Our Little Cupid: The Tycoon's Child In My Arms

Allison never once let herself view Kyle as Lucas's father. When she moved to Blirson, she'd changed her phone number and erased any lingering connections to his old world, determined to shield Lucas from any reminder of that past.

As the years drifted by, she stopped checking up on Kyle altogether. In her mind, he was probably long married with children, busy living a life that no longer had anything to do with her.

That evening, she nestled close to Lucas on his bed, reading his favorite story for the hundredth time. Even as the last words left her lips, the little boy remained wide-eyed and restless.

She snapped the storybook shut and set it on the nightstand. Pulling the blanket up around him, she gave him a gentle but firm command. "Eyes closed. Time for sleep."

Lucas burrowed under the covers, but his voice was small and wounded. "Mom, was I really wrong today?"

The truth was, he hadn't truly done anything wrong. He had a big heart, but his way of handling problems could be heavy-handed; he was never one to back down from a fight when he could fix things himself.

For once, Allison didn't scold him or insist he'd made a mistake. She stroked his hair and said softly, "No, you weren't wrong."

When she was honest with herself, she knew how important it was for a child to understand right from wrong, and that guiding him was her job as his mother.

Lucas's brow creased with confusion. "Then why did everyone get mad at me? Even you, Mom?"

Allison sat quietly for a moment, then explained, "Sometimes, even when you mean well, your way of handling things isn't what people expect. When you try to protect someone, you might end up hurting someone else instead. Grown-ups often side with the kid who cries the loudest, even if it's not fair. It's just how things go sometimes."

Lucas frowned, unconvinced. "I still don't get it. If you understand, why'd you yell at me anyway?"

"It's because the other parents were angry," she replied. "If I don't step in and say something, they might try to punish you themselves, and it could be much worse. I needed to protect you, even if it meant pretending to be strict. But you know I'd never hurt you, right?"

"If I did something wrong, you should tell me. If I did something right, you should tell me that too. Isn't that how it should be?" he said, looking up at her and searching her face for the truth.

A rush of relief passed through her. Children were born with clear eyes; the world hadn't yet clouded his sense of justice. She kissed his forehead and whispered, "You're absolutely right. I was wrong today. Next time, you can tell me if I make a mistake too, okay?"

A grin spread across his face and he nodded with all the seriousness a little boy could muster. "Okay, Mom!"

The following morning, Allison worked in the kitchen, making breakfast as usual. Meanwhile, Lucas slipped outside, eager for another day of adventures.

Once breakfast was ready and Lucas was still nowhere in sight, Allison slipped off her apron and headed downstairs to track him down. Out on the street, she was greeted by a line of sleek black cars that had pulled up along the curb. Several men in sharp black suits stepped out.

A crowd of local kids had already swarmed the vehicles, drawn to the shining chrome and luxury they rarely saw. In the middle of it all, Lucas stood frozen, eyeing the first man who emerged from the front car.

That man removed his sunglasses, handing them to an attendant without a word.

He took his time, scanning the neighborhood, then glanced over the rundown apartment buildings before letting his gaze settle on the knot of children—and finally, on Lucas.

Something about the group's crisp suits and quiet authority struck Allison as odd. These men didn't seem to belong here.

Suddenly, she realized she'd left her apartment door unlocked. Wanting nothing to do with whatever was happening, she called out, "Lucas! Come on, breakfast is getting cold!"

Back in Streley, she'd been able to keep her composure. Here, she'd had to learn to shout herself hoarse just to get Lucas's attention.

"Coming!" Lucas turned away from the man and took off running in Allison's direction.

Allison grabbed his hand, and together they hurried upstairs. She was just drying her hands after washing up when a sharp knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?" she asked without thinking, setting the breakfast dishes on the table and wiping her palms on her pants.

Opening the door, she found herself face-to-face with the same man who had been leading the group outside.

The sight left her momentarily speechless. Allison had met plenty of people in her professional life, but she was sure she'd never seen this man before.

From a distance, he hadn't seemed so intimidating. Up close, she felt the intensity of his presence.

He stood tall—at least six feet—with broad shoulders and chiseled features, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than her rent.

He said nothing at first, just regarded her in silence, his face unreadable.

Allison kept a tight grip on the doorframe, not budging. "Can I help you with something?"

"Where is Lucian?" he asked, his tone clipped.

Her brows furrowed. "Lucian? Who's that? I don't know anyone by that name."

"My son." The man's tone stayed calm, each syllable slow and deliberate. "Lucian Lawson."

Allison's heart pounded so hard it hurt. She fought to keep her voice even. "You've got the wrong place. There's no Lucian here," she replied, trying to shut the door.

The man said nothing, simply stepped forward and blocked the door with his hand. Without asking, he crossed the threshold, pausing to take in the neat but modest space, the stack of children's books on the table, the toys peeking from under the couch. He gave a quiet nod and claimed the couch as if it belonged to him.

Footsteps sounded from the hallway. Lucas appeared, rubbing his damp hands on his pants. He stopped in his tracks, eyes darting between his mother and the stranger settled comfortably in their living room. Something about his mom's rigid posture told him this was serious.

Usually, his mother was unshakable, but right now she looked smaller than he'd ever seen her.

He edged closer, trying to sound as grown-up as he could manage. "Who are you, and why are you in our home?"

The man's lips curved into a slow smile. He reached out as if to draw Lucas near, but Lucas slipped just out of reach, eyeing him warily.

Instead of taking offense, the man settled back. "I'm your father," he said, voice soft but certain.

Hearing those words, Allison felt her knees almost give out. She had feared this moment for years. All that time spent keeping Lucas close, and now the truth was standing in her living room, impossibly real.

Lucas studied the stranger, glanced at his mother's ghostly face, and frowned. "But Mom said you were dead."

The man's eyes flickered to Allison, his smile growing sharper, almost a warning. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm very much alive. And I've come to bring my son home."

Silence fell. Neither Allison nor Lucas managed a word.

Even at four, Lucas could sense the shift. He looked up at his mom, piecing things together, realizing this stranger's story might be true.