Chapter 8 His Son?
Leila's POV
Six years after leaving San Francisco with the Randall family, I found myself back in the city that had once witnessed my downfall.
The irony wasn't lost on me as I staggered out of the treatment room at San Francisco's Advanced Medical Center, my shoulders slumping with exhaustion after a six-hour experimental neural therapy session.
When my family had first suggested I lead this Randall BioPharm research project in San Francisco, I'd been hesitant. But the opportunity to advance our groundbreaking treatment for neurodegenerative diseases had ultimately won out over old fears.
The sterile hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before me as I pulled off my surgical cap, letting my hair fall free. My phone buzzed incessantly in my lab coat pocket. I had silenced it during the procedure but could now see the screen lighting up with messages from Mia.
I smiled despite my fatigue as I scrolled through her texts, each one more dramatic than the last.
[Mom! Emergency! Some man showed up asking to MARRY YOU!]
[Grandpa threatened to release the dogs on him!]
[Uncle Adam told him you're currently dissecting brains in Chile!]
[He had a CHILD with him! They wanted you to be his new mom!]
[I told him you already have the BEST daughter ever, so sorry!]
I couldn't help but laugh, picturing the chaos at our Pacific Heights home. The Randall men could be ridiculously overprotective, and I could imagine my father's thunderous expression as he chased away another unsolicited suitor. At thirty-one, I was apparently still considered family property when it came to dating.
"Thank you, sweetheart," I texted back, still smiling. "My hero."
Tucking my phone away, I headed toward the doctors' lounge, desperate for a moment of quiet before reviewing my notes. As I passed the nurses' station, fragments of conversation caught my attention.
"...the cutest little boy. Says if she can cure his dad, she gets to be his new mom."
"Seriously? That's the most adorable proposal ever."
"Sarah's already volunteered. Says she's always wanted a ready-made family."
I paused, struck by the coincidence. Another child trying to find a new mother? Given Mia's texts, this seemed to be happening quite a bit today. Curiosity got the better of me, and I lingered near the station.
A small boy about five years old sat on a waiting chair, swinging his legs. His face still had the roundness of toddlerhood, but his features were remarkably refined. Porcelain skin, perfectly symmetrical features, and most striking—blue-gray eyes that seemed too intense for such a young face.
I watched as Sarah Jenkins approached him with a saccharine smile. "Hi there, cutie! I heard you need a doctor for your daddy? I'm an excellent doctor, and I love children!"
The boy's expression remained neutral, but I could practically read his thoughts. Those expressive eyes revealed a mixture of discomfort and assessment that seemed far too mature for his age. I knew that look. It was the same one Mia gave when adults talked down to her.
A small snort of laughter escaped me before I could stop it, drawing attention. Sarah's head whipped around, and several nurses straightened up.
"Dr. Winters," one of them greeted me with newfound formality.
"Sorry to interrupt," I said, nodding toward the boy. "But I think you might be misinterpreting his intentions."
Sarah frowned. "How would you know?"
I shrugged. "Just a guess."
Before I could elaborate, the little boy slid off his chair and marched directly toward me. He stopped barely a foot away, looking up at me with those remarkable eyes.
"It's you," he declared with certainty, his voice sweet and high. "I knew I'd find you."
I blinked, taken aback. "Excuse me?"
"I've been looking all over. And now I've found you. I'm having a love at first sight." He pronounced it as one word—loveatsightfirst.
"That's very sweet," I said gently, "but I think you might be confused. Finding a new mom isn't something to play around with."
He tilted his head, regarding me with surprising intensity. "In my family, I make these decisions."
I had to stifle another laugh. He reminded me of Mia—too clever by half and utterly convinced of his own importance in the world.
"Well, I'm afraid I have to decline your very flattering offer," I said, patting his head lightly.
In the doctors' lounge, I changed out of my lab coat. The boy's age had triggered something in me—a wound that never quite healed. If my son had lived, he would be about that age now.
Six years since I'd given birth to twins—a girl who thrived and a boy whose tiny lungs had been too weak to sustain him.
I gathered my things, when I opened the lounge door and found the same little boy waiting outside.
"You're really pretty," he announced without preamble. "Like a princess in the movies."
I couldn't help but smile. "Thank you. That's very kind."
"So you'll be my new mommy?" he asked hopefully.
I sighed, gently pinching his chubby cheek. "I already told you, that's not how it works. I don't even know your father."
"But you can fix him," the boy insisted. "He's sick, and no one can make him better. Please?"
Something in his pleading eyes tugged at me.
"What's your name?" I asked softly.
"Noah."
"Well, Noah, I—" I hesitated, knowing I should refuse but finding it surprisingly difficult when faced with those imploring eyes. "I suppose I could take a look at his case."
His small hand slipped into mine with surprising confidence, tugging me toward the elevator. As we stepped inside, his phone rang.
"Hi, Daddy," he answered.
My breath caught as a cold, familiar voice responded through the speaker. Even distorted by the phone's tiny speaker, I would recognize that voice anywhere.
Theron Sterling.
My head snapped down to look at the boy. The perfectly symmetrical features, the blue-gray eyes, the aristocratic tilt of his chin. This was Theron's son. The timing meant he must have gotten another woman pregnant shortly after our divorce, possibly even before we separated.
"I found her, Daddy!" Noah was saying excitedly. "The doctor who's going to make you all better!"
My heart pounded against my ribs as the elevator dinged, announcing our arrival at the ground floor. I had to get out of here. Now.
"Noah," I said, my voice unnaturally high, "I'm so sorry, but I just remembered I have an emergency patient I need to see."
His face fell. "But you promised."
"I know, and I'm truly sorry." I stepped backward into the elevator, jabbing frantically at the button. "Another time, perhaps."
As the doors closed between us, I caught a final glimpse of his disappointed face. I leaned against the elevator wall, struggling to breathe normally.
Six years of rebuilding my life, of creating a new identity, of protecting Mia. And now this—Theron's son, the living proof that he had moved on immediately after discarding me. Probably with Chloe, the woman who had taken everything from me.
"Heartless bastard," I whispered.
I reminded myself why I was in San Francisco: the Randall research project on neurodegenerative diseases. I couldn't let myself get entangled with Theron again.