4:The King and the Prince

The drive to Elara’s apartment was silent, the air in the back of Julian’s Maybach thick enough to choke on. Julian stared out the window, his jaw tight. He was a man who planned every merger, every hostile takeover, and every penny of his wealth. But he hadn't planned for the feeling of his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest.

"He’s sleeping," Elara whispered as they pulled up to the curb of her modest building. "Please, Julian. Don't wake him up with a scene. He’s sensitive."

Julian didn't answer. He simply opened the door and stepped out into the humid night air, his polished Italian shoes looking wildly out of place on the cracked pavement.

They climbed the narrow stairs in silence. When Elara unlocked the door, the scent of lavender and baby cereal hit Julian like a physical blow. It was so... human. So unlike the sterile, marble halls of his own life.

"Wait here," Elara commanded, but Julian ignored her. He followed her into the small bedroom illuminated by a dim, star-shaped nightlight.

There, in a crib pushed against the wall, was the boy.

Julian stopped. He felt like he had been struck by lightning. Leo was sprawled on his back, a tattered stuffed rabbit tucked under one arm. His hair was a wild mess of dark silk, and his long lashes cast soft shadows on his chubby cheeks.

But it was the frown—the slight, stubborn line between the boy’s brows even in sleep—that undid Julian. It was his own face, reflected back at him in miniature.

Julian reached out, his large, calloused hand trembling as he hovered it over the boy’s tiny shoulder. He wanted to touch him, to prove he was real, but he was terrified he’d break something so fragile.

"He’s beautiful," Julian breathed, his voice breaking in a way Elara had never heard before.

"He’s perfect," Elara corrected softly, standing on the other side of the crib. "And he’s happy, Julian. He doesn't need millions. He needs peace."

Julian looked up at her, the softness in his eyes vanishing, replaced by a fierce, possessive fire. "He is a Sterling. Peace is a luxury he can't afford, but protection? I will build a fortress around him."

Suddenly, Leo stirred. He let out a small, sleepy huff and opened his eyes. They were wide, clear, and—just as Julian had seen in the photo—startingly gray.

The toddler blinked at the stranger standing over his crib. Most children would have cried. Leo didn't. He sat up slowly, clutching his rabbit, and stared at Julian with a curious, intense focus.

"Dada?" Leo whispered.

The word hit Julian like a bullet to the brain. Elara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Leo, no, honey, this is—"

"Dada!" Leo said louder, a tiny, triumphant smile breaking across his face. He reached out his small arms toward the man in the expensive suit.

Julian didn't hesitate. He reached into the crib and lifted the boy, cradling him against his chest. Leo was warm and smelled of milk and sleep. The boy immediately tucked his head into the crook of Julian’s neck, his small hands gripping Julian’s lapels.

Julian closed his eyes, his breath hitching. In that moment, the empire, the stocks, and the billions meant nothing. The only thing that mattered was the heartbeat thumping against his own.

He looked at Elara, his expression hard as stone. "Get the bags, Elara. We’re leaving. Now."

"Julian, he's sick, he has a fever—"

"Then he will have the best doctors in the country waiting at the penthouse by the time we arrive," Julian snapped, though he adjusted his hold on Leo with incredible gentleness. "From this second on, Elara, you don't make the decisions. I do. And I’m never letting either of you out of my sight again."

As they walked out of the apartment, Elara saw Julian’s security detail already hauling her boxes down the stairs. She looked at Julian, who was whispering something to Leo that made the boy giggle.

She had wanted to protect her son from the world of the Sterlings. Instead, she had just handed the keys of her life to the king of that world.