ARIA'S POV Nathan King steps inside. I have seen photographs of him—sharp suits, colder eyes, face that belongs on the cover of business magazines. He is tall, broad-shouldered, silver threading the dark hair at his temples. Same sharp bone structure as Noah but colder, more weathered by decades of authority. Remy is already running. His little shoes slap against the marble. “Grandpa!” Nathan looks down. The hard lines of his face soften, changing his expression. He bends, scoops Remy up with ease, and holds him against his chest. “My grandson,” he says, his warm voice does not match the rest of him. Remy beams, completely unafraid or shy, tiny hands patting Nathan’s expensive lapel. Only then does he look at Noah. “Finally. You did something right.” Noah doesn’t react beyond a slight raise of one eyebrow. He remains where he is, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable and faintly arrogant as always. Nathan carries Remy inside. The rest of us follow. When his e
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