Zyran’s POV.

“Mommy, I want him to be my daddy.”

For a few seconds after Lorna spoke, I forgot how to breathe.

I remained on my knees beside the fountain, staring at the little girl standing a few feet away from me with her tiny hand wrapped around Roosevelt’s fingers.

My daughter.

The words had been circling inside my head for weeks, but hearing them from her own lips was different. She wanted me.

Not because Roosevelt had told her I was her father. Not because I had forced my way into her life. Not because of my name, my money, or anything I could buy for her.

She simply...