CHAPTER 2

Adler carefully rolled the cuff of his white dress shirt back down and fastened the button.

The press conference had gone better than he expected. The questions had been straightforward,yes, but predictable. His aides prepared the entire narrative perfectly, painting him as a man the people could relate to, a man with roots. A man with a family.

He had smiled when asked about “adjusting to married life,” glancing at Judy the way a husband was expected to and, she returned the gesture, her lips curving with that sweet but distant smile people wear when the cameras are still watching.

They were good at this, he thought while smiling to himself. Or at least, good enough.

Behind this image was the bargain. The performance. The careful architecture of appearances that kept his world steady.

He’d replayed it all in his mind more times than he cared to admit—because rehearsing meant control. And control was what kept everything intact.

The quiet room behind him looked nothing like the sleek apartment he owned in the estate.

No marble, no polished glass. Just mismatched furniture, a creaky bed, and curtains that didn’t quite meet the floor.

It was modest but somehow easier to sleep here. Easier to believe he could pass for the man everyone thought he was. And as for Judy, she never pried in his personal matters.

Her son though—

Adler pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Jason.

The boy returned like a wrecking ball to the delicate architecture he was building.

Those blue-gray eyes found him with a look too sharp to shrug off. He was sure it was not the look of defiance but the kind of glance that says I see you without a single word.

He stared at the ceiling for a minute and turned to the other side of the room.

It hadn’t started here. The bargain had begun weeks earlier. A fundraiser in D.C., when Judy walked in wearing a plain dress and a spine too straight for the room.

He noticed her, but Mason, ever vigilant, discreetly noticed first. Of course, he always did, that was what he was there for.

While he stood talking to some federal judges about land reform, Mason had already crossed the floor and struck up a conversation with her.

“She’s not here for show,” he had said later over bourbon. “She’s here because she’s out of options. She needs help.”

Adler didn't need more explanation. Power could fill gaps where justice failed. He made the plain offer through Mason quietly.And when she finally called, her voice sealed it with just two words, “I’m in.” She sounded cool and decisive but beneath those two words, he caught the tremor of desperation.

She wanted answers; he wanted a good political image. Nothing more, nothing less.

Adler’s lids grew heavy, his breath settling into the slow rhythm of sleep. The house hummed with silence until a brittle snap, followed by an abrupt shatter of something scattering across the tile, from a distance.

What was that? He muttered as he pushed himself off the bed, heading towards the direction he had heard the sound.

The kitchen light seeped through the side of the door.

He pushed it open to find Jason crouched low, gathering shards with his bare hands.

“That’s not gonna end well,” Adler said, leaning on the doorframe.

Jason didn’t look up. A thin line of blood welled across his palm. When he shifted, another red drop slid down his thigh, soaking into the fabric of his shorts.

Adler cursed under his breath and crossed the room in two strides. “Stop.” He caught Jason’s wrist, firm but careful, prying the glass from his hand.

“Jeez… what are you, seven? You’ll shred yourself worse,” Adler murmured, angling Jason’s palm toward the light.

“It’s fine,” Jason said quickly, trying to pull away. His voice was low, as though he didn’t quite trust it not to shake.

“Listen, I know we started off on the wrong foot I’ve—” Adler began.

“Exactly. We're literally strangers you don’t need to do anything. I can handle it.” Jason’s eyes flicked up, a flash of nervousness or, maybe just embarrassed. “Just don’t tell Mom. She’ll be mad I broke her glass.”

Adler exhaled, ignoring the protest.His fingers closing more deliberately around the wound on his thigh, checking the depth.

Jason’s body tensed the instant his hand pressed against his thigh. A sharp breath escaped him before he swallowed it down—but Adler felt it anyway. It pulsed through the boy’s muscles and into his own palm.

His eyes flicked up almost impulsively but Jason was watching him, pupils darkened, lips parted as if the air had been stolen from his lungs.

Adler stilled. Every instinct told him to release, to retreat. Instead, something low in his stomach tightened—an old reflex he had long trained out of himself, something he hadn’t let surface in years.

The silence between them turned taut, charged. He could hear his own pulse in his ears, feel it in the grip he still hadn’t loosened. For half a minute, neither moved.

Then Adler pulled away, too suddenly. The contact broke, but the impression lingered against his skin like heat. He pushed to his feet, the motion clipped, purposeful, anything to cover the slip in control.

He turned for the counter, voice cool and flat when he finally spoke: “First aid. Hold still.”

His tone was steady. His body wasn’t.

The cut wasn’t deep, but patching it sent a jagged current through him anyway.

Jason shifted uncomfortably, tugging his shorts lower as if to shield himself. Adler’s gaze dragged back up, only to collide with Jason’s again. Their faces were closer than they should be now, breaths mingling in the narrow space.

Then Jason coughed, awkward, looking down. The spell cracked.

Adler wrapped the gauze quickly, knotting it with brisk efficiency. “There. Don’t pick up glass if you can’t handle it.”

Jason almost rolled his eyes, though Adler sensed his restraint. “Well don't play nurse if you can't handle it.” The words landed somewhere between sarcasm and defense.

Adler’s gaze locked with his, steady but heavy enough that Jason had to look away first.

“Good” Adler said quietly, almost like a warning. “Don’t.”

He stood, sliding the kit back onto the counter, and turned toward the doorway. His stride calm and unshaken to anyone watching. But beneath his skin, his palm still burned with memory, and something unwelcomed had begun to stir.