My billionaire boyfriend’s mother walked into my Vermont farmhouse, placed a blank check on my kitchen table, and said, “Name your price. Then disappear before Adrian learns that child is his.”

too personal.

Then I returned home to my daughter.

Poppy.

She had soft brown curls, enormous gray eyes, and a laugh that could make even my most exhausting days feel worthwhile.

She was almost two years old.

And every time I looked into her eyes, I saw her father.

Adrian Vale.

My uncle Raymond was the only person who continued questioning my decision to remain silent.

“Elena, a man doesn’t disappear for two years without a reason.”

“He never knew about Poppy,” I insisted.

“You wrote him a letter.”

“Exactly.”