Anna’s voice trembled. “It’s not your son,” she said, her defiance laced with fear.
“Don’t ever think you can get what you want from now on!” she spat again, her anger burning through every word.
But General Damien Cross only smirked, his tone low and possessive. “I’m sorry, my dear… but you will always be mine, and only mine—forever, even in the afterlife.”
A small voice suddenly broke the silence. “Don’t ever think you can hurt my mummy, bad guy!” said Lucian Cross, his ocean-blue eyes fierce with a courage too heavy for his young age.
General Damien’s gaze shifted, locking on the boy. Every curve of Lucian’s face was painfully familiar. The sharp blue eyes—so much like his own—burned back at him, while the soft brown hair belonged entirely to his mother. His stare grew colder, heavier, as if he wanted to carve every detail into his memory. With eyes as sharp as blades, Damien studied his son in silence—possessive, unyielding, and terrifyingly resolute.
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