Chapter 17

Hearing Logan’s words, Yvan couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “What do you mean by that?” Yvan stared intently at his face, “You are my son, through and through. Do I need a paternity test to prove it? Do I need paperwork to take care of my flesh and blood?”

Logan met Yvan’s gaze; the resemblance between father and son was uncanny, like a copy–and–paste job. However, Yvan’s features were more chiseled and refined, while Logan had a softer demeanor, much like that of Matilda.

He spoke softly. “Mr. Boyd, if I recall correctly, you and Mom split up five years ago. And I was born after that divorce, so naturally, Mom’s got custody. If you want a shot at raising me, well, you’ll have to work that out with her.”

Yvan’s pupils shrank as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he repeated, “What did you say?”

Why was this five–year–old so unnervingly precocious?

Logan just looked at Yvan, seemingly indifferent to his astonishment. His voice softened as he said, “Mr. Boyd, if I weren’t your son… if I were just some kid Mom had with another man, would you still treat me the same?”

Yvan felt a tightness in his chest, an irritation sweeping over him.

bring this boy home if he wasn’t his son? But the mere thought of Matilda having another man’s child sent him

was forever his, only ever meant to bear his children. The mere

let out a laugh, a sound pure and bell–like yet laced with

lived these past five years,

pierce through Yvan, who felt as if he’d

with such

sole reason my mom keeps fighting in this world.

Matilda would

ready at eight in the evening and headed to the address

12:07.

Chapter 17

of

her promptly, “Good

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