"Mama, why are they taking pictures?"

Leo's fingers slipped out of mine in the middle of the Ashford Meridian charity gala.

One second he was staring at the ice sculpture shaped like the hotel tower, his little mouth open because rich people apparently made buildings out of water and called it kindness. The next second his knees folded.

"Leo, stay with me!"

I caught him before his head hit the marble. My clutch skidded away. The room went bright with phones.

Of course they filmed.

"Move aside," a man's voice said.

I looked up and forgot how to breathe.

Adrian Ashford dropped to one knee across from me, black suit, the same dark eyes Leo wore, the same mouth that had once said my name like it was something he had earned. Five years had put a sharper line on him. Wealth had done the rest.

He reached for Leo.

I pulled my son back against me. "Do not touch him."

His gaze hit my face, stopped, and changed.

"Mara, look at me."

There it was. My name, alive in his mouth again.

"Call an ambulance," I said to nobody, everybody. "Please, hurry."

"I already did." His attention stayed on Leo, not me. "How long has he been pale?"

"I said do not touch him."

"Your son is unconscious."

"My son is not your business."

That landed. I saw it land. A small flinch around his eyes, then the heir came back over the man.

"Legally, he became my business when he collapsed in my hotel."

"The liability form is all yours."

His hand closed around Leo's wrist before I could stop him. Two fingers at the pulse. Calm. Trained. Too gentle for what I remembered of him.

Leo stirred against me. "Mama, what happened?"

"I'm here, baby." I pressed my mouth to his hair. "You're okay."

Adrian went still over him.

Really looked.

I saw the moment he noticed the eyes. People always did. Leo had my face until he smiled, but his eyes belonged to the man kneeling in front of me.

"How old is he?" Adrian asked.

"Old enough to be scared by strangers."

"Mara, don't."

"Do not."

The paramedics came through the crowd with a stretcher. Behind them, a woman in a pearl-white gown cut through the room like she owned the air. Celeste Vane. I knew her from business magazines and the gossip articles my clinic patients read while waiting. Adrian Ashford's likely bride. Ashford Meridian's chief strategy officer. Beautiful enough to make cruelty look expensive.

"Adrian, the donors are watching," she said.

"Let them."

That was new.

He lifted Leo before the medic could. My body moved before permission. I grabbed his sleeve.

"Put him down."

He looked at my hand on his arm, then at me. "Walk beside me, or fight me in front of the medics. Those are the options."

"I pick my child."

"Walk with him."

I took one step and slipped on the strap of my fallen clutch. Adrian's hand shot under my elbow.

Not holding. Catching.

He let go before I could punish him for it.

I hated that I did.

The service hallway was colder than the ballroom. The paramedic asked questions. I answered too fast.

"His name?"

"Leo Vale."

"How old?"

"Four. Almost five."

Adrian's head turned.

I kept my eyes on the medic. "He had a fever last week. No seizures. No allergies. He ate half a granola bar and two strawberries."

"Blood card?"

I froze.

The medic held out a hand. "Ma'am, the card?"

"In my wallet."

Adrian picked up the clutch someone had brought from the ballroom floor. He opened it before I could snatch it back.

"Don't open that."

Too late.

He found the little laminated hospital card. Leo's name. His blood profile. The rare marker doctors always circled twice because nurses thought it was a typo.

Adrian stared at it.

No one spoke.

Celeste Vane stepped closer. "What is it?"

Adrian did not answer her.

His gaze moved from Leo on the stretcher to me. He held up the card like evidence.

"This is wrong."

"It is not."

"This marker is in my family."

"How fortunate for you."

"It is in my body."

"Lucky you."

His voice dropped. "Mara, stop."

I reached for the card. He did not give it back.

"Give me my son's medical information."

"Answer me before I start guessing."

"No answer."

"Four years old," he said. "Almost five."

Celeste Vane's face had gone very still.

The medic cleared his throat. "We need to move."

"Move the stretcher," I said.

Adrian stepped in front of me.

I had forgotten how much space he could take by standing still.

"Look at me."

"I have looked at you enough for one life."

"Look once more, and give me a fact I can believe."

My palm hit his chest before I knew I had raised it. Not a slap. A push. Small, useless, furious.

"Move now," I said.

He looked down at my hand, then back at Leo.

When he spoke, the hallway changed around us.

"Why does he have my blood?"