Chapter 4
Claire never expected to see him again, and certainly not so soon.
This time, there was no Maybach, no tailored suit.
He stood at her doorstep in a simple black jacket, a grocery bag in hand, looking like any ordinary neighbor.
"How did you find this address?" Her first instinct was to slam the door.
Edward's hand came up, not forcefully, but with an immovable stability against the worn wood.
"Your son got lost in a storm and was found by a stranger. Don't you think steps should be taken to prevent a repeat?"
Claire froze at his words.
"I'm not here to take Leo away from you. I just came to bring you a few things," Edward said, lowering his voice.
He showed her the grocery bag, packed with milk, bread, fruit, and some snacks for Leo.
"We don't need it. We manage fine," Claire said, her tone brittle.
"How high did your fever get?" Edward asked.
"What?" Claire blinked, caught off guard.
"How high was your fever last night?" Edward's gaze lingered on her pale face. "When you're running such a high fever, how are you supposed to take care of yourself or a four-year-old kid?"
Claire bit her lip, words failing her.
Just then, a small head peeked out from behind her legs.
"Mr. Sterling!" Leo's face lit up like sunshine breaking into the dim apartment.
"Leo, go back inside," Claire said, a note of strained command in her voice.
But Leo darted past her, stopping right in front of Edward, looking up with unabashed delight. "You came to see me! I knew you would!"
Edward lowered himself to one knee, meeting the boy at eye level. "Your mom isn't feeling well. Did she take the medicine you got?"
"Yes!" Leo nodded earnestly. "And I made her oatmeal. It was a little burned, but Mom said she liked it."
A sudden tightness gripped Claire's throat.
Her four-year-old son had climbed onto a stool, stretching up to the stove to make her a bowl of overcooked oatmeal.
When she took the bowl, she noticed a blister on Leo's tiny hand from touching the edge of the pot. He didn't even cry out—he just lifted the bowl as high as he could and said, "Mom, drink it. You'll feel better after."
"You did well," Edward said, his large hand coming to rest gently on Leo's head.
His large, well-defined hand rested on Leo's fine hair, and somehow, the moment felt unexpectedly natural.
Claire watched, her heart clenched hard.
She turned her face away, voice rough. "Just... come in."
The apartment felt even smaller with him inside. Edward took the room's only chair. Claire sat on the edge of the bed, Leo immediately curling into her side, his head a warm weight against her arm.
The quiet between the three of them was thick and long-lasting.
"Claire Evans." Edward broke the silence.
Hearing her full name from him made her flinch.
"That night, five years ago. You weren't sent there, were you?" he asked.
Claire said nothing.
"You walked into the wrong room. You saw what was happening to me, tried to help, and then—"
"Stop." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't want to talk about that night."
"But I have to." Edward's gaze held hers, unflinching. "After that night, you had Leo. You dropped out of school. You've been on your own for five years. While I knew nothing. How much did you go through because of my ignorance?"
"It was my choice." Claire lifted her chin, a fierce, stubborn glint in her eyes he'd never seen before. "I don't want your pity or your guilt. Leo is my son. I will raise him. I don't need help from anyone."
"A child needs a father," Edward said.
"He doesn't!" The words burst out, louder than she intended. "He never has. We're fine. We have food, clothes, and a roof. Leo is healthy and happy. That's enough."
The raised voice startled Leo. He flinched, pressing himself closer to his mother's side.
Edward saw it all: the boy's instinctive recoil, the flash of instant regret and pain in Claire's eyes.
She hadn't meant to scare him. She was just so tired.
Exhausted down to her bones.
Edward's voice dropped, becoming almost gentle, as if soothing a skittish animal. "Claire, what were the hospital visits for?"
All the color drained from her face. "How do you know about—"
"I had you looked into. The oncology clinic. Why were you there?" he admitted plainly.
Claire's lips trembled, but she pressed them tightly, offering no answer.
"Mommy goes to the doctor because—" Leo began, his small voice tentative.
"Leo!" Claire snapped, cutting him off.
Leo flinched, tears sprang to his eyes, but he tried hard to hold them in, his little shoulders jerking with the effort.
As Edward watched the mother holding a fortress of silence and the child trying to be brave, something shifted deep within Edward.
It wasn't just guilt or sympathy.
It was something more primal, a fierce urge to stand between them and the world, to shield them from any further hurt.
Edward rose and crossed the small space to stand before Claire.
Then, he did the one thing she could never have predicted.
He squatted down.
The CEO of Sterling Holdings, the iron-fisted ruler of the business world, was now squatting in a cramped, barely four-hundred-square-foot apartment, meeting the eyes of a frail, stubborn woman bristling with defenses.
"Claire, whatever you're afraid of, from now on, you don't have to carry it all by yourself," he promised.
Claire finally broke down, her tears spilling over at last.
Claire's hands flew to her face as a sob tore from her throat. She cried silently, her body wracked with tremors she could no longer control.
She cried for a long time.
Leo, distressed, patted her back with his little hands, his own voice choked. "Don't cry, Mommy, please don't cry... I'll be good, I promise..."
Edward didn't tell her to stop.
Instead, he simply remained there, a silent, solid presence in the cramped room, like an unshakable wall against the storm.