Chapter 2My Son Died While He Welcomed Yours

“Finn Harrington, that is enough.”

Rhys’s voice was low and heavy, utterly lacking the gentle patience he’d shown moments before.

The boy's face crumpled with offense, a look that painfully mirrored his mother’s pride and stubbornness. It was impossible not to recall Seraphina Maxwell, flaunting her pregnancy in front of me years ago.

“Genevieve Hartley,” she’d sneered, “if fate hadn’t gotten in the way, Rhys would have met me first. He would never have needed to marry a spoiled, clueless debutante like you.”

Rhys crouched down, touching the boy’s pouting cheek. “Don’t you love your big brother most? This is his mother. If you’re too loud, it will make your brother sad.”

I gritted my teeth.

How dare Rhys? How dare he let Seraphina’s son call my Leo “brother,” and use a name—Finn—that felt so deliberately resonant, designed to replace the Huai character that was part of my son's Chinese name?

I had no intention of lingering. I was back in New York to finalize the process of having Leo’s remains moved. I needed to speak to the cemetery director.

Rhys followed, still holding Finn.

When he heard my request, his voice was thick and hoarse. “Genevieve, you haven’t visited Leo in five years. And the moment you return, you want to take him away?”

“He is my son. I won’t allow it.”

I let my eyes trail over Rhys with a cold, dismissive look. He was still the impeccably tailored man I remembered, tall and commanding in his expensive suit. The tie he wore—that signature burgundy red, almost certainly chosen by Seraphina—spoke of power, warmth, and quiet strength.

Five years after losing Leo, Rhys Harrington was still thriving, still on top.

I, on the other hand, had a few strands of gray at my temples. Leo would have worried about me.

But he was gone.

I tilted my head back, a bitter, icy smile touching my lips. “I’m not asking for your permission. You didn't even attend his funeral. You forfeited the right to discuss this with me.”