LOGINThe door closes softly behind us. Neither of us speak immediately. Anya still stands near the entrance like she’s afraid moving too quickly will somehow bring Vance back.I watch her carefully now. Really watch her. The shaking hands. The way her eyes keep flicking toward the door. The uneven breathing she’s trying to hide. This isn’t guilt. This is survival.Slowly, Anya lowers herself onto the edge of the sofa.Small.That’s the first thing I notice.She suddenly looks smaller than I’ve ever seen her. Not physically. Emotionally. Like Vance carved pieces out of her until there was barely anything left.I stay standing across from her.“The family knows the baby is Callum’s.”The words leave me bluntly. Direct.Anya goes completely still. Color drains slowly from her face.“What.”“The paternity test came back this morning.”Her breathing catches sharply.“No.”Not denial. Fear. Pure fear.“He knows?” she whispers.“Callum remembers enough from the warehouse to know the truth.”Anya
The penthouse was officially classified as part of an active investigation less than twelve hours after the warehouse was discovered.Forensics took over the entire floor before sunrise.Which meant Vance and Anya were temporarily relocated under monitored confinement while investigators searched the property.That alone should’ve satisfied me.Seeing Vance removed from the penthouse should’ve felt like justice.Instead all I could think about was the baby.I can’t sleep.Every time I close my eyes I hear the sound of crying echoing through that warehouse.Tiny fingers wrapped around hospital blankets.Dark hair.Callum’s eyes.Then Vance’s mother screaming about a nanny that never came.Nothing feels simple anymore.Not revenge.Not betrayal.Not even hatred.The Hawkins manor is silent when I leave just after midnight. Most of the lights downstairs have been turned off, though I can still see the faint glow beneath my father’s office doors.Nobody tries stopping me this time.Azriel
The paternity test comes back the next morning.Positive.Ninety nine point nine percent probability.Callum Hawkins is the biological father.The room falls silent after the doctor leaves.Not shocked.Not anymore.After seeing the baby, after seeing those familiar dark eyes and sharp Hawkins features, I think part of all of us already knew.Still, hearing it confirmed changes something.Makes it heavier.Real.Callum sits closest to the observation window wearing grey sweats and a black hoodie Carter brought from the manor earlier this morning. His elbows rest on his knees, one hand covering part of his mouth while he stares through the glass at the sleeping infant.His son.The thought still feels surreal.The baby looks healthier than last night already. Color has returned faintly to his cheeks after fluids and treatment, though wires and monitors still surround the tiny hospital cot.My father stands near the far wall with his arms folded tightly while Carter paces beside the cou
The note trembles slightly between my fingers as I place it onto the table in my father’s office.Nobody speaks immediately.The room feels too still.Too heavy.Azriel stands beside the fireplace with his arms folded while my father rereads the address for the second time. Carter leans against the bookshelf nearby, expression hardening with every passing second.Callum sits closest to me.Quiet.Too quiet.I explain everything carefully. The penthouse. Anya’s confession. The way she slipped the note into my hand without the officers noticing.Then finally:“She wrote this.”Silence settles heavily over the room.My father studies the paper.“The warehouse.”Azriel nods once.“The same location Callum was found.”That changes the atmosphere immediately.Something colder settles over the room.Carter straightens first.“You think this is connected to what happened to Callum.”“I think it’s possible,” Azriel says evenly.My eyes shift toward my brother automatically.Callum hasn’t moved
A week passes after court.Seven days of silence.Seven days of media coverage, legal paperwork, electronic monitoring confirmations, and endless discussions about security. The confinement order is already in effect. Fifty two weeks of full time home confinement. Electronic monitoring. No unsupervised movement. No financial claims. No alimony. No ownership rights once confinement ends.They agreed to every term.They had no choice.The manor feels quieter now. Not peaceful. Just drained. Like the walls themselves absorbed the tension and haven’t decided what to do with it yet.I sit across from Callum in one of the smaller sitting rooms near the east wing, sunlight stretching weakly across the carpet between us. He’s been discharged as an outpatient against multiple medical recommendations, still pale beneath the bruising near his temple.He claims he’s fine.No one believes him.“You know,” he says carefully adjusting against the couch cushions, “I still can’t believe Anya had the a
She pulls back slightly, her hand still resting against my jaw.Neither of us speaks.The space between us stays exactly where she left it.Then my phone vibrates against the bedside table.Once.Then again.The sound cuts clean through the room.Charlotte steps back first this time, the shift immediate, controlled. The warmth in her expression settles behind something sharper as she watches me reach for the phone.I answer without taking my eyes off her.The voice on the other end is low, professional.I listen.Then hang up.“What.”“Vance and Anya were transferred overnight,” I say. “Their legal team pushed for relocation under protective grounds.”Charlotte’s expression sharpens slightly.“Protective grounds.”“They argued conflict of interest,” I reply. “Claimed Hawkins influence compromised the original holding facility.”A quiet scoff leaves her.“Creative.”“Effective,” I say. “Especially with the right judge involved.”Silence settles briefly.Charlotte folds her arms loosely
The distance between us disappears. One second I’m standing, the next I’m on her. The impact knocks the breath out of her, her back hitting the floor hard enough to echo through the penthouse. My hand fists in her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to look at me.“Say it.”She winces, fingers
It happens too fast. One moment the room is steady, controlled, predictable in the way machines make things feel safe. The next—it isn’t. The alarm cuts through everything, sharp and violent, tearing straight through the quiet. I’m on my feet before I register moving.“Callum—”His body doesn’t res
Two weeks. The rest of my family were discharged a week ago. And Callum is still here. That alone tells me enough. Not precautionary. Not routine. Wrong. The room hums with quiet machinery, steady and controlled, the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding something back. Callum looks smaller
Two weeks. That’s all it takes. Everything I said would happen—does. The market dips exactly where I expected. The acquisition collapses publicly, messy and loud, dragging names with it. Quiet restructures begin behind the scenes, subtle enough that most won’t notice. But we do. We move first. Ca







