The Mafia Lord's Secret Lover (Evelyn) novel Chapter 13

We Need To Talk

The hospital loomed in the distance. Sirens wailed faintly from somewhere ahead as Dylan turned the car toward the emergency

entrance. 1

Evelyn held Oliver tighter to her chest, her mind over whelmed by chaos, fear, and desperation. If she lost her son, nothing else mattered.

Not even her life. 12 He Is My Son?

Axel said nothing as he opened the car door, his movements precise, deliberate, like a man who had trained himself never to falter. 1

He extended the space for her, allowing Evelyn to slide in with Oliver pressed desperately against her chest.

The moment the door closed, Evelyn felt as if the world was collapsing around her. Oliver was unusually quiet, utterly unlike his typically

charming and talkative self.

He was too pale. His tiny body sagged against her arms, his warmth slipping away with every second.

Blood, so much blood, was soaking through her trembling feet, staining her brown culottes, trickling down to her lap.

She tried to press on the handkerchief knot on his feet gently, but that only made the blood flow out faster, slipping between his fingers. 1

‘God. No. No, please…‘ She screams in her mind, too frightened to see his wound.

This wasn’t just a cu t. This was a wound that struck deep, hitting something important; a vein, an artery.

Every beat of his tiny heart was draining him away. She could feel it in the way his pulse faltered beneath her touch.

Luckily, his eyes still beamed as he stared at her, as if he wanted to calm her chaotic nerves.

‘Don’t you dare leave me, Oliver. Don’t you dare!!‘ She was venting her frustration while holding back her tears.

Axel slid into the backseat next to her, with his phone already at his ear.

“Hospital,” he ordered, and Dylan, behind the wheel, didn’t hesitate, slamming his foot on the gas pedal.

The car lurched forward, tires screeching, but Evelyn barely felt it.

She was too focused on Oliver, too focused on the way his little chest rose and fell unevenly. His breath was shallow, fragile, as if it could

disappear at any second.

Axel’s gaze flicked toward her, and for a fleeting moment, the mask slipped.

His eyes landed on Oliver, on the child’s face, pale yet strangely radiant, hazel eyes glazed with pain but still glimmering faintly with life.

Axel’s own chest tightened.

Those eyes. That face. It was impossible to ignore. The boy’s face looked exactly like the photo of him when he was around that age. He

felt like he was looking at his toddler self.

For a second, Axel almost forgot to breathe. The sharp line of his nose, the faint arch of his brows, even the stubborn set of his lips, it

was as though he was staring into a mirror of his own childhood.

The possibility clawed into his chest before he could stop it. Could it be?

He shook the thought, but it returned instantly, louder, more insistent. Evelyn disappeared four years ago.

He was searching for her endlessly. And now here she was, in front of him again, carrying a child about three years old.

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12 He Is My Son?

10

His child?

“Sir?” The voice on the other end of the line snapped Axel back.

He turned his gaze away from Evelyn, jaw tightening.

“Prep the ER now… Male child, severe blood loss. Foot injury, possible severed vein. We’re en route.”

His voice was steady, ice–cold, but his knuckles whitened against the phone.

Oliver whimpered faintly, a weak, broken sound that shredded Evelyn’s soul. Her breath caught in her throat, tears spilling down her

face.

She wanted to scream, but fear strangled the sound. She pressed her lips to her son’s hair, whispering prayers she wasn’t sure would be

heard. ‘If I lose him, I lose everything… Please God help me.’

“We’ll be there soon, honey… please hang in there, okay?” She lied. She knew the hospital was a thirty–minute drive from her place.

Axel’s gaze flicked back to them again, his eyes lingering too long. He hated the way his chest felt unsteady, hated the thought that

burned in his mind.

He had no right to care. No reason to care. Evelyn Walters left without explanation. She was supposed to be nothing; she is only the

woman he sleeps with because of their stupidity.

And yet… the boy in her arms.

He couldn’t ignore it.

“What’s his age?” Axel asked suddenly, his tone deceptively calm, but his eyes drilling into her with something dangerous.

Evelyn’s lips trembled. She could feel the weight of his suspicion, like he already knew the answer.

Her heart pounded in terror, not just for Oliver, but for what Axel might piece together.

She forced herself to swallow and whispered, “Three.”

Axel’s entire body went still.

Three.

The number echoed like a gunshot in his mind. Three years. Exactly three years. The timing lined up too perfectly. His jaw flexed as he

stared at her, though his face gave nothing away.

“Blood type?” he asked, his tone sharper and quieter. “This is for hospital info…” he added when she looked reluctant.

“B…” Evelyn’s voice cracked, but she steadied it, forcing herself to look strong even as her insides tore apart.

Inside, she was chaos. A hurricane of terror and grief. Her mind screamed with every pulse of blood spilling from Oliver’s foot.

‘Please, God, don’t let me bury my child. Don’t let me watch him die in my arms.

Her son. Her everything. The one thing she had left after losing her family, after being cast out.

NIA

<

12 He Is My Son?

But she could feel Axel’s gaze burning into her, not just as a man trying to save a child, but as someone who had questions, dangerous

questions that she couldn’t allow to surface.

Don’t ask. Please, don’t ask. Not now.

But Axel already knew. He didn’t need her answer. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones. This boy… this fragile, bleeding child, was

his.

The thought made something strange and unbearable twist in his chest.

For years, he had hunted Evelyn, driven by curiosity over her disappearance and tormented by unanswered questions. And all this time,

she had been carrying his son. Raising him. Alone.

Rage bubbled beneath his skin, colliding with something softer, something he hadn’t felt in years. Fear. Not for himself, but for the boy.

His boy.

Oliver’s small hand twitched, his fingers brushing Evelyn’s wrist, and Axel’s heart clenched in a way he didn’t recognize.

He leaned forward, voice hard but low, “Keep the pressure steady. Don’t let go.”

“I know!” Evelyn answered, her voice cracking under the weight of her panic. Her tears streaked down, but she didn’t dare release her

grip. “He’s losing so much… Axel, he’s…”

“He’ll make it,” Axel interrupted her. “Do you hear me, Evelyn? He will make it.”

His words were firm, but inside, doubt gnawed at him. The boy’s face was growing paler by the second, his breath growing shorter and

fainter.

Axel’s gut twisted with something he hated: helplessness.

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Continue showering them with your Power Stones, please!

PurpleLight

Creators‘ Thoughts

4 Post your first

Axel’s eyes stayed on the boy, on the fragile thread of life slipping through Evelyn’s fingers. For once, the great Axel Knight felt

powerless.

“Let me carry him!” In a heartbeat, Oliver was already in his arms.

And in that moment, as the hospital doors appeared, one truth overwhelmed him: if this child was truly his, nothing and no one could

take him away.

The car screeched to a halt, and the emergency team was already waiting outside.

Of course they were, this was Axel Knight’s hospital. His name alone was enough to move mountains, and now, the staff scrambled like

soldiers before a general.

“Please do your best to help!”

Axel handed Oliver over to the doctors. He could feel Evelyn crying beside him.

“Yes, sir!” A few doctors answer politely.

Then another doctor shouted as if he wanted to alert everyone in the team, “Severe blood loss, wound to the foot, possible arterial

damage!”

They rushed Oliver onto a stretcher, moving fast through the wide glass doors.

Machines beeped, voices overlapped, but all Evelyn saw was Oliver’s tiny hand dangling limply off the stretcher until a nurse tucked it

back against his chest.

Evelyn followed, nearly stumbling, her tears blurring everything around her. ‘My baby. Please, God. Save my baby…

Axel’s presence was a storm just behind her. Silent. He didn’t need to shout; his authority bled into the room, into the very walls of the hospital he owned.

When his sharp voice cut through the chaos, everyone obeyed without hesitation.

“Stabilize him. Stop the bleeding immediately.”

Evelyn’s nails dug into her palms as she watched the surgical team vanish behind steel doors, her son’s pale face the last thing she saw before they slammed shut.

Her knees nearly gave out, but she forced herself to stand, clinging to a wall beside her for support.

Moments later, a doctor rushed back out, panic–filled in his tone.

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13 We Need To Talk

“Sir, we’ve just checked the blood bank. We don’t have any units of type B in stock. We have already ordered from our main branch at

Grayenfall, but they will only arrive in forty–five minutes…”

Evelyn’s world spun out of control at the news.

“What?” Her voice trembled, terror rising in her throat. ‘No blood? That meant…!?”

Her body went cold, her hands trembling violently. Oliver couldn’t survive without it.

But before the horror could consume her, Axel spoke, his tone still sounding calm.

“I’m type B. Take as much as you need.”

Evelyn froze. Her head instantly turned toward him, her breath catching in her chest.

‘He… he had the same blood type.’

Her throat tightened, heart pounding so hard she thought it would break her ribs.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to confess the truth that pressed against her lips. Oliver was his son. His blood. His flesh. His life.

But fear chained her tongue.

What if telling him now shattered everything? What if the truth didn’t save her, but destroyed her instead?