Marquita approached before they’d even gone ten paces.

“Ashton, can we . . . talk?”

The hesitation in her voice and posture made him instantly wary. But she was the showrunner, so he nodded and gestured to Jasmine and Nino that they should go on without him. Jasmine shot him a worried look, but then Marquita drew him over to a quiet corner—or as quiet as the corner of a sound stage at lunchtime could be. She stared at him, her eyes round and uncertain, holding her phone to her chest, like she wanted to show him something, but was worried about his reaction.

Immediately, Ashton assumed the worst. Was it another picture of him and Jasmine? Had they been discovered? Or shit, was he being fired again? He’d thought he was doing well as Victor, but maybe—

“Do you . . .” Marquita shook her head, like she wasn’t sure what to say, then blurted out the rest of the question in a rush. “¿Tienes un hijo?”

Ice flushed through his veins, chilling him from the inside out as he tried to keep his expression bland.

Do you have a son?

If she was asking, it meant she already knew.

Ashton swallowed hard and continued. “¿Qué están diciendo?”

“They’re saying that you have a child.” Marquita glanced down at her phone, then faced it toward him. “There’s a picture.”

The sight of Yadiel’s innocent and unsuspecting face on Marquita’s phone screen had Ashton curling his hands into fists. Rage swept through him, burning away the ice. How. Dare. They.

He took the phone carefully and zoomed in to see the details. The first photo had been taken two days earlier at the Yankees game Ashton had brought Yadiel to, but there were others, including one of Ashton at the airport as he returned from his latest trip to Puerto Rico. He hadn’t seen anyone who looked obviously like a paparazzo, but someone had seen him. Seen him and recognized him, despite the baseball cap and sunglasses.

What the hell? Did Buzz Weekly have spies everywhere?

The headline read: TELENOVELA STAR’S SECRETS REVEALED! SEX, STALKERS, AND A SECRET CHILD!

It was certainly comprehensive, he thought bitterly. The writer, Kitty Sanchez—why did that name sound familiar?—must have been researching him for some time to uncover everything.

Ashton wasn’t violent or prone to fits of anger, but now, terror mixed with fury within him. These people—these paparazzi and gossip columnists—had dug into his past, tracked down his family, and spied on him. All because they thought he was screwing his costar.

Which he was. Pero carajo, why couldn’t that remain his own business?

The spotlight focused on Jasmine had now trained itself on him and uncovered a story too juicy to ignore. The “just friends” campaign had failed. As careful as he’d been, he’d made mistakes—like bringing his family to New York because he missed them.

He should have known this would happen. Indeed, it was a low-grade fear he carried daily. But he’d hoped, naively, that he’d done enough to keep his family safe from all this.

Now everything was ruined.

Even worse, Yadiel’s mother was bound to see this. His stomach dropped as he recalled how she’d handed their infant son over to Ashton. In exchange for full custody, she’d made it clear she didn’t ever want to deal with the media fallout over a “secret lovechild,” as she’d put it. What would she do if the tabloids traced Yadiel back to her?

He scrolled farther. Somehow, this Kitty Sanchez bruja had also found out about the stalker, the attempted break-in, and—coño, carajo, there was even a picture of him kissing Jasmine from the exterior scene they’d shot in Spanish Harlem the other night. Presented without context, of course.

As he stared at the photos, the words accompanying them blurred. His chest and throat grew tight, and he got a hot, claustrophobic feeling, like the walls were closing in on him. His worst nightmare was coming true. Every single one of his secrets was being revealed for public consumption.

“Ashton?” Marquita’s brow creased with worry.

He’d been holding her phone for too long. Passing it back to her, he grated out, “Sí. Él es mi hijo.”

He would not deny Yadiel’s existence outright. He had never been ashamed of his son—he just wanted to protect him.

Marquita sucked in a breath, but Ashton’s attention was drawn to movement across the sound stage.

Jasmine stood, staring at him with hurt in her dark eyes.

He recalled Carmen’s words from the scene on the steps. Opening up, letting people in, even if it’s just to carry the burden of the knowledge.

“I have to call my lawyer,” he said. If there was any possibility of getting the photos pulled—for Yadiel’s safety—he had to try.

As for Jasmine, he didn’t know how to make this right. Didn’t know if he could. But he had more important things to deal with at the moment.

She found him in his dressing room just as he was hanging up with his agent.

He froze when he saw her at the door, all the things he wanted to say backing up in his throat.

He knew her well enough now to know her moods, and she was furious. Her eyes blazed, and she stormed past him into the room.

He quickly shut the door behind her. “Jasmine, I—”

“First step: context.” She cut him off and held up one finger, as if counting. “You had sex with me. You told me something that made me think you trusted me, and then I had to find out yet again from a fucking magazine”—she shook a copy of Buzz Weekly at him so violently the cover tore—“that a guy I was screwing had lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you.” The words tasted sour in his mouth. All the times he’d omitted Yadiel from their conversations flashed in his mind. Fuck, he hated that she was right. Hated that he’d done the same thing to her as that pendejo McIntyre.

“Well, you sure didn’t tell me the whole truth, did you?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm and she held up a second finger. “Step two: communication. Your turn.”

She tossed the magazine at him and he caught it by reflex. The cheap paper crumpled in his hand. If he hadn’t already ripped up a copy earlier, he would have done so now.

She wanted communication? He didn’t even know where to begin, and he was too stressed out from the calls with his lawyer, his agent, his former boss in Miami, and his father to figure it out.

He’d kept everything related to Yadiel locked inside him for so long. The revelation should have been like opening a dam. Instead it was like pulling teeth.

Then, before he could think of what to tell her, she gasped. Her jaw dropped and she said, in a hushed voice, “Oh my god. This is why.”

“Why what?” he repeated irritably. Unable to stand holding it any longer, he tossed the magazine into the garbage can under his desk.

“This is why you don’t fuck your costars.” Jasmine’s eyes widened as she put it all together. “You worked with her, didn’t you? On a telenovela.”

The reference to Yadiel’s mother had his stomach dropping like he’d just fallen ten stories on a roller coaster. Panic made his voice tight. “I’m not telling you who—”

“Did I ask?” Her voice was sharp with anger. “No, I didn’t. And while I do respect your privacy, I also think someone who is allowing you to enter their body deserves a modicum of respect and trust as well. We got close, and you hid a major aspect of your life from me. And don’t even try to tell me this was just sex because you and I both know goddamn well it was more than that.”