Chapter Seven: Just Like She did Six years ago

CASSIUS

Aaron’s question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Are you my daddy?”

I stared at him for a long moment, the resemblance hitting me harder than I cared to admit. The boy didn’t just look like me—he was a mirror of my childhood self. The same dark hair, sharp features, Hazel eyes and even that slight furrow in his brow when he was curious.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I said, my voice calm but firm.

Calista bristled immediately, standing protectively between me and the boy. “This is ridiculous. It’s just a coincidence! Lots of kids look like people they’re not related to.”

“A coincidence?” I raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward Aaron, who was now findiling with his fingers in the corner. “He doesn’t just look like me. He is me, Mrs. Dario. The resemblance isn’t just uncanny—it’s undeniable.”

Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms. “So what if he looks like you? That doesn’t mean anything!”

I didn’t respond immediately, instead picking up my phone and dialing the doctor.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, her voice rising. “You’re not seriously calling someone over this, are you?”

“I am,” I said, my tone steady. “There’s only one way to get the truth.”

“You will do no such thing to my son!” she flared, stepping closer to snatch the phone from me.

I sidestepped her easily, letting the call go through. “Dr. Bennett, I need you at my residence immediately. It’s urgent.”

“Cassius!” she flared, her voice shaking with frustration as she, for the first time called my name. “We agreed not to interfere in each other’s business.”

“This isn’t just your business,” I said, my voice colder now. “As long as that boy looks like me, it’s my business too.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she recovered quickly, pointing a finger at me. But before she could argue further, the sound of the door opening signaled the arrival of Dr. Bennett. The man moved with the precision of someone who knew time was money, and in my world, time was everything.

“Dr. Bennett, this way,” I called.

Calista looked between the doctor and me, her expression a mix of outrage and disbelief. “This is insane!” she spat.

“Stop making noise,” I said, my patience wearing thin. I gestured to the guards stationed near the door. “Escort her out.”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will,” I interrupted. “You’re distracting the doctor. If you’re so sure the boy isn’t mine, then you have nothing to worry about, right?”

She froze, her lips pressing into a thin line as the guards stepped forward. But instead of continuing to rant, she took a step back. Her silence was more telling than any argument she could have made.

The test was quick—Dr. Bennett didn’t waste any time. Aaron, thankfully, was already asleep upstairs, unaware of the tension simmering below.

Hours later, the results arrived. I held the envelope in my hand, the weight of it heavier than I expected. Calista had been pacing the room since the doctor left, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Open it,” she demanded, her voice sharper than usual.

I didn’t respond immediately. Instead, I tore the envelope open and scanned the document inside.

Probability of paternity: 99.9%.

The numbers stared back at me. For a moment, I felt my breath hitch. He was mine.

I lowered the paper, my mind racing, only to hear Calista’s triumphant voice.

“I told you!” she said, throwing her arms up. “I told you it wasn’t you. You’re not the—”

I flung the paper in her direction, cutting her off. She caught it reflexively, her eyes narrowing as she glared at me.

“What the hell is your—” Her words died in her throat as her gaze dropped to the paper.

I watched as her expression shift—shock, disbelief, and then something else entirely. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes darting over the words again and again as if hoping they would change.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she finally spoke. “99.9%...”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Don’t you think you should start speaking?” I said, my voice steady but biting, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

Calista stood frozen in place, her eyes glued to the DNA results in her trembling hands. Her face was pale, her lips parted slightly in shock, and for the first time since I’d met her, she was completely silent.

I studied her, anger simmering just beneath the surface. She looked lost, like a deer caught in headlights. But my patience was running thin.

“Mrs. Dario” I pressed, my voice dropping an octave, “this is the part where you start explaining.”

She blinked, her gaze darting to me, and for a moment, there was something raw and vulnerable in her expression. Then, as if reality came crashing down on her, her features hardened.

“This…” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “This doesn’t make sense. You can’t be—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”

“What’s done is done?” I echoed, disbelief lacing my tone. “Don’t stand there and try to dismiss this, Mrs Dario. My son—” I paused, the words unfamiliar and heavy on my tongue. “I had a son, and you never thought to tell me.”

She flinched, and for a moment, I saw guilt flash across her face. But then she straightened, her chin lifting in defiance. “I didn’t know! How could I have known it was you? You were just a stranger at a party, Mr. Dario. A man with a mask. You didn’t even give me your name.”

“How old is he?”

“What does that have to do with this?” She asked

“How.Old.Is.He?” My voice came out hoarsely

“He will be turning Si..six soon” she stuttered.

My jaw clenched as realization hit me like a train. “Six years,” I muttered under my breath, the timeline falling into place. “So you were one of them.”

“What?” she asked, her brows furrowing in what looks like confusion.

“You were part of the setup,” I said, my voice rising. The fury I’d been holding back erupted like a dam breaking. “The scandal. The one that destroyed my life and put me in this damn wheelchair.”

She looked completely thrown, her confusion genuine, but I wasn’t in the mood to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she argued, stepping closer.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Mrs. Dario,” I snapped. “You show up at a party, seduce me, and vanish the next morning. And then, conveniently, I’m framed in the media and end up like this. It all makes sense now. You were part of it from the start!”

“That’s not true!” she shouted, her voice trembling. “I didn’t even know who you were! I didn’t know anything about you. You’re making this up!”

“Am I?” I challenged, glaring at her.

Before I could stop her, she marched toward me, her eyes wild with desperation. “This can’t be true,” she muttered, more to herself than to me. And then, without warning, her hands reached for my shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” I barked, grabbing her wrists.

“I need to see,” she said, her voice breaking. “The man I was with had a phoenix tattoo on his arm. If it’s not there, then it’s not you.”

I froze, my grip tightening. “You think the test is lying?”

“I don’t know what to think!” she cried, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just need to know!”

For a moment, we were locked in a battle of wills, her desperation against my anger. But then I pushed her hands away.

“You think a tattoo changes anything?” I said, my voice low and venomous. “You’ve been lying to yourself for six years. Denying the truth because it’s easier than facing it.”

She shook her head, stepping back. “You said you won't have an heir,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You said you’d never have children. And now you’re blaming me for this? I was just eighteen, Mr Dario. Eighteen! You took everything from me, do you know what it took me to raise him as a single mom and now you have the audacity to accuse me?”

My patience snapped. “And why should I believe you?” I shot back. “You’ve had six years to come forward. Six years to tell me about my son. But instead, you let me rot in the aftermath of that scandal you started while you raised him on your own playing mother of the year.”

Her face twisted in pain, and for a moment, I thought she might break. But then she straightened, her eyes blazing with defiance. “I didn’t know who you were or what scandal you are talking about!” she screamed. “And even if I had, do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to be a single mother, struggling every day to give my son the life he deserves?”

“Spare me the sob story,” I said coldly. “You made your choice.”

“And you made yours,” she countered, her voice trembling. “You ruined my life, Mr Dario. And now you’re trying to ruin it again.”

“Your life?” I sneered. “What about mine? What about the six years I lost because of you?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “You don’t understand,” she whispered.

“You’re right,” I said, my tone cutting. “I don’t. And I never will.”

She flinched as if I’d struck her, her resolve crumbling before my eyes. And then, without another word, she turned and ran, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the room.

I watched her go, my chest heaving with anger and something else I couldn’t quite name.

“She’s still running,” I muttered to myself, my voice bitter. “Just like she did six years ago.”

Aaron was mine. And I wasn’t going to let her keep him from me. Not a second time.