I Stopped Loving Him When He Let Me Bleed Out novel Chapter 203

Ford didn't answer.

He crouched down, wrapping an arm around York, and pointed at Finn.

"Be a good boy, York. Tell everyone, what do you call him?"

"Daddy," York called out again.

Every gaze in the room was pinned on Finn.

Chloe lowered her eyes, masking the wild excitement in her gaze.

She had finally waited for this day. She was about to secure her rightful status.

Holding her wine glass, Yolanda couldn't suppress the smirk on her lips.

Her eldest son's move was brilliant. This was the most effective way to handle someone like Finn, who valued family deeply and prioritized their interests above everything else.

After all, Finn's thirty years of education had constantly drilled into him that the family's interests must come first.

The brainwashing had been incredibly successful.

Today, they were forcing Finn into a corner. He had to accept it, whether he wanted to or not.

Unless he dared to publicly declare that York wasn't his son.

Yolanda was certain that Finn would rather die than say something like that.

The reporters' cameras were trained relentlessly on Finn.

Under the crystal chandeliers, the flashes were dazzling.

Sienna stood there, looking at York, and then at Finn.

She didn't speak, quietly waiting for his decision.

However, no matter what decision Finn made today, it wouldn't change her plan.

Sienna had been hurt before, and she would never hold onto any expectations for him again.

Finn stared at the little hand reaching out to him.

His heart was ruthlessly squeezed.

York's eyes were bright, innocent, and pure. He was so young; he had absolutely no idea what was happening.

He only had one thought—he wanted his daddy.

Finn closed his eyes as agonizing pain spread through his veins.

He remembered that night three years ago.

York was delirious from the fever, his tiny hand clinging tightly to Finn's finger, refusing to let go.

The first time York went to preschool.

When he handed the boy over to the teacher, York had cried his lungs out.

Finn stood at the door listening for half an hour before marching back in, picking York up, and taking him straight home.

He told himself the boy was still too young; he would send him next year.

Even though he wasn't the boy's biological father, he had done everything a father should do for three years.

He had changed diapers, prepared formula, and woken up in the middle of the night to soothe a crying infant.

He had watched this boy roll over for the first time, sit up for the first time, and take his first steps.

He had seen the boy at his most fragile and at his happiest.

He was not his father.

But he loved him.

Finn looked down at York.

That little hand was still reaching out, fingers splayed, waiting for him to hold it.