The baby wouldn’t stop crying.

Not a soft whimper.
Not an occasional fuss.

Full, desperate screams that cut through the first-class cabin like a siren.

Passengers sighed. Someone muttered, “Unbelievable.”
A flight attendant tried—failed—to calm the child.

Then a man stood up.

Everyone recognized him.

Richard Lawson.
Billionaire. Tech tycoon. Front-page name.

He adjusted his cufflinks, his jaw tight with irritation, and marched down the aisle.

“This is unacceptable,” he snapped. “I paid for peace and quiet, not this.”

The young woman holding the baby froze.

She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. Tired eyes. Cheap clothes. One arm shaking as she rocked the child.

“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve tried everything.”

Richard leaned closer, voice sharp.
“Then try harder. Or get off the plane.”

The baby screamed louder.

The cabin went silent.

The woman swallowed, then looked up at him.

“You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “He’s not crying because of the flight.”

Richard scoffed. “Then why?”

Her hands trembled as she shifted the baby slightly, revealing a tiny hospital bracelet still wrapped around his ankle.

She met Richard’s eyes.

“He’s crying because he recognizes your voice.”

Richard frowned. “What nonsense is that?”

The woman took a slow breath.

“Because you are his father.”

The words landed like a gunshot.

Laughter rippled through the cabin—nervous, disbelieving.

Richard’s face hardened. “This is extortion. Security—”

“I don’t want your money,” she interrupted, her voice shaking but firm. “I never did.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a folded document.

A DNA report.

Stamped. Signed.

Richard stared at it.

The color drained from his face.

“That… that’s impossible,” he whispered.

“You met me four years ago,” she said softly. “At a charity fundraiser in Chicago. You left before sunrise. You said you weren’t meant to be a family man.”

The baby suddenly went quiet.

His tiny hand curled around Richard’s finger.

The entire cabin held its breath.

For the first time in decades, Richard Lawson didn’t know what to say.

The flight attendant stepped back.

No one spoke.

Richard slowly sank into the seat beside her.

His voice broke. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked away.

“I did,” she said. “Your assistant told me you were ‘not available for personal matters.’”

The baby sighed in his sleep.

Richard stared at the child—his child—then out the window at thirty thousand feet.

All his life, he’d silenced problems with money.

This one didn’t make a sound anymore.

And that terrified him.