My CEO Wife Sheltered My Assistant When I wasn't Home

It was my fifth year on a classified mission when my superiors finally approved my request to visit my family back home.

I had just parked in the spot my wife had reserved for me when a little boy suddenly ran up and splashed a bucket of paint across my face.

“This is my daddy’s parking space! My mommy saved it for him! Who said you could park here?!”

Mommy saved it for Daddy?

Since when did I have a son like that?

I stared at the little boy. He was dressed in a custom-made suit I had specifically designed for my son. I reached out to grab him, determined to find the answers.

But before I could move, a man stepped out of another car and punched me straight on the face.

“First, you steal the parking spot my wife gave me, and now, you’re laying hands on my son?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you know President Coldwell can make you disappear from New York City, without any trace, before the end of the day?”

I stared in shock.

The man in front of me—drenched in gold jewelry, dressed in luxury—was none other than my former assistant.

I pulled out my phone immediately and dialed Darcy.

“I heard you gave the exclusive parking spot to someone else… and even had a kid with him?”

——

“Cut the crap!” Wyatt Kline yelled as he knocked my phone from my hand. “Move your car, and apologize to my son! Now!”

My face was covered in paint. Of course, he didn’t recognize me.

My phone shattered at my feet, but my attention shifted back to the man in front of me. He looked so familiar yet distant.

I had sponsored his studies from high school through college.

Despite receiving offers from major corporations, he’d insisted on working as my assistant at home.

I’d asked him more than once.

“You’re a graduate from a prestigious university. You have a sharp mind. You could have a brilliant future in a big firm. Why settle for odd jobs in my home?”

He used to smile at me shyly, arms full of paperwork, and reply, “Mr. Bonavich, you pulled me out of poverty and gave me an education. I just want to do what little I can to repay you.”

I’d been so touched that I paid him far more than what an assistant typically earned.

But only now did it hit me.

Back then, the way he looked at Darcy—there was something hidden behind the avoidance. It was something that suggested desire.

I’d brought him along to business events, even introduced him to my fiancée.

I’d seen the flicker of shock in his eyes, but I dismissed it.

And now, he wore coats worth eight figures. His watch alone cost two million.

Even the generous salary I gave him wouldn’t come close to affording all this.

I didn’t want to think about who might’ve funded him.

Instead, my eyes locked onto the child he called his son.

I reached out and rolled up his sleeve. On the inside, three letters were stitched into the fabric: LCB.

No doubt about it!

This was the custom piece I’d designed for my son, handcrafted by a European designer. The initials inside stood for Lindon Coldwell Bonavich—my son’s complete name!

“Take off that suit,” I demanded, reaching for it.

Wyatt rushed forward. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re stripping my kid in public now?!”

“I should be the one asking,” I snapped. “Why is the suit I made for my son on this bastard?!”

“Who are you calling a bastard?!”

He raised his hand to hit me again, but I grabbed his wrist in one swift move, flipped him down, and punched him square in the face.

“Son of a—”

The punch left a paint-covered imprint on his face. Clutching his face, he screamed in rage, still not recognizing me.

“What are you all standing around for?! Get him!”

Several black cars parked nearby opened their doors, and a dozen suited bodyguards stepped out, surrounding me.

As I watched the personal security team Darcy had once assigned for me now closing in with hostility, my chest tightened.

Darcy… even gave my bodyguards to Wyatt?!

“Hold him down!” he barked. “I want to beat him ten times harder than how he hit me!”

Just like that, my arms were pinned by the very men who used to protect me—now obeying someone else’s orders.