A Strategic Proposal and a Grand Entrance

VANESSA

Wesley's knuckles were split and swollen as he gripped the steering wheel. The drive away from the boutique had been tense and silent, with only Fabian's occasional sniffles from the back seat breaking the quiet. My mind kept replaying the moment Roman's eyes had landed on our son—the shock, the fury, the betrayal that had flashed across his face.

"You okay back there, champ?" Wesley glanced at Fabian through the rearview mirror.

"I'm okay," Fabian mumbled, clutching his toy store bag against his chest like armor.

I turned in my seat to look at my son. "That man at the store—"

"Was mean to you," Fabian finished, his small jaw set in a determined line that was so painfully like Roman's. "I don't like him."

My heart twisted. How had it come to this? My son hating his own father before he even knew who he was.

"We're almost to your brother's place," Wesley said, his voice gentle. "Leo texted that he's waiting for us."