Chapter 3

​The humid air outside Blackwood Global felt like a wet blanket. Bella stood on the sidewalk, the black sedan still idling at the curb like a predatory animal waiting for its next command. She watched the driver pick up his phone, his eyes reflecting the glow of the dashboard as he relayed her refusal back to the tower.

​She didn't wait to see his reaction. She stepped away, tucked into the shadow of a stone pillar, and pulled her own phone from her pocket. Her thumb hovered over a contact labeled Simon—Legal.

​It picked up on the second ring.

​"Bella? I thought you were in the lion’s den until six," Simon said. His voice was a calm, dry rasp—the sound of a man who had spent thirty years reading the fine print of human misery.

​"The meeting ended early," Bella said. she kept her voice low, her back to the glass. "He’s here, Simon. Dante. He didn't just show up to the boardroom; he’s already inside the records. He knows about the kids. He knows about Leo."

​There was a long silence on the other end. "He was always going to find out, Bella. You knew the risk when you took the audit. You can't perform a hostile deep-dive on a man like that and expect him not to look back."

​"I didn't have a choice. The specialist wouldn't even look at Leo’s file without the foundation’s seal. I thought I could slip in, get the signature, and be out before he realized I was even in the state."

​"And now?"

​"Now he wants a seat at the table," Bella said, her eyes tracking a delivery truck as it blurred past. "He’s trying to force a dinner. He’s using the referral as a leash. I told him no. I told him I’m coming alone."

​"Bella, listen to me," Simon’s voice sharpened. "If you go to that penthouse alone, you’re entering his jurisdiction. Without the children, you have no leverage other than the audit files. If he decides to play hardball, he’ll tie you up in a non-disclosure suit before you hit the lobby. You need to come back to the office. We need to file the protective order now."

​"I can't. If I file an order, it becomes public record. If it becomes public, his father sees it. If Silas sees it..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. "I’m not staying, Simon. I have the return tickets booked for the 10:00 PM flight on Friday. Maya already has her dance recital on Saturday, and Toby’s been asking about the park. I just need that paper signed."

​"Just be careful. Dante doesn't move without a reason. If he’s letting you walk away from that car, he’s already planned your next three stops."

​"I'll call you after the meeting," Bella said.

​She hung up and looked at the screen. A text from Clara was waiting. Snack done. Leo’s breathing is better after the treatment. Toby and Maya are arguing over the blue crayon. We’re waiting for you.

​Bella felt a sharp, localized ache in her chest. She had built a world out of scrap wood and sheer will, and Dante was threatening to knock it over with a single phone call.

​Thirty floors up, the glass of the executive office was tinted so heavily that from the street, it looked like a black mirror. Dante stood with his forehead against the pane. He didn't have binoculars. He didn't need them. He knew exactly which shadow on the sidewalk belonged to her.

​He watched her pull the phone to her ear. He watched the way she paced—three steps left, three steps right—a nervous habit she’d had since she was twenty-two. She was talking to someone. A lawyer? A friend? A man?

​The thought of another man near the triplets made his jaw ache.

​"Sir."

​Dante didn't turn around. Marcus was standing in the doorway, clutching a thin manila folder. The man looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

​"She refused the car," Marcus said. "The driver says she’s coming to the penthouse at seven, but she’s coming alone. She was quite clear about the children staying at the house."

​"I heard," Dante said, his voice flat. He was still watching her. She had finished the call. She was walking toward a taxi stand now. "What did the school records say?"

​Marcus opened the folder, his voice trembling slightly. "It’s... it’s as you suspected. Leo, Maya, and Toby Vance. Three years old. Born in a small clinic in upstate New York. The father's name is left blank on the certificates, but the blood type for Leo matches the markers in the foundation’s database."

​"And the other two?"

​"They’re healthy, sir. Maya has a gift for art, apparently. Toby is... well, the teachers say he’s 'energetic.' But the mother—Ms. Vance—she’s been paying the medical bills out of pocket. She’s liquidated most of her savings. That firm she’s with, Vance and Associates? It’s a shell. She’s been working three different consulting jobs to keep the lights on and the medical equipment running."

​Dante closed his eyes. He pictured her in that boardroom—the sharp suit, the steel in her voice, the "leverage" she claimed to have. It was all a front. She was a woman standing in front of a sinking ship, trying to hold back the tide with her bare hands.

​"She’s planning to leave," Dante said. It wasn't a question.

​"She has a flight booked for Friday night. Three children’s tickets, one adult. Return trip to the Midwest."

​"Cancel them."

​Marcus blinked. "Sir?"

​"Don't cancel the flight. Buy the airline," Dante said, finally turning away from the window. His eyes were cold, the gray of a winter sea. "Or at least buy every seat on that plane. I want her to find out there’s no room for her on Friday. Or Saturday. Or any day until I say so."

​"Mr. Blackwood, that’s going to cause a significant legal stir. She’s here on a corporate audit. If you interfere with her travel—"

​"I’m not interfering with her travel. I’m ensuring her safety," Dante said, walking toward his desk. He picked up the silver pen he’d dropped earlier. He didn't click it. "She’s carrying sensitive Blackwood data. Until the audit is complete, she stays within my reach. It’s a standard security protocol."

​"She won't see it that way."

​"She doesn't have to. She wants a referral for Dr. Aris? She gets it when I know those children are secure. And they aren't secure in a rental house with a hired nanny and a failing nebulizer."

​He sat down, the leather chair creaking under his weight. He looked at the dinosaur drawing on the business card. It was crude. Messy. It was the most honest thing in his office.

​"The house they’re staying in," Dante said. "Who owns it?"

​"A local holding company. Short-term lease."

​"Buy the lease. Transfer the title to the foundation. By seven o'clock, I want to be her landlord as well as her employer."

​Marcus nodded frantically and retreated, leaving Dante alone with the silence.

​Dante looked back at the window. The taxi she had flagged was pulling away, merging into the stream of yellow and black below. She thought she was going home to pack. She thought she was doing him a favor by showing up at seven to negotiate.

​She didn't understand yet.

​This wasn't an audit of his company. It was an audit of his life. And he wasn't going to let his assets fly away into the night just because she was afraid of the dark.

​He picked up the phone and dialed a direct line.

​"Dr. Aris," Dante said when the call connected. "This is Dante Blackwood. About the Vance boy. I’m moving him to the private wing at the hospital. Tonight."

​He listened to the doctor’s response for a moment, his face a mask of iron.

​"I don't care about the paperwork," Dante interrupted. "The mother will be at my home this evening. She’ll provide the consent then. In the meantime, prepare the suite. Three beds. I want the siblings kept together. If one stays, they all stay."

​He hung up.

​He looked at his watch. 5:45 PM.

​He had seventy-five minutes to turn his penthouse from a bachelor’s fortress into a home. He had seventy-five minutes to prepare for the fight of his life.

​She would come through that door at seven, ready to trade information for her son’s life. She would be cold. She would be professional. She would tell him she was leaving on Friday.

​And he would have to tell her that in the world of Blackwood Global, there was no such thing as an exit strategy.

​"Three years, Bella," he whispered to the empty room. "You don't get to leave twice."

​He stood up and straightened his tie. He felt the weight of the silver pen in his pocket. He felt the cold, familiar hum of control returning to his chest.

​She wanted to play a zero-sum game? Fine.

​But he was the one who kept the score.