Kaelen POV
My finger drums on the mahogany table. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound echoes through the boardroom like a warning.
My publicist reads my statement aloud. His voice shakes. Everyone in the room holds their breath.
I am distracted. I can feel the coldness radiating from me, settling over the room like frost.
Men in thousand-dollar suits shift in their chairs. No one meets my eyes.
How dare she. How dare she take my heir and run.
No one crosses Kaelen Aaron. I am a billionaire CEO by day, a mafia boss by night.
I rule the world and the underworld with an iron fist. This is unheard of.
Unheard of that I am crossed by a tramp like my ex-wife.
The publicist stumbles over a word. I look up. He goes pale.
"M-Mr. Aaron, if you'd like to review—"
"Continue."
He continues. His hands shake.
I lean back and let my gaze drift to the window. Washington D.C. spreads below me—miles of glass and steel, monuments and lies.
From this height, the city looks peaceful. But I know better. In this jungle, I am the apex predator.
My son is out there. Alex. Six years old. Too small for his age. Too quiet for a boy.
He draws wolves and hides the pictures under his pillow. He flinches when I raise my voice.
I would burn this city to get him back.
My phone buzzes. I let it buzz twice, three times. The room holds its breath.
I pick it up. Henderson's name glows.
This is the call I have been waiting for.
"Yes, Henderson." My voice is low. Controlled.
"Boss." Henderson's voice is steady. "We found her. Georgetown. A townhouse on Thirty-First. The boy is with her."
My fingers tighten. "Is he safe?"
"He's sleeping. She hasn't hurt him."
"Send me the location."
"I already did. Boss—" He hesitates. "She's not alone. There's a man with her."
A man.
My vision narrows. Inside, something dark breaks open.
The same something that broke when I found her texts. The affair I swallowed like broken glass.
"Do you want me to handle it?" Henderson asks. "I can send a team."
"No. I will handle it myself."
I hang up.
I rise from my chair. Six feet two inches of pure authority. My suit is black. My tie is charcoal.
My shoes cost more than most men make in a month.
All eyes are on me as I walk to the door. Twenty men in expensive suits watch me move.
I can feel their fear. It smells like sweat and cologne.
At the door, I pause.
"Do what you must. This meeting is over."
I step into the hallway. Behind me, I hear the collective release of breath. Now they can breathe.
My assistant jumps up from her desk. "Mr. Aaron, your two o'clock with the senator—"
"Cancel it."
I keep walking. My private elevator waits. I step inside and close my eyes.
Alex.
I see his face. His small hand reaching for mine. His voice asking why the sky is blue.
His stuffed wolf, worn thin from years of holding.
I see Elara, too. Not the woman who ran. The woman I married. The one with sea-glass eyes and a laugh that filled our home.
The elevator doors open. My car waits—black, armored. The driver opens the door.
"Georgetown. Thirty-First Street."
He nods. The engine purrs.
I pull out my phone. Henderson's message: North side entrance. Two guards. She doesn't know we're watching.
I type back: Stay back. I go alone.
Boss, that's not smart.
I do not answer.
The city blurs past my window. Taxis. Tourists. Mothers with strollers. They have no idea what lives inside me.
My hand flexes. It remembers the weight of a gun. The feel of blood on my skin.
I told myself I was above it now. Above the violence. But Elara has reminded me who I am.
The car slows. Georgetown. Quiet streets. Brick townhouses with white shutters.
"There." I point to a corner townhouse. Three stories. Iron gate. A blue door.
I step out into the cold morning air. The sun rises behind the buildings. Birds sing. None of it matters.
I walk to the blue door. I do not knock. I pound.
Footsteps inside. A woman's voice. "I'm coming—"
She opens the door.
Her face goes white.
"Kaelen."
I look past her. Bags clutter the hallway. A suitcase lies open.
Toys spill from a box. And at the top of the stairs, I see a small shadow.
Alex. In his pajamas. Holding his wolf.
"Papa?" His voice is small. Scared.
My heart cracks. I do not show it.
"Where is he?" I ask Elara. Quiet.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Do not lie to me. Where is the man?"
Tears fill her eyes. "Please, Kaelen. I just wanted—"
"You wanted what?" I tower over her. "To take what is mine?"
"Alex is my son too."
"He is an Aaron. He belongs to me."
She starts to cry. Real tears. "He's scared of you. He's always scared.
I can't let him grow up in that house."
I stare at her. For a moment, I see the woman I loved. The woman who lied.
"Where is the man?"
"I don't know. He left when he heard you were looking."
She is telling the truth.
I step past her into the hallway. She presses against the wall.
I climb the stairs. Alex watches me come. His grip tightens on his wolf.
"Papa," he whispers. "Are you angry?"
I stop. I look at my son. His gray eyes are wide. His lip trembles. He is not crying yet, but he wants to.
I should comfort him. I do not know how. I have never known how.
"Get your things. We are going home."
His face crumples. "But Mama—"
"Now, Alex."
He flinches. A small jerk of his shoulders. He curls into himself. Like I have hit him. I have not. I have never.
But my voice is enough. My voice is always enough.
He runs to his room. I hear him crying.
I stand on the stairs and listen to my son's tears. Below, Elara sobs in the hallway.
And somewhere in my chest, a door closes. Locks. Turns to stone.