Leslie's POV

Frustrated with Bradley's plan, Sabrina yelled, "I'm not letting this happen! That woman's pulling every dirty trick in the book to keep her claws in you. Look at her, acting like some helpless victim. It's obvious that she's never moved on."

Bradley tried to calm her down, but not before throwing a sharp glare straight at me.

"I know. Don't worry," he muttered under his breath. "Even if Leslie dropped to her knees and cried, I wouldn't budge. You and I both know that someone like her, with that background and narrow little worldview, could never be good enough for me."

And then, as if on cue, the popsicle vendor nearby let out a loud, dry laugh.

"I thought she was some big shot," the guy muttered. "Turns out she's just another drama queen holding onto her ex."

That one comment triggered a flood of snide remarks from the bystanders around us.

"She's playing the innocent card, but she's a grade-A manipulator."

"Raising that poor kid to be bitter and petty, just like her."

"Didn't you hear what Bradley Goodman said? She's from the countryside. Tacky and broke. What'd you expect?"

Their words didn't sting. Not really. I'd heard worse.

So what if I was from a small town?

I worked my way up from nothing to managing investment portfolios that generated returns of seven and eight figures. I didn't climb my way out of nowhere just to be insulted by people who couldn't tell grit from gold.

But to Bradley, none of that ever mattered. He never saw me beyond where I came from.

I liked simple things—midnight food runs, sunrise hikes, cutting a watermelon in half, and eating it straight from the fridge with a spoon. To Bradley, that was all 'low-class,' something to be ashamed of.

But Sabrina? She was the broke scholarship girl he once supported. She spent his money on designer handbags and wore brand names like armor. Yet, Bradley never once called her materialistic.

Because let's be real, this wasn't about background or taste.

Bradley didn't love me.

Not back then. Not now.

With my expression flat, I yanked my wrist out of his hand. "Bradley, keep this up and I swear I'll call the cops."

Sabrina instantly latched onto his arm. "Bradley, come on. She's just poor and stubborn. She always takes your kindness and twists it into something else. Let's stop wasting our time."

But Bradley didn't budge. His gaze stayed locked on me, sharp and smug.

"Call the cops?" he said, his tone colder than ever. "Great idea. With my lawyers, custody would easily go to me."

Then he made it real.

"You've got two choices," Bradley said with icy calm. "One: give me your number and accept the child support. Two: come back to my place with the kid. You can raise him like a nanny."

The rage bubbling inside me was so fierce that I actually laughed.

Without another word, I picked Leon up and turned to leave.

But Bradley's expression changed. Something in his eyes darkened, and suddenly he lunged forward and tore Leon right out of my arms.

"If you're gonna be ungrateful," he barked, holding my son like he had the right, "then I'll raise him myself."

Leon screamed, kicking and thrashing in his hold. His tiny arms reached out for me, terrified.

"If you ever want to see him again," Bradley said as he backed toward his car, "come to Ocean One Estates. I just moved to Harbor City."

I stood there frozen, heart racing, while he marched toward the Maybach with Leon in his arms.

Sabrina chased after him, whining pitifully, "Bradley, weren't we just here to pick up my nephew?"

And then, Leon let out a heart-wrenching scream, desperately reaching his small hands toward me.

"Mommy! Bad man! I'm scared!"

Something snapped inside me. I pushed forward, adrenaline coursing through my body. But just as I lunged, the crowd surged ahead like a wall of people, blocking me with cold, indifferent stares.

"Why are you freaking out? With Bradley Goodman, that kid's set for life," someone scoffed.

Another parent remarked, "No wonder he left her. She's got zero class. Doesn't even care what's best for the kid."

I watched as Bradley opened the car door.

I broke.

Voice trembling, I yelled his name. "Bradley! Please! I'm begging you, give me back my son!"

My hands trembled as I scrambled to unlock my phone.

"I'm not a mistress! My husband is Sean Mercer. Leon is our son. We even have a daughter! I have a family photo—look!"

I held up my phone as if it were proof of my existence.

For a second, the crowd went silent—just a second.

Then came the laughter.

Cold. Cruel. Cutting.

"Sean Mercer? You mean that Mercer family? The one that can bankrupt half the city with a phone call?"

"If Sean Mercer were your husband, your kid wouldn't be going to some rundown public kindergarten."

"Yeah, right. What's next? You're the mayor's wife? Maybe the First Lady?"

They were laughing—every single one of them.

And not a damn one believed me.

I felt it then—that harsh, marrow-deep cold that climbs your spine and lingers, regardless of how hot the sun is.

But even with my heart breaking and my hands trembling, I couldn't just stand there and watch my son be taken away.

Leslie's POV

And so, I did the only thing I could.

I screamed, from the pit of my chest, "Bradley! I'll go back with you!"

Right there, Bradley stopped dead in his tracks.

Then, as if a switch had flipped, he turned on his heel, shoved Leon into Sabrina's arms, and stormed toward me like a thundercloud on the verge of breaking.

He didn't say a word and grabbed me, pulling me into a tight, suffocating hug that knocked the air completely out of my lungs.

I started to struggle, pushing at his chest, but he caught my chin in one hand, forcing me to look up at him.

His voice dropped, low and sharp, right next to my face.

"You really think I'd want a woman like you? Someone who'd stoop to using a child just to manipulate me? Where was this fire when you dumped me in front of everybody back then? You had no problem walking away like I meant nothing."

Tears welled up in my eyes from the sting of his grip, but I didn't let them fall.

"Call me whatever you want," I said, my voice steady. "Cheap. Manipulative. Trashy. I don't care. Just give me back my son."

His eyes flickered. Something passed through them, maybe hesitation or doubt. Still, I didn't let it slip away.

But then, just as quickly, Bradley pushed me aside as if I were something dirty. He pulled out a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands, as if touching me had stained them.

"Get in the car yourself."

I slowly followed behind, enduring the crowd's scornful glances as he headed towards the Maybach.

And right on cue, Sabrina ran over to Bradley. She threw herself into his arms like it was her moment in a cheesy soap and started crying.

"Bradley, please don't bring her back," she sobbed, her voice high and trembling. "That house has been our home for ten years. I don't want a stranger living there."

Bradley gave her a soothing pat on the back.

"Be good. She'll stay in the servants' quarters. Just act like she's not there."

I felt my stomach tighten at the sight of him holding her like that. It wasn't just about this moment but the flood of memories that came before it.

Sabrina had been part of his life for years. The Goodmans took her in during her high school years. She lived in their house, ate their food, and basked in their wealth. Bradley's parents treated her like a member of the family.

And Bradley? He doted on her like she hung the damn moon.

He only began pursuing me during my sophomore year, after I participated in a college debate competition. He was charming, persistent, the kind of guy who always knew exactly what to say.

And so, the innocent and naive girl in me back then fell hard.

But in all four years we were together, he never once brought me home. He always said Sabrina didn't like strangers, and his family needed their peace.

One year, I attempted to surprise him on his birthday by waiting outside the Goodman estate in the rain for hours. That was the moment I saw Bradley and Sabrina, standing under the porch light, kissing as if no one else mattered. Yet, I had painfully convinced myself it was all just a hallucination.

Right there, Sabrina's voice pierced the air, pulling me back to the present.

"Leslie, have some shame! You're still clinging to Bradley like some parasite. Why didn't you just die in that car crash five years ago?"

My entire body trembled.

'The accident... How did she know about that?' I thought.

The day Bradley and I broke up, I had barely walked a block from the hotel when I was hit by a car. I remembered waking up mid-surgery, dazed and trying to give him the black card he had given me for emergencies.

The nurse took one look at it and said, "Miss, this card's been frozen."

I laughed then, through the pain, the meds, and the betrayal. Bradley didn't even wait an hour before cutting me off completely. If it hadn't been for my now-husband, who was on inspection rounds at the hospital, I might not even be alive.

Just then, Bradley whipped his head toward her. "Sabrina? What car crash? What are you talking about?"

Sabrina froze for a split second, then blinked and tilted her head like she was confused.

"Huh? I didn't say anything. You must've misheard."

And so, Bradley barked at me, "What are you just standing there for? Get in the car. I'm going to the Mercer estate. You're coming too."

I blinked, caught off guard. "The Mercer estate?"

He looked at me as if I were dense, then replied, "Yeah. And spare me whatever fantasy you've cooked up about being married to Sean Mercer or having kids with him. Don't embarrass yourself."

I exhaled quietly, holding back the storm in my chest. "Okay."

That one word was all I needed to say. Because as long as we went back to Mercer estate, all of this—the lies, the threats, the show—would finally come crashing down.

Bradley shot me a strange look, as if thrown off by how suddenly obedient I was.

But in that moment, neither of us saw what was going on behind us. It wasn't until I heard the gasps and turned around that I saw my son.

Leon slipped out of the car, standing alone in the middle of the road.

Leon rubbed his sleepy eyes and squinted at the road. A familiar silver Maybach approached us.

Then, out of nowhere, he lifted his tiny arm and waved madly, yelling at the car as it neared, "Daddy! There are bad people! Come save me and Mommy!"

My stomach dropped, and every nerve in my body froze. I could hardly breathe, but I pushed forward anyway, legs trembling as I sprinted toward him. I scooped Leon up just as he stepped off the curb, wrapping myself around him to shield his body with mine.

"Sean! Stop the car!"