My then-boyfriend, Bradley Goodman, gave me a black card on the day we got engaged and told me to spend as much as I wanted.

So I did, and I bought a $4 lemonade.

He practically snapped in front of the cashier like I'd just humiliated him in public.

"Leslie, my family wants a hostess who can carry herself with class, not some country bumpkin too scared to spend money. Everything you do reflects on the Goodman name. I can't afford that kind of embarrassment."

That was when I broke off our engagement.

Bradley didn't show any reaction. He turned around and proposed to Sabrina, the broke student he'd been sponsoring like some charity project.

Five years later, we met again outside a public kindergarten.

Bradley stepped out of a Maybach, all polished and pristine, with Sabrina clinging to his arm like the picture-perfect partner.

Meanwhile, across the street, I was crouched by a worn-out popsicle cart, buying a treat for my son. Leon had been good all day, and that was our little ritual.

One dollar, two smiles.

Bradley spotted us. His eyes locked on mine, and just like that, he stomped across the street, his voice already rising.

"Leslie! You're seriously feeding my son this kind of garbage? Still clinging to that miserly peasant behavior, huh?"

I met his glare without blinking. "He's not your son."

But of course, he ignored that.

He gave my son a quick look, his expression changing into a smug little grin. "Kid looks this handsome? How could he not be mine?"

I didn't even bother replying.

My son definitely had his father's eyes and nose.

But everything else? That was all me.

Whatever resemblance Bradley saw, it had nothing to do with him.

——

Leslie's POV

After school that afternoon, I noticed my ex-fiancé's gleaming black Maybach conspicuously parked by the school gates.

Naturally, the crowd of parents started whispering:

"Hey, isn't that Bradley Goodman? The CEO of Verdant Corp.?"

"Oh my god, wait! His son goes to school here?"

"No way! This is just a regular kindergarten. Wealthy men like him wouldn't send their kids here."

Bradley's face tightened, as if the noise around him physically irritated him. He turned toward the car, clearly ready to bolt.

But Sabrina Hartley, his girlfriend, stepped in with her usual polished charm.

"Sorry, everyone. Would you mind giving us a little space? My fiancé doesn't like being crowded. He's not used to being surrounded like this. Please understand. Thank you so much." Her voice was soft and sweet, perfectly pitched for a moment of concern.

And then, as if that wasn't enough, she flashed her signature smile and added, "We're only here to pick up my nephew. I hope there's no confusion. We're not married yet."

Bradley leaned down to her and said something under his breath, low enough that I couldn't hear, but I knew that tone. The tight schedule tone.

"Hurry up and get the kid. We still need to visit the Mercers later."

Now that got my attention.

Anyone who knows Harbor City knows the Mercer family isn't just wealthy. They're untouchable. If you're in business and they schedule a meeting with you, you don't just show up. You arrive early, grateful, and quiet.

And so, Sabrina nodded quickly. "Don't worry, Bradley. I know how many favors you had to call in just to get time with Sean Mercer. I won't get in the way."

Then she tilted her head.

"But I heard Mr. Mercer is super protective of his wife and kids. Keeps them totally hidden. I wonder what kind of woman he married?"

Bradley didn't answer. Not even a grunt.

He just leaned back against the car door, hands in his pockets, casual and cocky.

It was the exact posture he had the day he broke up with me.

And somehow, the image of him standing there and not even blinking when I said I wanted out hit harder than I expected. I'd hardly finished saying the words when he was already on one knee in front of Sabrina.

I didn't even make it out of the building before the two of them were locked in each other's arms.

Back then, it crushed me. I couldn't understand how someone could toss four years together—college, a whole engagement—like what we had was nothing.

Until later, Sabrina sent me that message.

One line. Just a sentence.

Only then did I realize that those four years we had together were a complete joke.

"Mommy, I want a popsicle!"

Tugging at my sleeve, my son's voice snapped me out of it.

I blinked and looked down.

The popsicle vendor was already giving me that impatient look.

"Are you buying or not? If not, hand it back!"

That's when I realized the one in my hand had melted halfway down the stick.

"Sorry," I said quickly. "I'll take this one. And can I get another? I'll pay for both."

But the vendor wasn't in a generous mood.

"You think I care about your two bucks? Take your damn popsicle and get outta here. Don't bring your bad luck around my cart!"

His voice was sharp and loud enough to attract stares.

Frightened by the vendor's outburst, Leon startled at the sound and broke into tears.

And of course, now every eye around us turned.

I didn't even have to look. I felt him.

Bradley Goodman.

I looked up and, sure enough, he was glancing back over his shoulder. At first, it seemed casual, like he just happened to hear the noise.

But then our eyes met, and I saw something flicker across his face. Something sharp.

Bradley stared for a moment longer than necessary. Then, just as quickly, he turned away as if nothing had happened and as if he hadn't seen me at all.

Leslie's POV

My son, Leon, was clinging to my leg, sobbing uncontrollably.

I crouched down and gently offered him the melted popsicle, trying to coax out a smile.

"Just one little lick, okay?"

Before the treat could even touch his lips, Bradley spun around.

He glared at us, his chest heaving with barely contained fury. Then, without saying another word, he stormed over and smacked the popsicle clean out of Leon's hand.

"Leslie! You're seriously feeding my son this kind of garbage?"

As if that wasn't enough, he yanked a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers, as if just being near us was dirtying him.

"You really can't scrub the poverty out of your bones, can you?"

Leon jumped back, startled, and broke into a loud, heartbreaking cry.

I immediately picked him up and held him close, softly whispering to calm him down. His small body trembled against mine as he buried his face in my shoulder.

Bradley froze for a second. Then, his hand hovered just inches from Leon's back, reaching out... hesitating... but at the last second, he pulled it back.

He dropped his voice, and it lost some of that aggressive edge. "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"

I went completely still.

That outburst—at first, I thought I'd misheard him.

But now, there was no mistaking it.

He actually thought Leon was his son.

Seriously? He really thought I'd leave, have his kid in secret, and spend years raising him alone out of some messed-up, self-inflicted martyr complex?

"You've got the wrong idea," I said, steady and calm. "He's not your son. And if you don't mind, please step aside. I have zero interest in taking a stroll down memory lane."

My husband will be pulling up any minute now, and the last thing I need is for him to see this circus. Because trust me, Bradley's tantrum would seem like child's play compared to his.

Still, Bradley didn't budge. He stood there, simply staring at Leon as if he were trying to memorize every detail.

Then Sabrina stepped in, sliding up beside him, her arm looping through his as if staking her claim.

"Bradley, you're scaring the poor kid," she cooed, all sugar and light. "Leslie must be under a lot of pressure right now. But this little boy? He looks just over three. There's no way he's yours."

Then she rose on her toes and whispered flirtatiously in his ear, "If you want a baby, we could get married sooner and have one of our own…"

But Bradley cut her off without hesitation.

Firmly, he asserted, "That is my son. Look at him! He's handsome as hell. Who else could he take after but me?"

I almost laughed at how proud he sounded. The kind of smug confidence that only comes from someone completely delusional.

Sure, Leon inherited his dad's eyes and nose, I wouldn't deny that.

But everything else? That was entirely me. His mouth, his cheeks, that spark in his eyes that made him so uniquely himself—that all came from me.

His looks? Credit goes to me and the man who's actually his father.

Bradley didn't get to claim a single feature.

By now, people were starting to take notice. Parents and staff had begun whispering, craning their necks to see what the fuss was about.

"Wait… is that Bradley Goodman's illegitimate child?"

"Looks like a classic love triangle. Mistress versus fiancée. Oh, this is gonna be good!"

"Still, I gotta give the mistress credit. She raised the kid solo and never asked for a cent."

The gossip was spreading fast, faster than wildfire.

It was starting to show on Sabrina's face. Her charming expression briefly cracked before she quickly regained it, her voice remaining soft but tinged with passive-aggressive sympathy.

"Leslie, we're getting married soon. So, even if your son is really Bradley's child, I hope you'll continue to raise him yourself. Please don't bring unnecessary drama into our lives. Bradley and I have worked through a great deal to get to where we are. I don't want a child we didn't plan for ruining that."

She leaned into him, playing the sweet, supportive girlfriend who couldn't bear conflict.

"Bradley, maybe you could give Leslie some child support? I mean, I'm not ready to be anyone's stepmom."

Bradley's gaze snapped back to me, his fury simmering beneath his voice.

"My son is over four years old, and this is what you've turned him into? He's scrawny and underfed! You can't even take care of him right. Did it never occur to you to ask me for help? Doesn't it trouble you to see your own child like this?"

I stared at him, stunned, not just by the nerve of it, but by how confident he was rewriting reality.

Leon was three years old, and for his age, he was remarkably healthy, intelligent, strong, and more energetic than I could sometimes manage.

But in Bradley's words, Leon suddenly appeared like a neglected child raised in filth.

"I'll say this one more time," I said, voice steady but firm. "He's not your son. Leon was born in May. He just turned three. Kids his age? They're all about this size."

Bradley's brow furrowed as he pulled out his phone, clearly prepared to fact-check me as if this were a courtroom.

Typical.

He could never take no for an answer, even when the truth was staring him in the face.

Leslie's POV

Still insisting, Bradley pressed on.

"Give me your number. I'll transfer the child support now. If I want to see my son in the future, I need a way to contact you."

"That won't be necessary," I responded, my voice flat from trying to keep up with his delusions.

His tone instantly shifted, hardening with that cold, entitled edge I remembered all too well.

"The kid isn't just yours. I'm not allowed to do my part as a father?"

I exhaled sharply and frowned. My frustration was apparent, and honestly, I didn't care who noticed.

"Are you done?" I asked in exasperation. "It's been five years since we broke up, Bradley. What's the point of dragging this out now?"

He blinked as if he hadn't expected me to shut him down so directly. But after a moment, his face hardened into something smug and sharp.

"Don't flatter yourself, Leslie. You think this is about you?" Bradley said, his voice adopting his usual condescending tone used when trying to win an argument. "I just don't want my son growing up under your roof, living that kind of life. This has nothing to do with you."

His gaze shifted between me and my son, his expression gradually becoming more insinuating.

"Relax," he added, like he was doing me a favor. "Even if I had your number, I'd only use it to schedule visits. I wouldn't want Sabrina getting the wrong idea."

Then he paused, just long enough to twist the knife.

"Or is that really what this is about?" Bradley's eyebrow shot up as he asked. "You're still bitter. You're starving my son to get back at me, hoping I'll regret the breakup and come crawling back?"

I stared at him, genuinely stunned by how absurd he sounded.

I nearly laughed.

Waving my hand, I said calmly, "I love Leon. I would never—"

"Leslie!" Bradley cut me off, snapping his voice and rubbing his temples, as if I were exhausting him. "Stop playing the tough girl. I know the breakup crushed you. But I love Sabrina now. And if I'd known you were pregnant back then, I would've made you get rid of it. We wouldn't be in this mess."

I went still. There it was.

No sugarcoating. No pretending. Just raw, ugly truth.

Even if I had been pregnant with his child, he would've treated it as nothing more than a problem—something to erase, a threat to his perfect future with Sabrina.

I didn't need that reminder.

If I had truly been carrying his baby, I never would have kept it because a man in love with someone else didn't deserve to have a child with me.

I didn't say anything for a long moment, and just let the silence hang between us.

Then I calmly pulled out my phone.

"He's not your son," I said. "I'm married. My husband treats me well. Want to see the proof?"

I held my phone like a shield, prepared to put an end to all of this.

But just as I started to unlock it, Bradley reached out and grabbed my wrist.

"Photos can be edited," he snapped, eyes sharp. "If you're lying, of course, you'd come prepared."

I stared at him, completely done. "Think whatever you want, then."

The crowd around us was getting louder. The whispers had grown into a hum of curiosity just beneath the surface.

Right then, I bent down to pick up Leon. My son had seen enough. He was too young to be caught in a mess like this. But before I could lift him, Bradley grabbed my wrist again. He didn't even look at me this time. His eyes were fixed on Leon.

"Leon," he said quietly, "say Daddy."

I froze.

Leon looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

Then, after a tiny pause, he said shyly, "Uncle."

Bradley's face fell in an instant. His eyes reddened, and he looked at me like I had torn him apart.

"Leslie," he said, voice breaking, "you never told him about me? You never even mentioned me?"

Bradley's voice cracked again as he continued, "How could you do that? Other kids grow up with their fathers, and my son has to suffer without one?"

And just like that, I lost all my patience.

"Are you done? Let go of me!"

But his grip only tightened. He stayed silent for a long second before releasing a deep, tired sigh. His voice was soft when he spoke again, as if he was trying to sound reasonable now.

"For our son's sake, I'll compromise."

I gave him a confused look. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

A smug curl of his lip was his response.

"You can come back," Bradley said, as if he were granting me a wish. "That's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

From the side, I heard a gasp.

"Bradley, what about me?" Sabrina's voice cracked as she turned to him, her eyes wide in disbelief.

He barely glanced her way.

"Sabrina," he said smoothly, "I'll treat Leslie as my son's nanny. My feelings for you haven't changed. It's just I can't abandon my son."

Sabrina's face collapsed. Whatever performance she'd been putting on suddenly slipped away. She turned to look at me as if she wanted to tear me apart.

Then, unexpectedly, Sabrina's eyes welled up, and tears began to fall.