Page 38 of Secret Baby for my Off-Limits Fiancé

Too natural.

Layla is watching us closely, arms crossed, but there’s something else in her gaze now, something softer, something conflicted.

An hour passes before any of us realizes it.

Layla clears her throat. “Vincent, it’s time for dinner.”

He pouts. “No! I wanna keep playing.”

Layla sighs, rubbing her temples. “You have to eat.”

Vincent turns to me, wide-eyed. “Will you stay for dinner?”

Layla shoots me a look that screams, “Say no.”

But before I can answer, Vincent’s bottom lip wobbles.

Oh, hell.

Layla caves. “Fine. He can stay.”

Inside, the apartment is warm and cozy, filled with memories, the tiny hand-painted mugs, the drawings taped to the fridge, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

It’s a home. Not just a place to live.

I take a seat while Layla moves around the kitchen, effortlessly preparing dinner.

She’s different here, softer somehow, like all the edges she keeps sharpened around me have dulled.

Vincent chatters happily beside me, showing me his coloring book, but his energy seems to be draining fast.

He holds up a drawing. “And this is my superhero.”

I study it. The figure is tall, in a sharp suit, hair swept back.

I blink.

That… looks a lot like me.

“What’s his name?” My voice comes out oddly hoarse.

Vincent grins. “Dad-man.”

Something inside me shatters.

Layla goes rigid, her knuckles turning white as she grips the serving spoon.

I glance at her, but she won’t meet my eyes.

After dinner, she tucks Vincent into bed. When she returns, I’m waiting on the couch.

She stops short. “You’re still here?”

“When were you going to tell me you had a son?”

Her face drains of color.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

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