My Son Mistook The Heir For His Dad

Cecilia flinched at Bruno's sudden intensity, panic seizing her chest as her mind raced to Santos sleeping nearby. She whispered sharply, trying to defuse the bomb ticking between them.

"You're being ridiculous. I didn't mean anything by it!"

"You're always playing games, and now you act like you're innocent?"

"You're making that up. I haven't done a single thing to lead you on!"

"Oh yeah? Pulling my pants down, touching my chest, the flirting—and you still deny it?"

"The pants were an accident, and touching you... it was just curiosity."

"You've got a kid. What's so damn intriguing about a man's body? Can't you come up with a better excuse?"

Cecilia's mouth fell open but no words came out.

Bruno leaned in, his breath hot against her skin. "Tonight, I'm going to kiss you until your legs give out."

At his words, her knees already felt like jelly. Mortified and desperate, she bit her lip and jabbed a finger hard into the wound on his abdomen.

Bruno hissed, releasing her with a pained grunt. "You little devil—that was brutal!"

Cecilia bolted from the bathroom, locked herself in her room, and buried her head under the covers.

"Stupid man! Egotistical jerk! I swear I'll kick you out tomorrow and let your enemies tear you to pieces!"

Her whispered rant faded into the pillow until sleep finally dragged her under.

When morning came and she didn't spot Santos, she yawned and shuffled out of her room to find him.

She discovered the little boy curled up in Bruno's bed, his head resting on Bruno's arm, the picture of peaceful contentment.

"Santos, come here right now!"

Santos didn't budge an inch. "Dad said I could stay."

Bruno lay back with an arm tucked under his head, watching Cecilia with a lazy grin. "Wanna join us? There's plenty of room."

Cecilia shot him a death glare. "Don't you dare say stuff like that in front of the child!"

She scooped Santos right off the bed. "Go get cleaned up, now!"

With just the two adults left in the room, Cecilia cleared her throat. "We need to talk."

Having a kid in the house meant she couldn't afford another close call like last night. She had to lay down some ground rules with Bruno before things spiraled.

Bruno nodded. "I'm listening."

"Last night was a misunderstanding," Cecilia started, her voice firm. "I have zero interest in you. None."

Bruno's expression stayed skeptical.

"All I want is to raise Santos well," she went on, dead serious. "I've got no plans to find a partner or get married, so you can drop the idea that I'm scheming something. Don't twist my actions into something they're not, and don't pull anything inappropriate."

Her life was already so packed with responsibilities that romance or relationships didn't even make the list.

The playful glint in Bruno's eyes faded, replaced by something surprisingly genuine. "Don't be so absolute. What if you meet someone who genuinely cares about you and your son?"

Cecilia's gaze turned even darker. "There's no such thing as true love. In the adult world, everything's a transaction. I saved your life for half a million. You're nice to my kid because you need me."

She spoke so bluntly that guilt stabbed at Bruno's chest. He realized, too late, he'd misread her completely.

"So basically, your point is you've got no designs on me, right? I get it. And I'm sorry for how I acted."

With everything out in the open, a weight lifted off both their shoulders.

From then on, Bruno—aside from the basics like eating and bathroom breaks—didn't bother Cecilia. But Santos? The kid couldn't stay away from him.

When Cecilia got home that afternoon, Santos came running, his little face twisted with worry.

"Mom, Dad's burning up!"

Bruno lay there with his eyes shut, cheeks flushed bright red.

Cecilia pressed a hand to his forehead. "He's on fire!"

Muttering under her breath, she scrambled to find the thermometer.

Bruno's lips were dry and cracked, his eyes swimming with reproach as they met hers. "You left me in the bathroom last night."

Struggling to bathe by himself, he'd soaked his wound and hadn't dried his hair, leaving his already weakened body an easy target for sickness.

"You did this to yourself!" she snapped.

Glancing at the thermometer, Cecilia's worry deepened. "103.1! Nope, you need a hospital—now!"

Bruno's hand clamped around her arm. "No hospitals! Just give me the damn medicine..."

She knew that parading an injured man around would raise red flags and might lead his pursuers right to their door. "Fine. Let's try the meds first."

She gave him fever reducers and pressed an ice pack to his forehead.

"Don't go frying your brain on me—you still owe me half a million," she fretted, hovering over him.

His throat burning like sandpaper, Bruno mumbled weakly, "If I lose my mind, it's not just half a million. You'd have to take care of me for life..."

"Oh no, you are not pinning that on me!" Cecilia shot back.

"If you hadn't ditched me, I wouldn't be burning up right now. Who else would I pin it on...?" The memory loss, combined with a clingy, chatterbox of a kid, had worn down Bruno's usual aloofness.

Even with a sky-high fever, he couldn't resist going back and forth with Cecilia.

"You're a real handful," Cecilia sighed. "Old wounds not even healed and you go and get yourself sick. You're harder to look after than royalty."

"When you get sick, I'll return the favor," he offered.

"Fat chance. I don't get sick, and even if I did, I wouldn't need your help!"

Drained of every ounce of strength, Bruno slipped into a fevered sleep.

Later, Cecilia brought in a basin of warm water.

She gently wiped down Bruno's hands and feet, pausing at his elegant, well-cared-for fingers. "Clearly some rich young master. If your parents saw you right now, they'd be worried sick."

Motherhood had softened her heart.

Bruno stirred in the middle of the night. His hand felt warm, held tight by another.

Turning his head, he saw Cecilia, her fingers laced with his, fast asleep with her head resting on his arm.