Page 13 of The CEO Alpha’s Substitute Mate

He looks wary, his gaze lingering on my red-rimmed eyes, then picks up his fork.

“Why’re we having pancakes today?” he asks suddenly.

I wet my lips and whisper, “Just because.”

“Can I have another one?”

“Sure.” I turn around, my throat thick with emotion. I’ve just poured out the batter when I hear his fork clang on his plate and he scrambles out of his chair. Alarmed, I look over my shoulder. “Luca? Are you okay? Where’re you going?”

He doesn’t answer me, and a moment later, I hear the deadbolt being pulled open.

“Luca!”

I’m three steps into the hall when he comes back around the corner, and he isn’t alone. Callum Vance fills the archway behind my son with his coat still on and the cold of the stairwell coming off him. Every bit of air goes out of my chest at once. His gaze wanders over me before settling on mine. He says nothing at all.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper hoarsely.

Then my eyes drop to his hand and the envelope in it. My fingers close around the back of the kitchen chair. “Luca. Go to your room.”

Luca looks up at him, then across at me, and plants his feet. “No.”

“Luca.” My voice comes out with an edge in it that I never use on him. “Do as I say.”

He glares at me hard enough to make his eyes water, then goes, dragging his heels the entire length of the hall so I’m aware of every step of it. His door slams behind him.

Callum watches the empty hallway for a brief second. “He listens to you.”

“Of course he does.” My jaw has locked, and I have to work it loose to get the rest out. “I’ve raised him for six years.”

He crosses the kitchen without being invited to, setting the envelope down on the table between the syrup and the blue plate. His face never turns away from mine while he does it.

I pick it up. My hands are shaking so hard that I tear the flap crooked. I know what’s in it. I don’t have to open it to. It’s in his face, his calm. Still, I stand in my own kitchen at half past eight in the morning praying to every god I’ve ever heard of, plus a few I’m making up as I go. Maybe. Just maybe.

The sheet comes out. There’s a paragraph of laboratory language above a case number, and one line at the bottom in bold type reading 99.99 percent.

My legs go out from under me.

I don’t hit the floor because Callum catches me. His arm is around my waist in an instant, and he pulls me against his hard chest. For a moment, I stand there frozen, my heart pounding, my grief consuming me whole.

“Don’t touch me.” I shove at him with both hands, my voice broken.

He releases me and steps back at once. I press the back of my wrist against my mouth, trying to swallow my sob, my other hand on the back of the chair, supporting my weight.

I won’t break. I can’t. Not yet.

I turn around, stumble over to the sink, and turn on the cold water. Splashing it on my face, I try to hold it together. My hands grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles go pale. It takes me a few minutes to somewhat compose myself before I turn around. Callum is standing still, just watching me with those piercing eyes, as if waiting for my next move. This man has destroyed my world so thoroughly that I want nothing more than to grab the kitchen knife and stab him with it. But I don’t move. I just meet his gaze, proud when my voice doesn’t waver.

“Now what?”

“The adoption isn’t legal.” His voice is quiet. “It was never legal, and it can’t be made legal.”

It’s nothing I didn’t already know. Saying it out loud is just twisting the knife in my heart.

Don’t cry. Don’t break.

“So you’re going to take my son from me.” This time the words are not as steady as I would like.

He doesn’t answer right away, moving along the counter instead to look at the plate of pancakes going cold, at the six-dollar syrup beside it. Then he stops in front of the refrigerator, where Luca’s drawings are stuck up under fruit magnets. He stands there so long that I want to throw the pan at his back.