Page 108 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
Luca’s POV
I don’t knowwho hung up the phone—me or Charles. But I stopped hearing the words after he told me a truth that had been gnawing at me for weeks. For a few seconds, I sat in a daze, wrapping my head around it.
Ollie was my son.
I had a son.
A flood of emotions surged through me all at once.
There was joy—the pure, gut-deep kind. Joy in knowing I had a little boy—a bright, sharp child.
There was relief, too. That I’d been right all along. Because I don’t know how I would’ve handled it if I found out Leila had a child with someone else. That she’d let another man touch her in the way only I ever should have.
Then came the rage. White hot, searing rage that made my pulse roar in my ears. Because for five years, I had a son I didn’t know existed. Five years of living in ignorance, not knowingmy own blood was out there, unprotected. Five years of missing everything—his first steps, his first words, his first birthday. Everything.
Slowly, I lifted my head to look at Leila.
She stared back at me in confusion, her cheeks flushed, lips still swollen from our kiss. Her breathing was uneven, like she could feel the sudden shift in my energy.
“What is it, Luca?” she asked softly.
“How long were you planning on lying to me?” My voice came out hoarse, strangled, barely holding back the fury surging through me.
Leila’s brows pulled together. “What are you talking—”
“Ollie is mine!” The words exploded from my mouth. “Ollie is my son, and you kept that from me for five fucking years!”
The color drained from her face as she took a step back. I saw it—the instant she reached for her defenses. She folded her arms tight against her chest and jutted her chin forward like she was preparing for battle.
“Luca, I have told you before. Ollie is not—”
“Stop with the lies, Leila,” My voice cut through the air between us. “Just stop. I knew it the very moment I set eyes on him. He has my eyes, he has my hair color. He’s the perfect replica of what four-year-old me looked like. And all I needed was just the confirmation.”
I opened my email and turned my phone toward her.
“The DNA confirms that Ollie is indeed my son.”
She froze. Her expression faltered when she saw the screen, and in that moment, I saw something flicker in her eyes. Not just shock. Fear.
And it confused the hell out of me.
What the fuck was she afraid of?
Why did the truth make her look like she’d just been cornered by a predator?
She’d rather carry the weight of raising a child alone—go through the isolation, the physical pain, the emotional war zone of pregnancy—than tell me?
“How did you—” Leila was saying, her brow pinching, voice tight with confusion. Then she stopped. Her eyes widened slightly. And just like that, the fear ignited into fury.
“You stole my son’s hair?”
“Our son.” I ground out. “He is my son, too, Leila. How can you just erase me from his life that easily?”
“I didn’t erase you from his life. You were never in his life to begin with.” She shot back.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Is that what you tell him whenever he asks for his father? Is that what you were going to tell him when he grows up and starts asking why he never met his father?”
Leila stared at me for a long beat, her eyes bright with heat, her body trembling from restrained rage. I searched for something in her face—remorse, guilt. But there was none.
