Chapter Four
The front door closed behind me with a soft, expensive click, and the college version of me—the quiet, hooded, perpetually watchful one—fell away like shed skin.
Here, I could breathe differently.
"Ferris wheels!"
The tiny, bright voice hit me before I even cleared the foyer. Egg—my five-year-old brother—came barreling down the marble hallway like a missile wrapped in dinosaur pajamas.
He looked so much like Mum it still stole my breath sometimes: the same wide eyes, the same wild curls, the same fearless grin.
I dropped to one knee without thinking, arms wide.
He crashed into me with surprising force for such a small body. I caught him, laughing low despite myself.
"Hey, buddy."
"You really shouldn't run like that in the house," I told him, voice raspy from the day. "You could fall."
Egg just pointed triumphantly at the line of house assistants standing at perfect attention along the wall.
"Welcome home, Young Master!" they chorused in eerie unison.
Damned robots.
I straightened, lifting Egg onto my hip with one arm. My backpack was already gone—handed off to Hughes without a word. The head assistant bowed slightly and gestured toward the east wing.
"Master is in his study, sir."
I nodded. "Thank you, Hughes."
The hallway lights dimmed automatically as we passed, sensing our movement. Everything in this house was designed to anticipate. To serve. To protect.
Dad's study door was ajar, golden light spilling out. The sun had long set, but the last rays slanted through the tall windows behind his desk, turning him into nothing but silhouette and authority.
If there was an emperor in this city, he was the god behind the throne.
"Dad."
He looked up. Even in shadow, I felt the weight of his gaze soften.
"Come here, son."
It sounded like a command because it was. But it was also the only command in my life I ever obeyed without hesitation.
I crossed the room, Egg still clinging to my neck like a koala. When I got close enough, Dad stood—towering, broad-shouldered, the kind of man who made boardrooms fall silent—and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
Then one to Egg's.
No matter how ruthless the world outside these walls, this was the ritual he and Mum had built: home stayed sacred. Home stayed safe. Home stayed gentle.
He ruffled Egg's hair, then looked at me—really looked.
"She spoke to me, Dad." The words burst out before I could stop them. "She looked me in the eyes and spoke to me."
My voice cracked with the same fervor I'd felt in the lecture hall. My whole body lit up again just saying it.
Dad's mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close. The same quiet pride he used to wear when Mum came home after a long day.
He'd known about her from the beginning.
Months ago, when the obsession first became impossible to hide, I'd slid her photo across this very desk. No background check, I'd begged. Just… look. Make sure she's safe.
He'd studied the picture for a long minute, then slid it back.
"She's good enough," he'd said simply. "Your mother would have liked her."
That was all I needed.
Now, watching my face glow like it was Christmas morning, he leaned back in his chair.
"Tell me everything."
And I did.
Every detail: the scent that hit me first, the way she walked past without looking (but I knew she knew), Bry's whisper, the slow lift of her head, grey eyes finding mine across the room.
The single, silent word.
"Hi."
Dad listened without interrupting. When I finished, my breathing was still uneven, my hands shaking a little from the memory.
He reached out and squeezed my shoulder—firm, grounding.
"That's good, Fir. That's very good."
There was something in his tone I hadn't heard in years. Relief. Hope.
Since Mum died, I'd been… drifting. Existing. The world felt grey and distant. Then baby appeared, and suddenly there was color again. Heat. Purpose.
Dad saw it.
He'd seen the spark ignite in me the same way it had ignited in him decades ago—when he first met Mum. Back when she was undercover in his company, part of a unit trying to dig up dirt on the man they called untouchable.
They never found anything.
Instead, he walked away with their best asset.
Her.
And now, watching me talk about a girl the way he used to talk about Mum, Dad's eyes softened in a way few people ever saw.
"Keep being patient," he said quietly. "She's choosing to see you. That's not nothing."
I nodded, throat tight.
Egg yawned against my shoulder, already half-asleep.
Dad stood, took him from me gently, and pressed another kiss to my forehead.
"Go rest, son. Tomorrow's another day to watch her."
I smiled—real, unguarded.
"Yeah."
As I left the study, the house lights followed me like silent guardians.
For the first time in years, tomorrow didn't feel like something to endure.
It felt like something to chase.