The pediatric procedure room was far too quiet, save for the rhythmic beep of a vitals monitor and the soft humming of the fluorescent lights overhead.

I stood near the foot of his bed, refusing to step closer, keeping my arms crossed tightly over my chest like armor.

"David," I said, keeping my voice cold and distant.

He stared at me for a long, silent moment, his chest rising and falling slowly beneath the monitoring leads. He turned his head slightly toward Marcus. "Leave us."

Marcus bowed his head. "I’ll be right outside, boss." He stepped out and closed the door, leaving the two of us alone in the quiet hum of the ICU.

David reached up with a pale, trembling hand, pressing a button on his bed control to adjust himself into a sitting position. He winced slightly as the movement pulled at his surgical incisions, but he didn't make a sound.

"Eight years," David murmured, his blue eyes searching my face, taking in every detail. "Eight years, Natasha. I thought you were dead. I thought someone had taken you from me."

"Nobody took me, David," I said firmly. "I left because I didn't want to die in your crossfire. I left because I wanted a life that wasn't covered in blood."

"And yet," David said softly, looking down at the clear IV tube feeding into the back of his hand, "here you are. Saving my life."

"I didn't save your life," I retorted bitterly. "A doctor called me because my name was still on your emergency file. Which, by the way, was entirely irresponsible of you."

A faint, ghostly shadow of a smile touched David’s pale lips. "I never changed it because I never wanted anyone else listed there. If I was going to die, I wanted you to be the one they called."

"That’s insane, David," I snapped, shaking my head. "That’s the kind of selfish, possessive madness that made me run away in the first place!"

"Maybe," David admitted quietly, his tone dropping into a hollow, solemn honesty I had rarely heard from him before. "Maybe it was selfish. But it brought you back." He paused, his blue eyes fixing onto mine with a sudden, overwhelming intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. "Who is she, Natasha?"

My throat went dry. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't lie to me," David rasped, leaning forward slightly, ignoring the pain in his abdomen. "Dr. Martinez showed me the lab work. The blood that saved my life came from an eight-year-old girl named Chloe. A girl with my exact antigen profile. A girl who was born nine months after you disappeared from my house."

I pressed my lips together, refusing to answer, staring at the floor.

"Natasha," David’s voice softened, vibrating with a raw, desperate emotion that broke through his usual terrifying composure. "Look at me. Please."

I raised my head and forced myself to meet his gaze.

Tears were shining in David Carter’s eyes—a man who had never shown weakness to a single living soul in Chicago.

"Is she my daughter?" he asked softly.

"She is my daughter," I corrected firmly, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. "I raised her. I fed her, I dressed her, I comforted her when she had nightmares, I taught her how to ride a bike, and I paid for her school clothes on a teacher’s salary! You didn't give her a single thing, David! You weren't there!"

"Because I didn't know!" David shouted, his raspy voice cracking, his heart rate monitor spiking instantly with a flurry of loud beeps. He pressed a hand against his side, wincing in agony, but kept his eyes locked on mine. "If I had known... if I had known you were carrying my child, I would have burned my entire empire to the ground to keep you both safe! I would have walked away from everything!"

"You couldn't walk away then, and you can't walk away now!" I yelled back, tears finally spilling over my lashes. "Look at you! You’re lying in a hospital bed with bullet holes and surgical scars while your brother plans a coup in the hallway! That is your life, David! That is the world you built! My daughter does not belong in it!"

David closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath as his heart rate monitor slowly settled back into a steady rhythm. When he opened his eyes again, the tears were gone, replaced by a cold, dangerous resolve that sent a chill through the room.

"Where is Julian?" David asked softly.

"He was outside her room," I said, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "He saw the report. He knows she’s your heir, David. He threatened to have child protective services take her from me if I tried to leave."

David’s entire posture transformed. The exhaustion, the surgical pain, the lingering weakness—all of it vanished beneath a tidal wave of terrifying rage. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the side rails of his bed.

"Marcus!" David roared.