Seeing Jonathan, Michael immediately released Teresa’s hand and dashed excitedly toward him. He said, “Mr. Lime, you’re here! Are you here to see me and Mom off—I mean, me and Ms. Johnston?”

“Ms. Johnston?” Jonathan repeated slowly, his gaze sweeping over Teresa with a chilling disdain.

He thought, ‘She actually had Mike call her ‘Ms. Johnston‘ right in front of me—again and again. And every time he did, I swallowed the lie whole, blind to every red flag, every crucial detail. I trusted her too much.’

Michael reached out timidly and gave Jonathan’s arm a gentle touch. He said, “Mr. Lime, are you okay? Your eyes are all red.”

Jonathan bent down and gently cupped Michael’s small shoulders, his eyes sweeping over the boy’s face, height, and frame—memorizing every inch, as if to reclaim every second of fatherhood he’d lost.

Finally, he gave Michael a gentle smile, his face now stripped of the anger and hostility he’d shown Teresa only moments earlier. Overcome by a sudden tide of love and guilt, he swept Michael into a fierce, wordless embrace.

He murmured, “Mike, my dear son. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you before.”

With a loud clatter, the suitcase slipped from Teresa’s grasp and crashed to the floor, nearly crushing her foot.

Michael was stunned for a second, then clapped his hands with pure joy. He exclaimed, “Doctor was right. He said Mr. Lime could be my daddy. He did it!”

“My silly boy, I’ve always been your daddy,” Jonathan whispered, pressing a remorseful kiss to Michael’s tiny hand. Only in front of Michael did he let such raw tenderness show.

Jonathan said, “I’m so sorry, Mike. I should have recognized you sooner. I made you so sad and let you feel wronged.”

Michael’s eyes welled up as he rubbed them. He said, “But Mom said my daddy is old and ugly. And Mr. Lime, didn’t you also say you weren’t my daddy? So who on earth is my daddy?”

“Don’t cry,” Jonathan said softly, wiping away Michael’s tears and gently caressing his soft cheeks.

He said, “I’m your real father, and I promise I’ll explain everything to you. For now, why don’t you go to my place first? I need to talk with your mom, okay?”

As soon as Jonathan finished speaking, several bodyguards who had been notified rushed over.

Jonathan scooped up Michael and handed him to one of the bodyguards. He ordered, “Take him back to Forlisle Rose Estates. I’ll follow shortly.”

“Yes, Mr. Lynn,” the bodyguard replied.

After Michael was taken away, Jonathan glanced at the suitcase lying in the hallway. His piercing, icy gaze fixed on Teresa. He demanded, “Where the hell are you taking my son?”

Teresa recoiled.

Jonathan, with intimidating fury, cornered her at the doorway.

Trapped with nowhere to run, Teresa grabbed the doorframe and darted inside, slamming it instinctively—only for Jonathan’s arm to shoot out and hold it fast.

Jonathan’s piercing gaze remained fixed on Teresa.

Teresa refused to meet his eyes.

In one swift motion, Jonathan seized Teresa’s arm and yanked her back, cutting off her escape. In the next moment, he lifted Teresa off her feet and hurled her onto the bed in the next room. Her head reeled, vision swimming.

Jonathan gripped Teresa’s chin between his two fingers, forcing her to look at him. With a cold edge in his voice, he demanded, “Where do you think you’re taking my son?”

Teresa stammered, “Just taking him out for a little break.”

Jonathan abruptly released her chin, his eyes glacial. He asked, “You think I’m that easy to fool, is that it?”

Teresa kept silent. His voice—raw, ragged with feeling—drove straight to her heart.

Jonathan snapped, “Teresa, in your eyes, am I, Jonathan, just some gullible fool you can so easily deceive?”

Teresa remained silent, her fingers digging into the bedsheets. The next second, she winced when Jonathan clamped her shoulder with bruising force, his eyes blazing into hers in sheer disbelief.

Jonathan said, “Do you have any idea how broken, how furious I was on the way here? Mike is my son—the whole world knew, and I, his father, was the only one kept in the dark.

“You knew I grew up without a dad. You, of all people, knew how much I wanted a child. How could you let my son suffer the same fate—grow up fatherless, just like I did?”

Jonathan’s words stabbed into Teresa’s heart like cruel rose thorns, piercing straight to her core. She thought, ‘Yes, Jonathan grew up without a father. Yet Mike almost became just like him.‘

Tears that had been building up for so long now swirled in her eyes as her fingers clawed desperately into the bedsheets on either side. She choked out, “I am sorry.”

Jonathan snapped, “Sorry? Do you think a single word can make up for all this?

“You made my son call you ‘Ms. Johnston‘ right to my face, never told him I was his real father, and got everyone around you—Jennifer, Cheryl, Christian, even Christian’s wife—to help you keep it from me.

“You manipulated and coerced them all into hiding the truth. And I trusted you. I trusted you so damn much.”

Teresa took a deep breath and offered no defense. In this moment, all she felt was a bittersweet relief that the truth was finally out, and a heartbreak so complete it left her utterly devastated. She said, “I was wrong.”

Seeing Jonathan’s fist rise, Teresa squeezed her eyes shut, her breaths quick and shallow. The blow only grazed her cheek. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Jonathan—seething with rage—slam his fist into the iron bedpost.

Time seemed to freeze in that moment.

Teresa’s gaze locked on Jonathan’s bruised, bleeding knuckles. Instinctively, she reached to check the damage, but he jerked away.

Jonathan barked, “Spare me the fake pity. You and your friends must think I’m a joke. Everyone who kept this from me will pay.” With that, he stormed out.

The door slammed shut with a resounding crash that echoed through the room.

Tears welled up in Teresa’s eyes as she stared at the dented bedpost Jonathan had just struck.

She thought, ‘How furious must he be? How much must he hate me? If he’d thrown that punch at me, I wouldn’t have said a word. But instead, he chose to hurt himself.’

The driver glanced worriedly at Jonathan’s bruised, bleeding right hand. He said, “Mr. Lynn, you’re hurt.”

Jonathan stared blankly out the window, lost in thought. With a dismissive wave of his uninjured hand, he signaled the driver to keep going; the pain in his hand was nothing besides the ache in his heart.

Back at Forlisle Rose Estates, when Jonathan spotted Michael in the hall, the fury in his eyes melted away, replaced by a deep sense of guilt and self-reproach toward his child.

He thought, ‘My own son was right here by my side all along, yet I never realized it. What kind of father does that make me?‘

Upon seeing Jonathan, Michael dropped his toys and the remote, then dashed excitedly toward Jonathan with a beaming smile. He called out, “Mr. Lime.”

Jonathan caught Michael as he barreled into his arms.

The next moment, Michael looked up at Jonathan and asked eagerly, “How did the talk with Mom go? Where is she?”