Chapter 2 - The Name on the Birth Certificate
Rowan stood paralyzed in the entryway, his mouth opening and closing without producing a sound. He looked between my father’s imposing figure, the luxury baby blanket bearing the subtle Sterling family crest, and me sitting calmly with a cup of herbal tea.
“Grandson?” Rowan choked out, his voice squeaking. “What... what kind of sick joke is this? Phoebe, who is this man? Why are you playing games?”
“I don’t play games, Rowan. You know that,” I replied evenly, taking a slow sip of my tea. “You’ve spent the last three years talking about Gideon Sterling. You have his biography on your nightstand. You’ve applied to his venture fund four times. You should recognize him.”
“No... no, your father is a retired salesman from Syracuse,” Rowan muttered, backing up until his shoulders hit the front door. “Your name is Phoebe Vance. You drive a five-year-old sedan. You shop at discount grocery stores!”
“Vance was my mother’s maiden name,” I said coolly. “When she passed away, I took her name to build a career on my own merits. When I met you, I wanted to know if you loved me for me, or if you loved the Sterling name. Clearly, you loved neither. You didn’t even love me enough to show up when our child was born.”
Rowan’s eyes darted frantically around the room, finally landing back on my father. Gideon hadn’t stood up; he didn’t need to. Power radiated from him in waves.
“Mr. Sterling... sir,” Rowan began, his tone instantly shifting into the groveling, oily cadence he reserved for wealthy clients at his wealth management firm. “There has been a colossal misunderstanding. A terrible, unfortunate miscommunication. My mother was having a milestone celebration, and Phoebe—Phoebe told me her due date wasn’t for two weeks! I was going to rush back the moment she told me labor had started!”
“You hung up on her twice,” Gideon stated. His voice was terrifyingly calm. “She told you her water broke. You told her to call a cab and enjoy the epidural.”
“I was joking! It was banter!” Rowan cried out, stepping forward with his hands raised in supplication. “Phoebe knows I joke when I’m stressed! I was terrified! Phoebe, tell your father! Tell him how much we love each other!”
“I don’t lie for cowards,” I said.
Before Rowan could speak again, the front door swung open violently, banging against the wall.
Selina strode into the foyer, draped in a lavender fur coat, carrying three shopping bags from high-end boutiques, and radiating self-satisfied arrogance.
“Rowan, darling, you left the trunk open—oh!” Selina stopped, looking around the living room with an upturned nose. “Well, look who finally decided to come home from the clinic. Did you have the baby, Phoebe? I hope it’s a boy. A girl would just be so dramatic, just like her mother.”
Selina hadn’t looked at my father yet. She dropped her shopping bags onto our dining table and pulled back her sleeve, flashing a glistening diamond-encrusted watch.
“Look at this masterpiece Rowan bought me for my sixtieth,” Selina boasted, turning toward me. “Sixty thousand dollars. That’s what a real son does for a mother who sacrificed everything. Not like your father, who couldn’t even be bothered to send a card for our wedding.”
“My father was at our wedding, Selina,” I said quietly. “He sat in the back row because I asked him to respect my privacy. But he’s here now. Why don’t you say hello?”
Selina turned her head toward the armchair, her expression souring into a scowl. “Who is this old man sitting with his shoes on your rug? Phoebe, have you brought your low-class relatives into this house without asking my son?”
Gideon stood up.
At six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and commanding, he seemed to swallow all the air in the room. Selina took an involuntary step back, her sneer freezing halfway across her face as recognition struck her like an electric shock.
She had spent twenty years reading high-society magazines. She knew that face.
“G-Gideon... Sterling?” Selina whispered, her hand flying to her throat, her knuckles white.
“Mrs. Miller,” Gideon said, stepping slowly toward her. His eyes flicked to the sparkling watch on her wrist, then to Rowan, whose face was now drenched in cold sweat. “I understand you think my daughter is dramatic. I understand you believe giving birth is an inconvenience compared to your birthday dinner.”
“I... I didn’t know...” Selina stammered, her voice trembling. “Rowan, who is this? What is happening?”
“Mom, shut up,” Rowan hissed through clenched teeth.
“Don’t tell your mother to shut up!” Selina snapped instinctively, though her knees were visibly shaking. “Mr. Sterling... this is an honor. We had no idea Phoebe was connected to your distinguished family. If we had known, of course Rowan would have canceled my dinner! We would have had the baby in a private suite at Mount Sinai!”
“That’s the difference between us, Mrs. Miller,” I said, rising from the sofa. “A decent human being doesn’t need a billionaire’s name to treat the mother of his child with basic human dignity.”
I walked over to the side table, picked up a crisp legal document, and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of Rowan.
“What is this?” Rowan asked, his hands shaking as he reached for it.
“That is the certified copy of Leo’s birth certificate,” I said.
May you like
Rowan looked down at the paper. His eyes widened in sheer horror. “Phoebe... where is my name? Why is the father listed as Unknown?”
“Because the father was absent,” I said coldly. “And as far as the law and I are concerned, Leo’s name is Leo Sterling. He has no father. And you have no son.”
