Michael’s POVAlex thought she could escape the past. She thought she could run from me. But the past isn’t something you run from. The past is something that clings to you so tightly like a second skin, wraps its fingers around your neck. The past is something that follows you.And Alexandra? She is mine. Always be mine. She belonged to me. She just needed a reminder. She needed things that would keep glaring at her face and displaying the absolute truth to her.And all of that was easy to arrange.I mean I’m not Michael Coleman for nothing. Even if my company was going down by numbers, I still had power. A “chance” encounter at one of her favorite spots was something that came to mind. Since her outburst about the gift I’ve been sending her, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Thinking about the fire in her eyes. This particular place was a quiet, exclusive lounge tucked away inside the Phoenix Hotel. It was somewhere she used to frequent those days, and my source there told me tha
Alex's POVI should have seen it coming.The moment I stepped into my office that morning, the tension hung in the air like a physical presence. My assistant, Erin, stood unnaturally still near my desk, her fingers hovering over her tablet with obvious hesitation, as if caught between urgency and dread. The morning sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows did nothing to warm the chill that had settled in the room."How bad is it?" I asked, though I already knew the answer from the look on her face.She swallowed hard before answering. "It's... everywhere, Ms. Lane. Every platform, every outlet." Her voice cracked slightly. "Twitter is having a field day. Instagram's flooded with the photos. Even the more reputable publications have run with it."With a resigned sigh, I crossed the room and took the tablet from her trembling hands. One glance at the screen confirmed my worst fears."SCANDAL: Alexandra Lane Spotted Getting Cozy with Infamous Ex-Convict James Vale!""Billi
Alex's POV"Mommy, can I get two scoops today? Pleeeease?" He asked in that baby voice that was so hard to say no to.His looked up at me with those big and expectant eyes—the same eyes that had the power that could bend me to his will so easily.I pretended to think about it, tapping my chin dramatically. "Hmm... two scoops? I don't know, buddy. That's a lot of sugar." I crouched down to his level, watching his little face shift from being hopeful to the beginning stages of negotiation. His mother was a businesswoman, so that’s quite expected."But it's Saturday," he pointed out matter-of-factly, his small hands gesturing emphatically. "And you said Saturdays are for fun. You promised, remember? At breakfast?"Sally, who was standing beside me in her thick sunglasses and oversized denim jacket, smirked. "He's got you there, Alex. The kid's already developing good negotiating skills. Wonder where he gets that from?"I shot her a look before sighing dramatically. "Fine. Two scoops. Bu
ALEX’S POV"What's wrong?You have nothing to say right now?" Michael's voice slithered over the phone, silky as silk yet sharp as a dagger. My knuckles turned white around the gadget, and a chilly knot formed in my gut. "You know I—" "Impressive timing," I said, trying a nonchalant tone that didn't match the pounding in my chest. "The shot was taken what, five minutes ago? And you are already on my case. I'll grant you this: you're efficient. "The world is about to discover your biggest secret, and that's what concerns you?" Michael challenged, lowering his voice one octave. I shifted my weight, surveying the park as Griffin remained blissfully unaware. "Wrong," I said, my voice firm. "The world—and you—are about to spin another wild tale to try and bring me down." "Another tale?" His chuckle was brittle and hollow. "We have been here before, Alexandra. "You can lie to everyone else, but we both know better." "Who said anything about lying?" I watched Griffin pursue a butterfly, choco
Alex POVThe conference room was filled with the subtle hum of murmured conversations, the scent of fresh coffee, and the distinct tension that came with high-stakes negotiations. I adjusted my blazer, keeping my expression neutral as I reviewed the agenda one last time. This deal meant everything for the company, and I wasn't about to let nerves get in the way.The door opened, and the room fell into a hush. I looked up, expecting just another executive, but instead, I met the piercing gaze of James Dean.Tall, composed, and exuding the kind of effortless confidence that came with years of success, he moved with precision, each step purposeful. His reputation preceded him—one of the youngest self-made billionaires, a man who rarely lost in business, and someone who didn’t waste his time on things that didn’t interest him.I was supposed to be unfazed, professional, detached. But when his sharp blue eyes locked onto mine, I felt a flicker of something unexpected—curiosity? Amusement?
Alex POVThe restaurant James had chosen was tucked away on the top floor of a historic building downtown, the kind of place that didn't bother with signage because those who belonged there already knew. I smoothed down my navy dress—professional enough if this turned out to be strictly business after all, but with just enough elegance to acknowledge it might not be."Ms. Coleman," the hostess greeted me with practiced warmth. "Mr. Dean is waiting for you."Of course he'd arrived early. Another power move in what was beginning to feel like an elaborate chess match.James stood as I approached, his eyes taking me in with undisguised appreciation. He'd traded his business suit for dark jeans and a charcoal button-down that somehow looked more expensive than his formal wear."You look beautiful," he said simply."Thank you." I accepted the compliment without deflection—another lesson hard-learned from my marriage. Michael had hated when I couldn't take a compliment, until eventually he s
James POVI watched her car disappear around the corner, the taste of her still on my lips. Alex Coleman was nothing like I had expected, and exactly what I hadn't known I was looking for.My driver appeared silently beside me. "Home, sir?""Not yet," I said, suddenly restless. "Let's take the long way."As the city lights blurred past the window, I replayed every moment of the evening—the way her guard had gradually lowered, how her eyes crinkled slightly before she laughed, the protective tone when she spoke of her son. In my world of calculated risks and strategic moves, Alex represented something I rarely encountered: authenticity.The business merger that had brought us together now seemed secondary, a fortunate coincidence rather than the purpose. I'd researched her thoroughly before our companies' negotiations began—standard procedure—but what I'd discovered had intrigued me beyond professional interest. A brilliant strategist who'd rebuilt her career while raising a child alon
Michael POVThe expensive whiskey in my crystal glass remained untouched, the hand-carved ice slowly melting into a diluted amber pool as I stared with growing intensity at the high-resolution photograph displayed on my phone's screen.Alexandra.My wife. My wife, regardless of what legal papers might claim to the contrary.Even after all these years of calculated distance and deliberate indifference, the unexpected sight of her sent a violent, uncontrollable rush of heat through my veins like molten steel. But this time, it wasn't just her familiar silhouette that captured my attention—it was the impeccably dressed man standing confidently beside her in the dimly lit street.James Dean.Billionaire entrepreneur. CEO of the rapidly expanding Dean Holdings. A man whose carefully cultivated name carried significantly more weight in elite boardrooms than mine ever had, despite my own considerable success. And there he was, his manicured hand resting possessively on the small of my wife's
Private Jet En Route to Dubai – 3:22 AM Michael Coleman pressed a bloodied handkerchief to his split lip as the jet climbed through turbulent clouds. The G650 shuddered around him, the luxury cabin's warm lighting contrasting with the darkness that enveloped both the sky outside and his prospects. The handcrafted Italian leather seat that had once felt like a throne now seemed to mock him with its opulence. The metallic taste of failure coated his tongue—worse than the blood.He glanced at his reflection in the darkened window—disheveled hair, the purple bloom of a bruise forming along his jawline, the crisp white collar of his bespoke shirt stained crimson. He barely recognized himself. Just twelve hours ago, he had stood at the podium at Coleman Corp headquarters, assuring shareholders that the SEC investigation was "a minor administrative review." Six hours ago, he had been in his corner office, watching as federal agents seized servers and hard drives. Three hours ago, he had s
Reykjavik Server Farm – Midnight The Arctic wind howled through the open door like a living thing, carrying stinging particles of ice that bit at exposed skin and infiltrated the seams of even the most technical cold-weather gear. Negative fifteen degrees Celsius according to the readout on my watch, though the windchill made it feel much colder. My breath crystallized instantly, hanging in the air before being whipped away by the relentless gale that swept across the barren Icelandic landscape surrounding the facility.James disabled the last security panel with gloved fingers, the specialized equipment he'd brought bypassing the biometric scanner that would have required Maria's fingerprint or retinal pattern. The facility looked innocuous from the outside—a low-slung concrete structure nestled against the side of a dormant volcano, its exterior designed to weather the brutal conditions of an Icelandic winter. Only the satellite dishes and transmission arrays on the roof hinted at
Lane International Safe House – 4:47 PM The brownstone in Brooklyn Heights stood unremarkable among its neighbors, its weathered red brick and black shutters offering no hint of the state-of-the-art security system embedded in its walls or the bulletproof glass behind its vintage-looking windows. The deed was held by a shell corporation owned by another shell corporation, traced through seven layers of legal separation before connecting, tenuously, to a holding company that occasionally did business with Lane International.In security parlance, it was a ghost house. In my world, it was the only place I trusted to keep Griffin safe while the storm raged.Maria's knock came in our childhood rhythm—three quick, two slow. The code we'd used at boarding school in Switzerland when one of us needed saving from a cruel headmistress or a midnight interrogation about broken curfews. A pattern I hadn't heard in fifteen years, not since the night she'd shown up at my Manhattan apartment with a
St. Luke's Hospital – 2:14 AM The heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm as Griffin slept, his small hand bandaged where the IV Michael had tried to force into his vein had torn the skin. The bruising had already begun to bloom in purples and yellows, like a watercolor painting of violence on my son's fragile wrist. His dark curls—so like mine—were matted with sweat against the sterile white pillow, and the overhead fluorescents cast his face in a pallor that made my heart constrict.Outside the room, through the observation window, two NYPD officers in rumpled uniforms took James' statement for what seemed like the hundredth time. Their faces betrayed nothing as they scribbled notes, occasionally glancing at Griffin's sleeping form with the detached sympathy of men who had seen too many children caught in adult crossfire."Third time's the charm," James muttered when he finally joined me, rolling his shoulder where the bullet had grazed him. The bandage was already seeping through wi
Abandoned Airfield – 6:59 PM Twilight had transformed into full darkness by the time we reached the outskirts of the city, the storm intensifying into sheets of water that reduced visibility to mere yards. The windshield wipers of James' SUV worked frantically, barely keeping pace with the deluge. The headlights caught droplets mid-fall, creating an illusion of moving through a tunnel of liquid silver."The signal's coming from inside that hangar," Sally said from the backseat, her face illuminated by the blue glow of her tablet. "The aircraft filed a flight plan for Toronto twenty minutes ago."In the passenger seat, I gripped the door handle so tightly my fingers ached, eyes straining to penetrate the darkness ahead. "Are we sure Griffin's on board? What if Michael separated him from the watch?"James' jaw tightened, his hands steady on the steering wheel despite the torrential conditions. "The biometric monitor shows elevated heart rate and movement. He's there, and he's consciou
Lane International – 3:33 PM Rain lashed against the windows of Lane International's headquarters, transforming the Manhattan skyline into a smeared watercolor of grays and silvers. I'd been in back-to-back meetings since leaving the courtroom, fielding calls from investors concerned about the media coverage of this morning's revelation. Despite the personal victory, stock prices had dipped three percent on news that Lane International's CEO had been involved in a melodramatic custody battle with the CEO of Coleman Corp.The markets hated drama. They hated unpredictability even more.I'd changed from my courtroom attire to a crisp white shirt and black slacks, my armor for the trenches of damage control. My phone hadn't stopped buzzing with messages from Elliott—who was handling press inquiries from Hong Kong—and James, who had taken Griffin for ice cream and then to his therapist to process the morning's revelations.Sally walked beside me as we headed toward the emergency board me
Family Court – 9:17 AM The mahogany doors of Courtroom 302 had always seemed imposing, but today they felt like the entrance to a gladiatorial arena. The morning sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long rectangles across the polished floor as spectators and attorneys settled into their places with the quiet murmur of those about to witness something momentous.Five years of legal battles, accusations, and counter-accusations had led to this moment. Five years since I'd fled with nothing but the clothes on my back and a secret that had kept me awake every night since.Michael sat at the respondent's table, impeccable in a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. His silver hair caught the light, giving him the distinguished appearance that had graced the cover of Fortune just last month. "Businessman of the Year" – a title that made me want to throw my coffee at the newsstand when I saw it.He didn't look at me when I entered, hi
Family Court – 9:03 AMThe Family Court of New York State occupied the sixth floor of a nondescript government building on Lafayette Street, its bland institutional interior at odds with the life-altering decisions rendered daily within its walls. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everyone in the unflattering pallor that seemed reserved for places where human suffering was processed with bureaucratic efficiency.I sat with perfect posture on the hard wooden bench outside Courtroom C, Sally on one side, my attorney Evelyn Morris on the other. Three hours earlier, I'd received the court summons—hand-delivered to my apartment by a process server who had the decency to look embarrassed about the 6 AM wake-up call. Two hours earlier, Griffin had been escorted to Elliott's private plane by James and Clara, destination undisclosed even to me. One hour earlier, Maria Coleman had called with the warning I'd been dreading: Michael had the DNA results.Now we waited, the hallway thick
Coleman Corp Labs – 11:47 PMMichael Coleman's footsteps echoed through the sterile corridors of Coleman Corp's research division, the sound ricocheting off white walls and polished floors like gunshots. Security cameras tracked his progress, their red lights blinking in acknowledgment of the CEO's presence, but no security guards intercepted him. Not at this hour. Not when he was radiating the particular brand of controlled fury that had sent three executive assistants into early retirement this year alone.The biotech department—a recent acquisition that had raised eyebrows among board members more comfortable with traditional construction and real estate ventures—was deserted save for the lone technician Michael had summoned personally. Lights flickered to life automatically as he strode through the laboratory, casting harsh shadows across equipment worth millions: centrifuges, sequencers, incubators filled with cellular secrets that represented Coleman Corp's tentative foray into