Chapter 2

The paternity test results were in—99.99% match. There was no denying it: Anna was his biological daughter.

Charles stared at the report, a storm of emotions brewing inside him. He hated Nina's manipulations, but faced with this daughter who'd just dropped into his world, he felt something he couldn't even put into words.

When he saw Nina next, she was clad in the designer outfit his assistant had procured. The clothes were expensive, yet they hung loose on her frame, as if borrowed from someone else.

"The money?" she demanded, cutting straight to the point as though each additional word cost her.

Charles slid a bank card across the table. "The PIN is four eights. There's 15 million on it. And sign this."

A thick document sat before her, titled "Guardianship Transfer and Severance Agreement".

Nina picked it up. Without reading a single clause, she flipped directly to the final page and signed her name. Her handwriting was elegant, yet carried a brittle, spent quality.

"Done." She set down the pen, tucking the card into her bag. "The child is in the room. You can collect her yourself. We're settled now."

Nina turned to leave—no hesitation, no backward glance at the daughter she had carried for nine months and raised for five years.

Her utter coldness ignited a sudden, irrational fury in Charles. His hand shot out, closing around her wrist with bone-crushing force.

"Nina Summers, you really can't wait to get out, huh? You won't even say goodbye to your own kid? Is your heart made of stone?" he growled, teeth clenched.

Pain shot through her wrist, but her expression remained impassive. "Mr. Sterling, this was a transaction. It's concluded. Sentimental farewells will only make it harder for her to adjust. A man of your means can hire any expert to handle a five-year-old."

Her words, each one a deliberate stab, hung in the air.

Charles flung her hand away, disgust practically spilling from his eyes. "Get out. Take your money and never show up in front of me again."

"That's exactly what I was planning," Nina said, rubbing her red wrist as she walked out of the hotel without looking back.

The sunlight was blinding. She raised a hand to shield her eyes, and suddenly the world tilted. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her, sending her stumbling to a nearby trash bin. Nina retched violently, but only bitter acid and flecks of blood came up.

A taxi pulled up beside her. She gave the driver an address—the farthest hospital on the outskirts of the city.

Charles entered the room to find Anna curled on the bed, clutching a faded, well-worn plush bear. At the sight of him, her small body shrank back visibly.

"You're coming with me now," he said, attempting a softer tone that still emerged stiff from years of command.

Anna said nothing, only hugging the bear tighter.

A frown touched Charles' brow. He disliked this silent defiance. He moved to pick her up.

"Don't touch me!" Anna's scream was thin and piercing. "You're the bad guy! You took my mom!"

Charles froze. Staring at the small, teary-eyed creature glaring at him with such fear and hatred, he felt a sudden, unfamiliar helplessness.

The days that followed were a disaster.

He brought Anna back to his mansion—practically a palace—and gave her a whole room full of princess dresses and more toys than she could ever play with. He spared no expense, hiring the best nutritionist and a top-notch nanny.

Yet Anna remained like a frightened wild thing. She refused to speak, to eat, to let anyone near. All day, she clung to that shabby bear, huddled in a corner of her new, lavish room. Nights were worse, filled with nightmares where she sobbed and cried out for her mother.

Charles' patience was fraying to its breaking point. He couldn't comprehend it. What kind of spell had that woman cast on this child? What could possibly be so worthy of longing in a mother who would abandon her own daughter for money?

The nanny reported, her voice trembling, "Mr. Sterling, she... still refuses to eat."

With an irritated tug at his tie, Charles strode into the child's room. The girl had grown even thinner, her face a stark, pale sheet against the plush surroundings.

He demanded, struggling to keep his rising anger in check, "Anna Summers! What is it you want? Your mother left you! She took the money and is who-knows-where, living it up! Are you trying to starve yourself for her?"

Anna looked up. For the first time, a flash of genuine hatred burned in eyes that were so unsettlingly like his own. "You're lying! Mom isn't like that! It was you! You used your money to drive her away!"

"I drove her?" Charles let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "She came to me! She asked for 15 million outright! I have the signed agreement right here. Would you like to see it?"

"No! I won't look! I don't want to see it!" Anna clapped her hands over her ears, her scream rising to a shrill, frantic pitch. "I hate you! I hate this place! I want my mom!"

In her agitation, she lashed out, sweeping the glass of milk from the nightstand. It hit the floor with a sharp, crystalline crash.

That was the final straw. In his thirty-odd years, no one had ever dared such defiance in his presence.

"Enough!" The word was a low, furious growl. He stepped forward, intent on restraining her.

Terrified, Anna scrambled backward. Her foot caught on the worn plush bear, sending her tumbling to the floor with a heavy thud.

A raw, wrenching wail tore from her throat.

That sound—a desperate, broken sob—acted like a physical blow, puncturing Charles' fury in an instant. It drained away, leaving behind only a churning sea of frustration and a flicker of something unfamiliar and unsettling—panic.

He told the nanny to clean up the mess, then stepped out into the hallway and lit up a cigarette.

As smoke drifted around him, he recalled Nina's resolute back as she left—no hesitation, no second thoughts. He wondered if she was truly that ruthless.

Almost on impulse, he turned to his assistant, Alex Wilson, and said, "Check Nina's account. I want to see exactly how she's enjoying her 15 million."