#####chapter2:The Price of Silence

Zan stared at the photo like it was a loaded weapon. His fingers trembled, betraying what his face tried to hide.

“That’s her,” he whispered. “She’s mine.”

Anita sat back, arms folded like armour over her chest. “She’s not your possession, Zan. She’s my daughter. She’s my life. You don’t just walk in and claim either.”

Zan lifted his eyes. “How long have you known?”

Her lips parted—then closed again. She didn’t owe him answers. But her silence wouldn’t erase the truth that had just split the air between them.

“I knew the day I took the test,” she said coldly. “The day you chose your ambition over everything else.”

His throat bobbed. “You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

She stood, her tone sharp but quiet. “You left me, Zan. You used me for a merger with FalconCorp and disappeared. You cut me off like I was just another line in your quarterly report.”

“I didn’t know you were—”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t know,” she snapped. “You knew who I was. What we had. You knew enough to walk away without blinking.”

He didn’t speak. Because he knew she was right. And worse, he had nothing to give that would make it better.

She took the photo from him and slid it back into the drawer. “You don’t get to feel guilty now. You don’t get to cry over a child you didn’t carry. That you never looked for.”

“I’m not crying,” he murmured.

“You’re right,” she said. “You never cry. You calculate.”

She walked to the window, her voice flat now. “You’re a strategist, Zan. You walked away once. What’s stopping you now?”

“I didn’t come here for a deal,” he said after a pause. “I came because I haven’t slept a full night since I saw her face in that photo. Since I saw her eyes and knew something inside me had been missing for years.”

Anita exhaled shakily.

“Don’t pretend you came here for love,” she said. “You came here because guilt is cheaper than responsibility. Because walking back is easier than facing what you did.”

He moved slowly, placing his hand flat on her desk.

“I came because I was wrong. And because she deserves more than silence.”

Anita turned around. “You think she needs you? She doesn’t. She has school, she has ballet on Saturdays, she has bedtime stories and vitamins and someone who checks under the bed for monsters.”

“I’m not trying to replace you.”

“Good. Because you can’t.”

The room fell still again. Only the ticking of the minimalist gold wall clock filled the space.

Zan’s voice dropped. “I want to get to know her.”

Anita laughed, but it wasn’t joy. It was disbelief. “Know her? She’s not a startup, Zan. She’s not a project you study and pitch.”

“She’s my daughter.”

Anita stepped forward, her gaze like glass, sharp and clear. “No, Zan. She’s mine. Until you earn the right to be anything else.”

He looked up at her, quieter than she’d ever seen him. And suddenly, for the first time in years, she saw the boy beneath the empire. The man beneath the money. The regret behind the suits.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said.

She shook her head. “Don’t.”

“I mean it.”

“You stopped calling. You stopped writing. You chose power over people, deals over love, and when I needed you most—when I was scared, alone, and bleeding—you vanished.”

Her voice cracked. “You vanished.”

Zan’s hands tightened on the desk edge.

“I was young. Foolish. Ruthless.”

“You were a coward.”

Silence.

Pain lingered between them like a storm that refused to break.

“You want to meet her?” she asked after a long beat. “Fine.”

Zan looked up, surprised.

Anita moved to the cabinet and pulled out a manila folder. Inside was a single sheet.

She held it out.

Zan took it—and blinked.

It wasn’t a birth certificate. Not yet.

It was a DNA request form.

“Have this done,” she said. “Privately. No drama. If you’re serious about knowing her, you’ll do it the right way.”

Zan held the paper like it might burn his skin. “I don’t need this. I believe you.”

“But I don’t trust you,” she replied. “This isn’t about belief, Zan. It’s about proof. Responsibility. Stability.”

He nodded slowly. “And after that?”

Her lips twitched—a bitter smile. “You’ll wait.”

“For what?”

“For her to choose you.”

Zan looked stunned. “You’re giving her the decision?”

“She’s not an asset,” Anita said. “She’s a person. Once you gave up the right to command, the moment you walked away.”

For the first time, Zan looked…small. Like he understood what it meant to miss the years that made someone whole.

He tucked the paper into his coat pocket.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“Good.”

Anita turned away.

But as he reached the door, he paused.

“She called me Daddy,” he said softly. “Even without knowing who I was.”

Anita’s hand clenched around the edge of the table.

“She does that sometimes,” she said without turning. “With strangers who feel familiar.”

The door opened.

He stepped out.

And just before it clicked shut, he whispered:

“She won’t be calling strangers that for long.”