Rediscovering My Lost Son

The sound of tires on gravel jerked me from my evening review of quarterly reports. I glanced at the clock—nearly nine. Too late for business visitors, too early for emergencies. Unless... My heart stuttered as I rose from my desk, fingers instinctively reaching for the pendant around my neck—the small silver airplane Ryan had given me before he disappeared. Five years of searching, five years of false leads, five years of sleepless nights wondering if my son was alive or dead. The front door opened with a flourish, and Tyson's voice boomed through the foyer. "Iris! Where are you? We're home!" We?

Chapters

Chapter 2

The annual Children's Hospital Charity Gala had always been one of my favorite events. Tonight, though, as I stood in the grand ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton, I felt like an actress in someone else's play.

"Smile, Iris," Tyson whispered, his hand pressing against the small of my back with uncomfortable force. "Half the board is watching."

I obliged, though my lips felt stiff. Across the room, Harmony held court in a gown that cost more than most people's monthly salary, the fake Ryan clutching her hand like a prop.

"Mommy Harmony, can I have another dessert?" he asked loudly, deliberately looking at me.

Harmony's eyes met mine over his head, triumph glittering in them. "Of course, sweetheart. Aunt Iris won't mind if we spoil you a little."

The waiter approached with a chocolate fountain—an extravagant display that had become the evening's centerpiece. Children gathered around, but none with the entitled demeanor of this boy.

I watched as he deliberately knocked over a glass of red punch, sending it cascading across the pristine white tablecloth and onto the floor.

"I'm sorry!" he wailed, his voice rising to a pitch that silenced nearby conversations. "Aunt Iris made me nervous!"

All eyes turned to me. Cameras flashed.

"Ryan," I began carefully, "accidents happen—"

"No!" His face contorted in practiced anguish. "You don't love me like Mommy Harmony does! You don't even want me here!"

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt dozens of phones emerging from pockets, recording his performance.

"I want to go home with Mommy Harmony!" he sobbed, throwing himself into her arms. "Aunt Iris hates me!"

Something inside me snapped. The weeks of manipulation, the nightly visits to Ryan's empty room, the constant reminder of my failure to protect my son—it all crystallized into a moment of perfect clarity.

"I do not recognize this child as my son," I said, my voice carrying across the suddenly silent room.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Harmony's smile froze on her face.

"Iris!" Tyson hissed, grabbing my arm.

I pulled away. "This charade ends tonight."

By morning, my statement had exploded across social media and business circles. #IrisEdwards was trending. My phone wouldn't stop buzzing with calls from reporters and board members.

---

"You've lost your mind," Tyson snarled, slamming the study door behind him. Gone was any pretense of civility.

I stood my ground, though my heart hammered against my ribs. "No, I've found it."

"Look what you've done!" He thrust his phone at me, displaying a news article with the headline: "EDWARDS CORPORATION CEO REJECTS RETURNED SON IN PUBLIC MELTDOWN."

"This isn't about Ryan," I said quietly. "This never was."

Tyson's face darkened. "You think you're so smart, don't you? The brilliant businesswoman who can spot any fraud."

"Like a child with a tattooed birthmark?" I countered.

He stepped closer, his cologne suffocating me. "Listen carefully, Iris. If you continue this... this rebellion, you'll lose everything."

"Everything?" I echoed.

"Everything," he confirmed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I'll make sure you don't get a penny in the divorce. My parents have connections you can't imagine. One word from them, and your precious company will be under investigation for fraud."

I felt cold despite the room's warmth. "Is that what this is about? Money?"

"It's about what's mine," he growled. "What's always been promised to me."

He moved to the window, looking out at the garden where Ryan once played. "Imagine what the board will think when they learn their beloved CEO abandoned her own child. How many shareholders will stick with you then?"

I watched him, seeing clearly for the first time not my husband but a hollow man consumed by greed and entitlement.

---

"Are you sure about this?" Claire whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the empty office.

It was nearly midnight, and the building was deserted except for security guards who knew better than to question why the CEO was working late.

"I've never been more certain," I replied, sliding a folder across the desk. "I need everything you can find on this child—his real name, where he came from, who his parents are."

Claire opened the folder, examining the photograph I'd taken when the boy was sleeping. "And if someone asks?"

"They won't," I assured her. "But if they do, you're helping me gather information about my son's recovery."

She nodded slowly. "I'll start with the tattoo artist. There can't be many who specialize in children's work."

As she left, I turned to the window, staring at the city lights below. Somewhere out there was my real son—if he was still alive. And I would find him, no matter what it cost.

My phone buzzed with an incoming message. Unknown number.

"Stop looking or you'll regret it," it read.

I deleted it without hesitation and returned to my computer, pulling up security footage from the house. It was time to see exactly who had been coaching my fake son—and why.

Continue to next part

The cream-colored envelope arrived on a Tuesday morning, slipped under my apartment door like a small, elegant thief. I picked it up from the floor, my fingers brushing against the heavy paper stock, and immediately recognized the Hunt family's embossed crest in the corner. My heart did that familiar, painful skip it always did when anything connected to Maddox crossed my path. I sat at my kitchen counter, coffee cooling beside me, turning the envelope over in my hands. The formal invitation inside was written in calligraphy I didn't need to read to understand. Maddox Hunt's engagement party. Aboard his family's yacht in the Hamptons. This weekend. I pressed my fingertips together, a habit I'd developed as a child when trying to hold myself together. Eight years of loving him in silence, of being his closest friend but never quite his love, had led to this moment.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.3

After My Husband Betrayed Me, I Sought Justice

9.3

The mountain air felt different in my lungs as I stumbled down the winding path toward civilization. One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of captivity, of fighting to survive, of dreaming about this moment. My legs trembled beneath me, weak from malnutrition but propelled by desperation. The Coleman estate loomed in the distance, its familiar silhouette both a promise and a prayer. I'd imagined this reunion a thousand times in my darkest moments. Samuel's strong arms wrapping around me. The warmth of home. Safety. "Almost there," I whispered to myself, my voice hoarse from disuse.

Modern Mystery Romance

8.4

DIVORCED: MY EX-HUSBAND WANTS ME BACK

8.4

My whole body began to quiver as I looked up at Ryan who wore a smug or was it? I couldn't tell as my vision was blurred with tears. "What is the meaning of this?" I questioned still in disbelief. Where had it all gone wrong? We were happy, he respected me and so did I...I even fell in love with him so how could he do this to me?!. "It's exactly what it says in the paper, Ciara" "And what is that?" I stubbornly inquired. It was as if I didn't want to believe what the paper read until Ryan says it with his own mouth. A part of me still wanted to fight for whatever we still have left; still wanted to protect our marriage. But then he'd said it. Ryan had uttered those words I so desperately dreaded," I want a divorce, Ciara" ***

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.5

My Groom Kept Me Blind to Protect His Mistress

9.5

Light. It wasn't just a concept to me anymore; it was a piercing, brilliant reality. "Blink slowly, Kendra," Dr. Elena Rodriguez murmured, her skilled hands gently pulling the final layer of gauze from my face. I blinked. The blurry, sterile white of the private clinic sharpened into crisp, undeniable lines. For ten years, my world had been a canvas of absolute black, defined only by the tap of my cane and the terrifying, repressed echoes of the Los Angeles warehouse where I was taken at fifteen. But now, at twenty-four, just days before my wedding, the darkness was gone. Dr. Rodriguez guided a hand mirror into my trembling fingers.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.5

My Husband Took My Blood for His Mistress’s Baby

9.5

I push through the front door of our penthouse at seven-thirty, my heels clicking against the marble foyer. The familiar weight of my purse strap cuts into my shoulder. Another charity luncheon. Another afternoon of smiling until my cheeks ached while Manhattan socialites whispered about my empty womb. The living room glows with warm lamplight. Savanna Morris sprawls across our white leather sofa like she owns it. Her silk robe — cream-colored, expensive — falls open at the thigh. Her bare feet rest on the glass coffee table, toes painted cherry red. She flips through a pregnancy magazine, the glossy pages catching the light. "How to Prepare Your Nursery for Baby's Arrival," she reads aloud, voice dripping honey.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.8

Reborn: After 99 Divorces

9.8

I stood at the edge of the freezing pond on the Boone estate, my body trembling with a fear that rattled my bones. Across from me, Amanda Olsen looked immaculate in her cashmere coat, a sharp contrast to the jagged reality I was trying to hold together. "Why?" I whispered. Amanda just smiled, admitting she killed Grandpa Boone because he actually liked me. She pulled out a thick envelope-divorce papers Cordero had signed that morning. She told me he called me a parasite and was celebrating with her the night I suffered a miscarriage. Before I could even scream, Amanda lunged and shoved me into the icy water. My heavy wool coat acted like a sponge, dragging me into the artificial abyss. I thrashed and gasped for air, but Amanda just stood on the bank, watching me drown with her hands tucked casually in her pockets. As my lungs burned and the darkness closed in, I realized I had spent my entire marriage taking their abuse. I was the "foster trash" and the "gold digger" who let them win every single time. I was dying alone, hated by the husband I had tried so hard to love, while my murderer stood victorious on the shore. I never fought back. I just let them destroy me. Then, a violent spasm tore through my body. I sat up gasping, sucking in dry, air-conditioned oxygen instead of murky pond water. I wasn't dead. I was back in the opulent master suite, surrounded by red rose petals and wedding decorations. The digital clock glowed: October 14, 2019. I had gone back five years to the very night my nightmare began. The bathroom door clicked open, and Cordero stepped out, looking at me with the same cold disgust I remembered. But as I gripped the silk sheets, a new resolve hardened in my chest. This time, I wasn't going to be the victim. This time, the Boone family was going to find out exactly what happens when you push someone too far.

Fantasy Modern Romance

Rediscovering My Lost Son

Chapter 2

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