I never wanted kids.
Swore off them.
I'd said it to my mother. Said it to my therapist. Said it to every woman who tried to get too close. I didn't have the patience, didn't have the heart for it—hell, I didn't even think I had what it took to be someone's father.
And now I was sitting in my car, heart racing, head spinning, trying to breathe through the single most absurd, unthinkable, unbelievable thing I'd ever been told in my life.
Not one.
But two.
Two kids. My kids.
The air inside the car was stifling. Too still, too quiet, too heavy with the weight of the truth that had just drop-kicked my world into an entirely different orbit.
I stared at her.
She was right beside me, wringing her hands in her lap. Lia looked so small in that moment. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone who had carried far too much alone for far too long.
"They'll be four in six months," she had said.
And something inside me cracked. Because four years ago... I was spiraling. Working. Drowning in the aftermath of a deal gone bad, numbing myself at every high-end bar from New York to L.A.
That night had been a blur.
I remembered her though. Clear as day. Her laugh. Her voice. Her hands tugging at mine. The way she didn't ask for anything in the end, not even a name.
God.
The twins. Zeal and Zia.
I hadn't even noticed it the night at the hospital. Not really. Zia had looked familiar, sure, but I thought it was just déjà vu—one of those things your brain plays tricks on you with. It never even occurred to me to look deeper.
But today… standing there, seeing them both up close?
It was like being slammed into by a freight train of recognition.
The curve of their mouths. The shape of their eyes. The way Zeal tilted his head, just like I do when I'm trying to make sense of something.
I still felt like I was floating outside my own body.
"I found out eight weeks later," Lia said suddenly, softly. "That I was pregnant."
Her voice shook a little, but she didn't pause. She needed to say it. And I needed to hear it.
"I… I thought about terminating," she admitted. "I even scheduled an appointment. Twice. But I never went. I couldn't do it. And honestly? I'm glad I didn't. They're my whole world now."
I clenched my fists in my lap. My throat was dry. I wanted to say something—anything—but the words were stuck.
"I tried to find you," she went on. "I really did. But all I had was one letter."
My brow furrowed. "One letter?"
"You told me your name started with a Z," she said, looking over at me. "That's all I had to go on. No phone number. No last name. You paid in cash. There was no trail. I looked for a while… but eventually, I gave up. I had to move on. I had to take care of them."
God.
This was my fault.
I was the one who made it a rule to never leave behind anything real. No names. No contact info. One-night only. No repeats. No attachments. I'd lived my life like a ghost because I didn't want anyone to follow me.
And now here she was—sitting next to me with the most permanent tie anyone could ever have to another person.
Kids.
My kids.
I rubbed my hands over my face and leaned back against the headrest. "Why…" I exhaled. "Why didn't you just tell me? At the hotel. When you saw me."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then—
"Because I was scared," she whispered.
I turned to look at her. "Scared?"
"I was scared someone like you, rich and powerful, would take my kids away from me."
"What?" I stared at her, stunned. "I wouldn't do that. You know me—"
"But I don't," she cut in sharply, "We met one night four years ago. We're practically strangers."
The words hit me like a slap.
Strangers.
We were strangers. Strangers who'd created life together. Strangers bound by blood neither of us had prepared for.
"Strangers that have kids together," I muttered, almost to myself.
And it took saying it out loud—really hearing it—for the full weight of it to sink in.
I was a father.
What a joke.
I laughed under my breath. A bitter, humorless sound. "This is insane," I whispered. "I… I don't even know how to process this."
She looked down. "You don't have to. I'm not asking for anything. I just… You deserved to know."
Hearing those words made me feel empty.
I'd missed birthdays. First steps. First words. I didn't know their favorite colors or the songs they sang when they thought no one was listening. I didn't know what scared them, what made them laugh, what books they asked for before bed.
I had missed everything. Unknowingly left Lia to take care of what we both created... on her own.
And now I had no idea how to fix it. How to come to terms with it.
"You named them yourself?"
She nodded. "Zia and Zeal."
I almost smiled. Somehow it fit. Like on some level, even when she didn't know my name, she'd kept me in them.
I rested my elbows on my knees, leaning forward, trying to breathe through the weight pressing down on my chest.
"What now?" I asked, not even sure what answer I wanted.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "I never planned for this moment."
Neither did I.
But here we were.
"I turned down the offer that night because I didn't want you finding out. But now..." She trailed off, wiping her tears. "Now there's no escaping it." She inhaled shakily, then looked at me fully. "The contract. You said you had it in the car?"
I blinked at her, still dazed. "I don't think we should—"
"I'll sign it," she cut in firmly. "We made a deal, and you've already paid for the surgery."
"Yeah, well, this changes everything."
"It doesn't have to." Her gaze softened, but her voice stayed steady. "I didn't tell you so you'd feel cornered or obligated to take us in. Whether you're part of their lives or not... that's your choice. I won't force it. So let's just get on with the contract like nothing else happened."
I drew in a slow breath. One thing I was starting to understand about Lia was that she hated feeling like she owed anyone. And I'd hate to make her feel like she owes me.
"Fine." I reached into the back seat, grabbed the folder, and held it out with a pen. "Are you sure about this?"
"I am." She took the pen without hesitation, signed her name clean across the bottom, and pushed the contract back to me.
Ink sealing fate.
And yet... everything had already changed.