LOGINMorning in Paris always felt different.There was a softness to it, even when the city was already alive—cars moving, people walking briskly along sidewalks, cafés opening their doors, the smell of fresh bread floating faintly through the air. The sky that morning was pale blue, streaked with thin clouds that looked almost painted, as if the city itself had been carefully designed by an artist who understood beauty in restraint.I sat in the backseat of the car, my posture straight but my thoughts scattered, as my driver navigated through the familiar streets. My assistant sat beside me, tablet in hand, scrolling endlessly as she updated me on the day ahead.“Your first meeting is at ten,” she said, glancing up briefly. “Then the design review by eleven. The competition briefing is at one, and—”“I know,” I said gently, a faint smile touching my lips. “You’ve already told me twice.”She laughed softly, unapologetic. “This is not just any competition. Everyone will be there.”I leaned
The car door closed softly behind me, shutting out the world with a muted thud.For a brief moment, I stayed still, my hand resting loosely on my thigh, my shoulders sinking into the leather seat as if the weight of the meeting had finally found somewhere to settle. The engine hummed to life, smooth and quiet, and the city began to slide past the tinted windows.My secretary climbed into the passenger seat, tablet balanced neatly on her lap, posture perfectly straight. She waited a few seconds—long enough to sense the silence—before speaking.“Sir… how did the meeting go?”I didn’t answer.I leaned my head back against the chair and closed my eyes.The memory of Vincent Markson’s face still hovered behind my eyelids—cold, controlled, unreadable on the surface, yet undeniably different from the man I had known six years ago.That Vincent…That Vincent had been a cruel man.A man steering his life like a ship through a storm, convinced that strength meant never slowing down, never looki
The moment my plane touched down, the familiar scent of the city slapped me in the face—heavy, arrogant, busy. The kind of city that thrived on people like me. The kind of city that had learned to fear people like him.I stepped out of the private entrance with nothing but my coat, my suitcase, and a head full of unfinished thoughts. For the past week, my life had been nothing but chaos. Flying in and out of Paris, handling projects, dealing with the twins’ schedules, and keeping Alice sane enough to sleep at night. I barely had time to catch my breath, much less attend to the nonsense brewing here.But the moment I entered the car, my assistant Samuel turned in his seat and said the one thing I had expected yet still didn’t want to hear.“Sir… President Markson wants a private meeting with you. Tonight.”I stared at him for a long second.“Tonight?” I repeated slowly.Samuel nodded. “Yes, sir. The message came twenty minutes ago. He asked… no, he stated that you should be available.”
The sky outside the jet window was dark—so dark it felt like I was flying through ink. The clouds rumbled below us like distant thunder, but the noise inside my head was louder. Much louder.I had spent the last ten minutes staring at the floor, at the phone lying where it fell. A message so small… yet powerful enough to tear open six years of buried wounds.My sons.My jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might crack.I forced myself to pick the phone up again. My hand shook. I hated that more than anything.I hated feeling anything.Noah entered the jet cabin quietly, his expression guarded. He must have seen the message—he always saw everything before it exploded.“Sir…” he began carefully, “there’s something else you should know.”I didn’t look up. “Say it.”He hesitated. That was unusual. Noah never hesitated unless the information was explosive.“Adrian Spencer is… in the city.”My head snapped up instantly.“What?”“He arrived yesterday,” Noah said. “Under a business project wi
Two Days Later, NetherlandsThe rain in Amsterdam always had a strange way of dragging down a man’s mood, but today I didn’t need the weather’s help. Two days had passed since I left Paris, and every hour since then had been a hellish blur of meetings, construction reports, emergency calls, and a stack of responsibilities high enough to drown any sane man.I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of the Netherlands branch office, watching the gray skies smear across the city like a painting someone ruined with their fist. My temples throbbed. I hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours—not properly, at least. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw were those two boys.Those two boys… who looked exactly like me.But I shoved that thought aside again, like I’d been doing for days, and turned when the regional manager entered with another stack of reports.“Sir, the collapsed building in Country B—the casualties are increasing,” he said quietly. “The government wants you on-site immediately. A
The drive to the café felt like the longest stretch of road in Paris.The city outside blurred past the car windows—light, noise, motion—but none of it existed for me. My mind was still trapped inside the hospital file, inside the discovery that two lives had been stolen from me through a single sentence spoken six years ago.Alive. Twins.My fists tightened again.Noah kept glancing through the rearview mirror, worried, but he didn’t speak. He knew better. He understood the weight of silence when I needed it most.“We’re here, sir,” he finally said.I lifted my head and looked through the window.A small café. Quiet. Tucked away. Perfect for a man who didn’t want to be found.Noah got out first, scanning the area. I followed.As soon as we stepped inside, I saw him—an older man sitting in the far corner, back slightly hunched, cap pulled low over his eyes. His hands trembled where they rested on the table, and his shoulders rose the moment he sensed us approaching.Fear.Even before







