Chapter 102: Hundred and Two

The message came when I was halfway through folding laundry.

Declan: I’m outside. Come downstairs.

My heart lurched. I glanced at the clock. Jacob wasn’t home yet. Noah was in his room, humming while he played with his cars. I should’ve ignored it. I should have just deleted the text, pretended I never saw it. But my body moved before my brain could catch up. My palms were sweaty as I grabbed my cardigan and slipped on some sandals.

I knew why he was here. He had questions. He was right to have them. He deserved to know the truth, but God, how could I tell him? It would ruin everything.

I found him parked at the far end of the lot, leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world. His face was set, his eyes stormy in a way that told me he wasn’t here for pleasantries.

“Get in the car,” he said quietly.

I hesitated, glancing around as if someone might be watching. Finally, with a shaky exhale, I slid into the passenger seat. The air inside the car felt charged, tight.

He stared straight ahead for a beat before speaking. “Tell me about Noah.”

My heart stuttered. “Declan,” I sighed softly.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice harsh but trembling beneath. “Don’t feed me some story about godsons and babysitting. I saw the way he looked at you. He called you ‘Mommy.’ He’s yours.” His eyes cut to mine, sharp, demanding. “So stop lying. Tell me the truth.”

My mouth was dry. I thought about denying it again, about making up another lie. But the weight of it had been suffocating me for days. So I let the truth out, low and unsteady.

“Yes. He’s mine. Jacob’s and mine.”

Declan’s head tilted, his jaw tightening as though he was preparing himself for a blow. “How old is he?”

I swallowed hard. “Five.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Declan’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face. He leaned back, staring at me as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Five?” His voice cracked. “Willow… five years ago. You and I….” He stopped himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me Jacob is his father? Are you serious? Because that timeline…” He trailed off, staring at me with something raw and broken in his expression.

I forced myself to meet his eyes even though my stomach twisted. “Yes, Jacob is his father.”

Declan laughed, but it was hollow, jagged. “You expect me to believe that?”

He leaned his head against the car seat, his eyes closing. “Don’t fucking do this to me, Willow. Fuck.”

“Yes!” I snapped, sharper than I intended. My voice wavered as I added, “Noah is Jacob’s son. End of story.”

His eyes searched mine, desperate, as if he could read the truth behind my pupils. “No. You’re lying. I can see it. You’re protecting yourself. Protecting him. God knows why.”

That stung, because a part of me knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. But I couldn’t let this go any further. Couldn’t let the possibility hang between us. I needed him to leave. I needed him to stop digging.

I gathered every ounce of steel in my chest. “Get this through your head, Declan. Noah is not your son. He’s Jacob’s. And you need to stop all this. You have to stop showing up like this. Stop prying into my life. Stay away from me.”

My voice cracked on the last word, but I yanked the door handle and shoved it open anyway.

“Willow - ” he started, but I was already climbing out, and he was following right behind me.

And that’s when I froze.

Jacob’s car turned into the lot, headlights cutting across the dim space. My breath caught. I saw him spot me, saw his expression flicker from recognition to confusion to something much darker when he noticed Declan stepping out of his car.

I was frozen as Jacob hit the brakes. As he climbed out of the car and made his way to the two of us. Long strides, purposeful. Angry.

“Willow?” Jacob’s voice was sharp as he approached. His eyes darted between us. “What the fuck is this?”

Declan straightened, his jaw tight, shoulders squared like he’d been waiting for this moment.

“Relax,” Declan said coolly, though the tension in his posture betrayed him. “We were just talking.”

“Talking?” Jacob’s laugh was humorless, bitter. He stepped closer, placing himself slightly in front of me as if shielding me. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Hanging around, sniffing around my fiancée?” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Declan didn’t flinch. “Maybe you should ask her what she wants instead of speaking for her.”

“Don’t you fuckking dare,” Jacob growled, stepping forward so their chests nearly brushed. The air between them crackled, violent.

“Jacob, stop,” I whispered, panic clawing at me. I reached for his arm, but he was rigid, unyielding.

“You’ve crossed the line,” Jacob hissed at Declan. “You show up at her work, now here at her house? You don’t respect boundaries. You don’t respect her.”

Declan’s eyes flicked to mine, softening for just a moment. “That’s not true.”

But Jacob didn’t give him the chance to explain. He shoved a hand against Declan’s chest, forcing him back a step.

“You don’t come near my family again,” Jacob said, low and dangerous. “If I see you around her, around my son, I swear to fucking God, Ashwell.”

Declan clenched his fists but didn’t retaliate. His jaw worked as though holding back words that might break open everything. Finally, he looked at me again, his expression somewhere between pleading and shattered. Then, without another word, he got into his car and slammed the door shut.

The engine roared to life. In a flash of headlights, he was gone.

Jacob turned to me then, his chest heaving. “Why was he here, Willow?”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I didn’t know how to answer, not without unraveling everything.

His eyes bored into mine, filled with suspicion and rage and something that terrified me more than either, he was hurt. “You should’ve told me,” he said tightly. “You should’ve told me everything.”

I swallowed hard, but my throat was dry as a desert.

Without waiting for my response, Jacob grabbed my wrist and led me back toward the building. The weight of his silence was heavier than any words he could’ve thrown at me.

And though Declan’s car was gone, the echo of his disbelief clung to me. Five years old. His voice, raw with shock, wouldn’t stop replaying in my head.

Five years.