Chapter 126 One Hundred & Twenty six
The next morning, Dominic hadn’t slept.
The apartment was quiet, the city still half-asleep outside his floor-to-ceiling windows. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw tight, but his mind refused to rest.
He had to be at the office before anyone else arrived. Before the board, before Miranda, before anyone could interfere. He needed to talk to her—Izzy. He needed answers.
By eight o’clock, he was sure he could get there. Be the first one. Control the situation. Ask the questions that had been burning in him all night.
He dressed quickly, choosing dark, sharp clothes that made him look like the man who owned everything in sight. Every piece of fabric, every cuff, every tie mattered—it was armor.
Coffee in hand, he stared out at the city as the first hints of dawn broke over the skyline. His phone buzzed lightly. He ignored it. Nothing could distract him today.
By seven-thirty, he was already in the elevator, descending silently. The building’s lobby was empty, save for the soft hum of the early morning lights.
Dominic walked through the hallways toward his office. The thought of seeing her again made his chest tighten. Not with anger… not exactly.
Something sharper. Something he didn’t want to name yet.
He stepped into the office building just as the first employees began trickling in. But he didn’t stop. He went straight to the executive elevator, rode it up to his floor, and walked directly to his office.
The lights were still dim, the blinds half-closed. Perfect. He could think, he could plan, and most importantly… he could see her first.
He checked the tablet he had brought with him, Brian’s picture staring back at him. The sight of the boy made the storm inside him flare hotter.
Tomorrow, I will ask her. No excuses. No distractions.
Dominic poured himself a glass of water, then drained it in one go. His reflection in the window stared back at him, tired, tense, but determined.
Eight o’clock. She’ll be here. I’ll know the truth.
He took a slow, steadying breath.
And nothing… nothing will get in my way.
Dominic stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the city still glimmering beneath the early sun.
He barely noticed the passing cars, the bustle of people starting their day. His focus was elsewhere.
A sleek black car pulled up outside.
And then he saw her.
Izzy stepped out, radiant as ever, a small smile on her face.
Beside her, Steven leaned down and kissed her gently on the cheek before opening the door for her.
Dominic’s blood boiled.
His jaw tightened, fingers curling into a fist. Every instinct in him screamed. How dare he?
He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over the screen.
No. Calm. Wait.
But the heat in his chest refused to cool.
Finally, he typed the message, fingers moving quickly, deliberately:
“We need to talk. Now.”
He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
The phone buzzed in his hand as the message went through.
Dominic didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe for a moment, eyes still glued to Izzy as she walked toward the building, unaware of the storm watching her from above.
He felt the familiar pull—desire, anger, obsession—all tangled together.
She had a life. A son. A husband.
And yet… she had never belonged anywhere but here, in his mind, in his control.
The elevator dinged softly behind him as the office started coming to life. But Dominic ignored it.
He kept staring out the window, waiting, planning, and counting the moments until she would step into his office.
She will answer me. She has to.
Because today, nothing—no one—would stop him from uncovering the truth.
Dominic watched the phone buzz in his hand.
Izzy’s message appeared:
“Let me organize my schedule, then we can talk.”
His thumb hovered over the keyboard for barely a second before he replied, every word sharp and deliberate:
“We are talking now.”
A few moments later, another message popped up:
“No. I talk to you when I want to, Mr. Steele.”
Dominic froze.
Mr. Steele?
His pulse quickened. She had just gone formal with him.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
Interesting.
The heat in his chest didn’t cool; if anything, it flared hotter. She was testing him. Challenging him. And he loved it—hated it—but most of all, he needed it.
Dominic typed another reply, a single line, simple, but loaded with intention:
“Then I’ll wait. But be ready.”
He hit send before she could respond.
The city hummed outside the window, oblivious to the storm that was brewing inside Dominic Steele’s penthouse office.
Formal? She thinks this is a game.
He clenched his jaw. We’ll see who controls the conversation today.
The phone buzzed again, but he didn’t look down.
Dominic’s phone buzzed again.
He glanced at it, irritation and curiosity twisting together.
It was the investigator. Calling.
He answered immediately, voice low and sharp.
“What now?”
The voice on the other end was calm, almost clinical.
“Sir… I’ve verified the records. Steven Valenti is not the father of the boy.”
Dominic froze. The glass in his hand trembled slightly.
“Not… what?” His voice was barely a whisper, disbelief slicing through him.
“DNA results are conclusive,” the investigator continued. “Whatever the papers said, whatever the story you’ve been told—Steven Valenti is not Brian’s biological father.”
Dominic’s chest tightened, every muscle in his body coiling like a spring.
He stared at the tablet again, at the boy’s photo. Brian’s dark hair. Bright eyes. The tilt of his head… everything suddenly clicked in a way that made his pulse pound in his ears.
No.
It can’t be.
But deep down, every instinct, every instinctive memory of Izzy, of the boy, of the last six years… screamed the same truth.
Dominic pressed the phone back to his ear. His voice was controlled, cold—but trembling under the surface.
“Send me everything. All records, all dates, everything you have on this birth, the hospital, the staff… everything.”
The investigator hesitated. “Yes, sir. I’ll get it to you immediately.”
Dominic ended the call and sank into his chair, gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles whitened.
His mind raced, circling, refusing to slow down.
Brian. My son. That boy… is mine.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, equal parts fury and possessiveness.
He picked up his phone again. Another message to Izzy.
We’re talking. Now.
No schedules. No delays. No excuses.
This time, he wasn’t waiting.
Because nothing in the world could keep him from the truth anymore.