforgiving.

"See that it doesn't."

Mia lowered her head.

The day unraveled like a tightrope walk.

Answering calls. Sorting contracts. Taking notes during high-profile meetings where Eleanor's voice commanded the room.

All while Mia's mind lingered on Liam—

—Was he okay?

—Had anyone asked too many questions?

—Had someone noticed the faint crayon smudge on her wrist from that morning's last-minute coloring session?

By lunchtime, Mia was running on pure adrenaline.

She slipped away to check on Liam, her heart easing only when she found him happily playing with toy dinosaurs.

She knelt beside him, smoothing his hair, pressing another kiss to his temple.

"Mommy, look! T-Rex is fighting!" Liam roared, smashing two dinosaur figures together.

Mia smiled, feeling a moment of peace.

Then a voice behind her shattered it.

"Your son?"

Mia's blood turned to ice.

Her breath hitched.

Slowly—so painfully slowly—she turned.

Eleanor Sinclair stood by the daycare entrance, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

No. No. No.

Mia forced a smile, though her pulse thundered in her ears.

"Yes," she said, her voice controlled.

Eleanor stepped closer. Too close.

Her sharp gaze flicked between Mia and Liam, her expression shifting—just for a second.

Something flickered in Eleanor's eyes. Something almost… calculating.

Then, in a voice too smooth, too neutral, Eleanor spoke.

"Children are… distractions," she said finally. Not a comment. A warning.

"I hope you're capable of balancing both your job and your responsibilities at home."

Mia's stomach knotted.

"I can," she said firmly.

Eleanor studied her, her silence stretching.

Then—something happened.

Eleanor's gaze flicked back to Liam, watching the boy with a strange intensity.

Like she was searching for something.

Mia held her breath.

Eleanor's gaze lingered too long. Far too long.

Mia's entire body screamed to move—to grab Liam, to walk away—to do anything to break the moment.

Then Eleanor tilted her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

And without another word, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the tile floor.

A Moment of Panic

Mia exhaled sharply, her knees nearly buckling.

The room felt too small. Too dangerous.

She crouched beside Liam, gripping his small shoulders, steadying herself as much as him.

"Mommy?" he asked softly, blinking up at her.

She forced a smile. "Everything's fine, baby."

But it wasn't.

Because if Eleanor Sinclair ever looked too closely—

—at Liam's dark hair

—his striking eyes

—his sharp, observant nature

—his resemblance to someone Eleanor knew all too well

Mia's secret wouldn't stay a secret for long.

And that terrified her.

Eleanor's Suspicion

As Eleanor returned to her office, she didn't sit.

She walked to the window, staring out over the city, fingers tapping against the desk.

Mia Hayes.

Or rather… Emily Hayes.

There was something about her that Eleanor couldn't quite place.

Something about the way she had reacted.

Too stiff. Too controlled.

Eleanor prided herself on reading people, on finding their weaknesses.

And this woman—Emily—had just shown her one.

Her child.

And something told Eleanor… this wasn't just any child.

A slow, knowing smile curved her lips.

She would find out.