Leila hadn’t slept.

Not really. Not in the way that made her feel whole. She had drifted in and out of shallow slumber, her mind replaying every second of Roman’s last visit; the accusing eyes, the tightly restrained anger, the way Eli had looked at him like he already knew something.

And now, a week later, Roman was back.

The bell above the bakery door jingled softly, but the tension that rolled in behind it was anything but gentle.

Roman stepped inside like he owned the place. He looked tired, more unshaven than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. But his presence still carried weight.

Leila straightened from behind the counter, heart thudding painfully in her chest.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. His sharp gaze sliced through the bakery like a blade, landing on her with unmistakable purpose.

“We’re doing a DNA test,” Roman said, stepping toward her.

Leila blinked, dropping the cloth she’d been using to clean the counter. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice was low and calm in that dangerous kind of way. “I’m not playing games, Leila. I need to know the truth. And I’m done waiting for you to give it.”

“I already told you what you needed to know,” she said, though her voice was weak.

“You told me what you wanted me to believe,” he corrected. “But the math doesn’t add up, and neither do the timelines. He looks like me, he acts like me and I know what it feels like to stare into a mirror that’s walking and breathing.”

Leila moved from behind the counter instinctively, her arms folding across her chest like a weak shield. “Roman, you can’t just—”

“Can’t I?” he cut in. “I’ve been polite. I’ve been patient. I gave you room to explain, and you fed me some story about how he might be Nathan’s. About how you were seeing us both. But none of it makes sense, Leila. And I’m done pretending it does.”

Her mouth opened, but the words got stuck. Her mind raced with reasons, with lies, with fragments of a truth she wasn’t brave enough to fully tell. Not yet.

“I’m his mother. I get to protect him,” she finally whispered.

Roman stepped closer, lowering his voice. “And what if protecting him means letting him know who he really is? Don’t I deserve to know if I have a son?”

The door slammed open behind him. Nathan.

Leila didn’t have to see him to know he was already fuming.

His steps were fast and purposeful as he marched inside, his voice cutting into the rising tension like a gunshot.

“You don’t get to waltz in here and make demands.”

Roman turned, jaw clenched. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” Nathan snapped. “I’ve been there since day one. Diapers, fevers, preschool drop-offs, you name it. While you were off living your perfect little billionaire life, we were surviving.”

“And playing house doesn’t make you the father,” Roman said tightly.

“Neither does your disappearing act and demands,” Nathan shot back.

Nathan’s voice dropped, but it was no less intense. “He wakes up in the middle of the night looking for me when he’s scared. I know what his favorite cereal is, and the songs that calm him down when he’s upset. You don’t get to just show up and rewrite his life.”

Leila stepped between them. “Stop. Please.”

But they weren’t listening.

Roman’s face darkened. “And you’re what? The substitute?”

“I’m the one who stayed,” Nathan replied, voice steady and low. “The one who’s been here for Eli since day one. I’m the one who held Leila’s hand when she was scared, the one who fed that boy when she couldn’t get out of bed. So no, I’m not the substitute. I’m the one who showed up.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Leila could barely breathe, torn between the weight of the past and the pressure of the present.

Roman turned back to her, his voice quiet but insistent. “Is he mine?”

Leila looked between them, between the man who once shattered her and the man who tried to piece her back together.

Her voice trembled. “I… I need time.”

Roman’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve had more than enough time, so tell me. Right now. Is he mine?”

''You don't have to say anything you don't want to say'' Nathan chipped in.

The world narrowed. The air stilled. Leila’s breath caught.

In that moment, her heart split in two, one half for the man who gave her Eli, and the other for the man who helped her raise him.

“I… I need time,” she whispered again.

Roman’s expression hardened. “You’ve had five years.”

He turned and walked out before she could say another word.

Leila stood frozen, the weight of his absence slamming into her chest like a punch. Nathan didn’t say anything either, he just stayed beside her, silent but solid.

But she knew it was only a matter of time before all their lies came crumbling down.

And when they did, Eli would be the one caught in the middle.

𝗙𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗼:

Leila was wiping down the front counter of the bakery, humming to herself, when the door chimed and the scent of warm pastries mixed with something more dangerous—Roman.

He was dressed in a charcoal coat over a crisp shirt, his presence turning the cozy little shop into a pressure cooker.

She looked up, startled. “Talia’s not here.”

Roman leaned against the doorway, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t come for Talia.”

Leila froze. “Then… why are you here?”

He didn’t blink. “I came for you.”

She scoffed, more out of panic than disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” he said calmly, walking deeper into the space. “Six months of pretending not to look at you when you walk by. Six months of telling myself to stay away because it’s messy, because you’re her sister. But I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

Her breath caught. “Roman…”

“I think about you,” he said, eyes burning into her. “I think about your laugh, your fire, the way you look at the world like it owes you nothing. You haunt me, Leila.”

She forced a bitter smile, though her chest ached. “This is insane. You’re with Talia.”

“I’m sleeping with Talia,” he corrected, voice low. “But I’m drawn to you.”

Her face flushed with heat, anger, and something worse—want. “That doesn’t make this okay.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “But it’s still real.”

She stepped back. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” he said, and before she could stop him, his hands were on her waist and his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was a clash of everything unspoken; months of lingering glances, shared smiles, accidental touches. It was wrong. It was reckless. It was electrifying.

She pulled away with a gasp, heart pounding. “Roman…”

His voice was rough. “Tell me you don’t feel it too.”

Leila’s hands trembled at her sides. She wished she could lie. Wished she could say it meant nothing.

But her silence said enough.