Daring the afternoon traffic, Max left Prize Games and drove to his parents’ house in Ballard. He found his mother waiting for him on the whitewashed porch of the Victorian home his parents had bought soon after they adopted him.

“Max!” His mother rushed to hug him as soon as he parked by the curb and exited his Lambo.

It didn’t matter that he had visited only a few days earlier. Corinne Prize always greeted him as if they hadn’t seen each other for a decade. He loved her all the more for it.

“Mom.” He smiled at the petite redhead who had raised him as her own. “Is Dad around?” he asked, peeking at the large window that opened into the porch.

“He’s in the backroom, working on a new dollhouse,” his mother answered with her warm laughter. She opened the door for him, and they walked into the house.

The foyer smelled of citrus and fresh cut lilac, and the old hardwood floor was polished to a mirror. When Max was a kid, he used to slide on those floors with his worn Converse sneakers, driving his mother crazy. Sometimes, he longed for those simpler times.

“You look tense, Max.” His mother stopped in the middle of the room, tilting her chin up to better look at him. “Is everything okay?”

He had never been able to hide anything from her. In the past, he had wondered about her sixth sense that was always right. For a mortal, the woman resembled a witch, and a powerful one at that.

Under her unwavering scrutiny, he caved. “Mr. Stamper—”

“The paranormal PI?” his mother asked.

Her worried expression made him raise his hands and hurriedly add, “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“It’s about the lawsuit?” she asked.

“No, it’s something else.” It surprised Max once again how he hadn’t thought of tribunals, lawyers, and disgruntled employees once in the entire day besides when Marie had mentioned the lawsuit earlier.

“What is it then?” His mother threw her hands in the air in defeat.

“Let’s go to Dad’s cave, and I’ll tell you guys everything, I promise.” He crossed his fingers against his heart and batted his lashes at her. “And afterward, you have to show me your new rose.”

His mother playfully slapped his shoulder. “Don’t you dare do the big-eyed stare at me. It hasn’t worked since you were eleven and transformed into a moody preteen.”

She was being nice. When Max’s dragon shifter’s nature manifested at puberty, he became the adolescent from hell. Any other family would have washed their hands of the problematic youth no school wanted to deal with. But not the Prizes. Augustus and Corinne had fought for their son’s rights and nurtured him with their selfless love. They, not the army of teachers who chalked up Max as too much work, channeled Max’s energies into writing software. And here he was, a billionaire, thanks to his mortal parents, who understood he needed to be loved, not labeled.

“Let’s go then, and prepare to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, mister.” His mother led the way toward the back of the house, where his father’s craft room lay behind the kitchen.

“Hi, Dad.” Max strolled into the crowded space filled with shelves containing dollhouses in various scales.

His father raised his eyes from a miniature vignette and pushed his lighted magnifying glasses up his forehead. “Max!” He smiled and rose to hug his son.

Slightly shorter than Max, Augustus was still a tall man with a leaner build, but similar enough that people often didn’t realize they didn’t share blood.

Augustus Prize started building Victorian dollhouses soon after they bought their house, and the hobby quickly became a fulltime job.

Max walked to the nearest shelf to admire one of the smaller scale miniatures his father was famous for. Leaning to look at a cottage that fit into his hand, he said, “Did you make this for the Seattle Miniature Expo?”

“Yes, and this quarter-inch scale over here as well.” Augustus pointed at the little house sitting in front of him on the table.

At the door, his mother tapped her foot impatiently. “Max has some news for us.”

“The lawsuit,” his father started.

“No, not the lawsuit. Something else,” his mother said, giving Max one of her bright smiles.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you must promise not to freak out.” Max raised his brow when she made a face. “Promise.”

His mother rolled her eyes.

His father chuckled, bringing his hand to his chest before saying, “I solemnly promise not to freak out, no matter what you say.” He left his chair to join Corinne.

Max turned his stare to his mother, who nodded and finally promised when her husband gently squeezed her arm.

“So, last night, I received an unexpected package,” Max said. “It said, ‘A gift for the Alpha.’”

“A package?” her mother asked. “And they know you’re a shifter!”

“Let him talk.” His father hugged his mother.

Max didn’t know where to go from there but needed to have this conversation with his parents before the investigator arrived, so he plowed through it.

“A baby,” Max said.

“What?” his parents said at the same time.

“Someone left a baby girl at my apartment.” Needing support, Max leaned against the edge of the table, being careful not to break any miniature.

“A baby girl,” his mother repeated.

“Why would anyone leave a baby girl at your apartment?” his father asked.

“I have no idea,” Max answered. When his parents both raised their eyebrows in mirrored doubt, he sighed and said, “I really have no idea why. She isn’t mine if that’s what you are thinking.”

“How can you be so sure?” Corinne asked.

“Because,” Max answered, not wanting to enter that particular conversion with his mother.

“Then whose girl is she?” His father regarded him with a long stare.

“I’ll find out, and I’ll send her back to her family.” Even to Max, his words sounded harsh, but there was nothing else to do. “The baby isn’t mine,” he repeated.

His mother left her husband’s embrace and grabbed Max’s hands. “I want to see her.”

Exactly what Max had been dreading all along. “No.” Max shook his head and gently pried her hands away.

“What if she’s yours?” She looked at him with pleading eyes.

If there was something that could bring Max to his knees, it was his mother’s looks. “She isn’t,” he repeated yet again.

“You’ll take a paternity test, right?” his father asked, but it sounded more like a command.

“Already done,” Max answered.

A knock on the front door saved him from having to answer any more question.