Chapter 2 - THE VEIL OF SECRECYThe genetic testing clinic was located in an anonymous brick building across the river in downtown Portland, far enough from the coffee shop to feel safe, yet close enough to remind Claire of how fragile her sanctuary really was.

She held Henry tightly against her hip, his little fingers tangled in the collar of her sweater as a nurse in crisp blue scrubs applied a painless cotton swab to the inside of his cheek. Henry didn't cry; he was too fascinated by a colorful poster of a cartoon bear taped to the wall.

"All done, little man," the nurse smiled, placing a dinosaur sticker on Henry’s overalls.

Claire carried him out to the waiting room, where Vincent was sitting in the corner. He had removed his heavy coat, revealing a tailored black button-down shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. He stood up immediately as she walked out, his dark eyes scanning her face for any sign of distress.

"Is he okay?" Vincent asked, his voice laced with uncharacteristic anxiety.

"He's fine," Claire said tightly, adjusting her grip on Henry. "It was just a swab. No pain."

Vincent nodded, his gaze shifting down to the toddler. Henry stared back at the tall, dark-haired stranger with those striking amber eyes—eyes that mirrored Vincent's own down to the smallest detail. Neither said a word, but the resemblance in that quiet waiting room was so stark it felt almost violent.

"The results will be expedited," Vincent said, stepping toward the exit to hold the heavy glass door open for her. "We'll have them in forty-eight hours."

"And then what?" Claire asked, stepping past him into the crisp autumn air. A sleek black SUV was idling at the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the grey sky.

"Then we'll know," Vincent replied simply. "If he's mine, my responsibilities change. If he's not... I will walk away, and you will never have to see me again."

Claire stopped on the sidewalk, the wind catching her hair. "And you can just do that? Just walk away from a child you spent forty-eight hours wondering about?"

"I didn't say it would be easy," Vincent murmured, his eyes locking onto hers with a raw, unprotected honesty that caught her completely off guard. "I said I would do it if it’s what keeps you safe."

Before Claire could formulate a response, a sharp screech of tires echoed down the street.

A dark sedan shot out from a side alley, accelerating rapidly toward them. Its headlights flashed high, cutting through the afternoon gloom with terrifying speed.

In a fraction of a second, instinct took over.

Vincent moved with a speed that defied human reaction. He grabbed Claire by the waist, shoving her and Henry hard against the brick wall of the clinic, throwing his own body over them as a shield just as the sedan roared past, spraying slush and gravel across the sidewalk before vanishing around the corner.

The entire incident lasted less than three seconds.

Claire’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Henry, startled by the noise, finally began to cry, burying his face in her neck.

"Are you hit?" Vincent demanded, his hands gripping her shoulders, his eyes frantically checking her over for injuries. His breathing was heavy, and for the first time, the cool, collected mask of the dangerous entrepreneur cracked, revealing the raw panic underneath.

"No—no, we're fine," Claire gasped, her hands trembling as she patted Henry’s back. "What was that? Was that an accident?"

Vincent’s face darkened, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. He looked down the empty street where the sedan had disappeared, his expression shifting from panic into something cold, ancient, and lethal.

"That was no accident," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Somebody just sent a message."

"A message to whom?" Claire demanded, anger surging through her adrenaline-fueled veins. "To you? Or to us?"

"To both of us," Vincent replied, gently taking her arm to guide her toward the idling black SUV. "Get in the car, Claire. We're leaving Portland. Now."

"Leaving? I have a shop! I have an apartment! I can't just—"

"Your shop is locked, and your apartment is no longer safe," Vincent interrupted, opening the SUV door for her. His tone left zero room for argument. "The moment we took that test today, someone noticed. They know I've found you. And if they think you're my weakness, they will use you to get to me."

Claire hesitated, looking down at Henry, who had quieted down, sucking his thumb while watching the tall man in black with wide eyes. The illusion of safety she had spent three years building shattered into a thousand pieces at her feet.

She climbed into the vehicle.

Vincent slid in beside her, slamming the door shut. He tapped the partition window separating the back cabin from the driver.

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"Take us to the coastal estate," Vincent ordered the driver. "And run counter-surveillance the entire way. If anyone follows us, put them in the ditch."

The SUV glided away from the curb, merging into the Portland traffic while Claire sat in the leather-lined interior, gripping her son’s small hand, realizing that her quiet life was officially over.