Chapter 3

Lucian didn’t wait for his driver. He tore out of the Thorne Industries building, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. That ID card was burning a hole in his pocket.

Leo Vance. The name echoed in his mind. Vance. Her maiden name. She had stripped the Thorne name from his children as easily as she had stripped his wedding ring from her finger.

He tracked the address on the back of the card to a high-end preschool in the Upper East Side—a place where the tuition cost more than most people made in a year. He pulled his black SUV to the curb just as the bell rang for dismissal.

He stood by the iron gates, his expensive suit attracting stares from the other nannies and socialite mothers. But Lucian only had eyes for the door.

Then, he saw him.

A small boy in a navy blue blazer walked out, holding the hand of a little girl who looked identical to him, except for her softer features and long, dark curls.

The boy wasn't just a resemblance; he was a carbon copy. He had Lucian’s exact, stubborn jawline and the same piercing, stormy gray eyes that Lucian saw in the mirror every morning. The boy was carrying a tablet, his tiny fingers flying across the screen with a focus that was terrifyingly familiar.

"Leo! Mia! Over here!"

A man stepped forward—the same handsome man Lucian had seen in the background of the news reports about L'Essence. Julian. The "fiancé."

Lucian’s blood boiled. That was his son. Those were his children. And another man was picking them up?

Before he could stop himself, Lucian marched forward. "Wait."

The man, Julian, narrowed his eyes, instinctively stepping in front of the twins. "Mr. Thorne. I believe you're in the wrong place. This isn't a boardroom."

Lucian ignored him, his gaze dropping to the boy. "Leo?"

The little boy stopped typing on his tablet. He looked up at Lucian, his expression eerily calm. He didn't look afraid; he looked... annoyed.

"You're the man from the skyscraper," Leo said, his voice high but steady. "The one who makes Mama’s eyes turn cold."

Lucian felt a physical pang in his chest. "I... I’m a friend of your mother’s."

"Mama doesn't have friends who look like sharks," the little girl, Mia, chimed in, clutching her stuffed rabbit tighter. "She says sharks are for the ocean, not for tea time."

Julian chuckled softly, a sound that made Lucian want to swing at him. "You heard them, Lucian. They’re very perceptive. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a celebratory dinner to attend. Ella is waiting."

"I'm not going anywhere until I speak to her," Lucian growled.

Leo stepped out from behind Julian’s legs. He looked at Lucian’s gleaming SUV, then back at Lucian. "Is that your car?"

Lucian blinked, taken aback. "Yes."

"It has a weak firewall," Leo said casually. "I hacked your company’s guest Wi-Fi from the lobby this morning. Your security is 'trash.' That’s what Mama says about people who think they’re too big to fail."

The board members would have been fired for saying such a thing. But from this four-year-old, it felt like a death sentence.

"Leo, don't be rude," Julian said, though he didn't sound like he meant it. He turned to Lucian. "She’s waiting for us at The Pierre. If you want to make a scene, do it there. But don't do it in front of the children."

As Julian led them away, Leo turned his head back. He didn't smile. He simply raised his tablet, which was now displaying a digital image of a Thorne Industries logo with a giant red 'X' through it.

Lucian stood frozen on the sidewalk.

He was the most powerful man in the city, but he had just been humbled by a toddler.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.

Stop stalking my children, Lucian. Or the next thing Leo hacks won't be the Wi-Fi—it'll be your offshore accounts. See you at the gala. Dress to impress. I’d hate for my fiancé to outshine you again.

Lucian gripped his phone so hard the screen cracked.

She knew. She knew he was there. She was playing with him, like a cat with a wounded mouse. And the worst part?

He was starting to realize he deserved every bit of it.