Yujiro didn't sleep.
He remained seated in his penthouse long after midnight, Alex's employee file spread across the coffee table before him.
Yuto Bolivar.
Date of birth.
Age: Three.
The numbers blurred each time he looked at them.
Then sharpened again.
Unchanging.
Unforgiving.
He had checked the dates more times than he cared to admit.
He had even convinced himself that perhaps there had been a mistake.
A clerical error.
A coincidence.
But no matter how many times he reviewed the information, the conclusion remained the same.
Yuto could be his son.
No.
Yuto was his son.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
Three years.
Three years of firsts he had never witnessed.
Three years of laughter he had never heard.
Three years of scraped knees, bedtime stories, and sleepy "I love you's" that belonged to someone else.
Or rather...
to no one but Alex.
He remembered Yuto's bright smile.
The dinosaur drawing.
The innocent way the little boy had looked at him and said:
«"Mama works hard."»
Yujiro closed his eyes.
His hand clenched into a fist.
"Why?" he whispered into the empty room.
Why hadn't she told him?
Why had she carried this alone?
Why had she decided for both of them?
For the first time in years, Yujiro felt something he couldn't control.
Anger.
Grief.
Loss.
And beneath all of it...
heartbreak.
---
The next morning, Alex stepped into the office carrying her usual coffee and neatly organized planner.
"Good morning, Ms. Bolivar."
"Morning."
"Morning, Alex."
She greeted everyone with polite smiles, unaware of the storm waiting several floors above.
Her phone buzzed.
Yuto: Mama, Auntie Asha made pancakes.
A photo followed.
Yuto sat at the table with syrup smeared across his cheek.
Alex smiled immediately.
Alex: Eat your breakfast properly.
Yuto: No promises.
She laughed softly.
Then the intercom on her desk rang.
"Ms. Bolivar."
Her smile faded.
Yujiro's voice.
"Come to my office."
His tone was calm.
Controlled.
Yet something about it sent unease crawling down her spine.
"Right away, sir."
---
Alex knocked twice.
"Come in."
She stepped inside.
The moment the door closed behind her, she sensed it.
The atmosphere was wrong.
Yujiro stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
His back faced her.
His posture rigid.
He didn't invite her to sit.
He didn't greet her.
"Mr. Yujiro?"
Slowly, he turned around.
The expression on his face made Alex's stomach drop.
Gone was the composed executive she had grown accustomed to.
In his place stood a man barely holding himself together.
There was anger in his eyes.
Confusion.
Pain.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
Alex frowned.
"...Excuse me?"
His jaw tightened.
"How long were you planning to keep it from me?"
The blood drained from her face.
No.
No.
No.
She forced herself to remain calm.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Yujiro laughed.
It wasn't amused.
It was bitter.
He crossed the room in measured steps before placing a familiar file on his desk.
Alex's employee file.
She stared at it.
Then at him.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"You looked through my records?"
His voice sharpened.
"Answer the question."
Alex lifted her chin.
"You had no right."
"And you had every right?"
Silence.
The room felt suffocating.
"Mr. Yujiro—"
"Don't."
His voice cracked through the office like thunder.
For the first time since she'd known him, Yujiro's composure shattered.
"Don't call me that right now."
Alex had never seen him like this.
His breathing was uneven.
His hands clenched at his sides.
He looked devastated.
"...Yujiro."
The use of his name only seemed to make the situation more real.
He stared at her.
His eyes searched her face desperately.
As if hoping she'd deny it.
As if praying he was wrong.
Instead, he asked the question that changed everything.
"...How old is he?"
Alex's breath caught.
She looked away.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag.
Silence.
One second.
Two.
Three.
"Alex."
She couldn't speak.
Because the moment she answered...
there would be no taking it back.
"How old is he?"
Still, she remained silent.
Yujiro took a step closer.
The desperation in his voice broke through the anger.
"Damn it, Alex..."
He looked at her with years of loss already reflected in his eyes.
"How old is he?"
Alex slowly closed her eyes.
And finally—
"...Three."
The word barely escaped above a whisper.
Yujiro froze.
The entire world seemed to stop.
"...Three?"
His voice was hollow.
Disbelieving.
He repeated it again.
"Three years?"
His dark eyes lifted to hers.
She had never seen him look so broken.
Three years.
Three birthdays.
Three first words.
Three first steps.
Three years of nightmares soothed.
Three years of laughter shared.
Three years.
Gone.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"You never told me?"
Alex couldn't answer.
Not because she didn't have one.
But because there were too many.
Fear.
Shame.
Survival.
Pride.
Pain.
And none of them would ever return the years they'd lost.
Yujiro looked away first.
His hand pressed against the edge of his desk as though he needed something solid to hold onto.
Behind his closed eyes, a little boy's voice echoed.
«"I think you'd be a good daddy."»
When Yujiro finally looked back at Alex, there were tears threatening to gather in eyes that had never allowed themselves such weakness.
His next words were barely audible.
"...Why?"
Alex's lips parted.
But no answer came.
Not yet.
Because some truths are easy to uncover.
Living with them is another matter entirely.
And the hardest part of their story had only just begun.
— End of Chapter 11 —