The airplane engine hummed a low, hypnotic frequency, but inside the cramped quarters of row twenty-eight, my universe had disintegrated into a pinpoint of raw, agonizing focus.

Cassandra reached into her worn leather tote bag and pulled out a faded manila envelope, its corners softened by time and frequent handling. She held it out to me with hands that trembled faintly, though her jaw remained set in a line of defensive iron.

"I called your office forty-two times, Damon," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the air vent overhead. "I went to your glass tower in Seattle. I stood in the lobby until security escorting me out was threatened by your assistant."

I took the envelope. The paper felt cold against my palms.

Inside was a stack of returned letters, stamped in red ink with the cruel administrative mandate: RETURN TO SENDER – UNACCEPTED AT RECIPIENT'S REQUEST. Beneath them were printouts of sent emails, all bounced back or unanswered, and a certified mail receipt dated two weeks before the twins were born.

The signature on the receipt wasn't mine. It belonged to Julian Mercer—my executive vice president and the man currently leading the acquisition team waiting for me in Denver.

"He told me you knew," Cassandra said, looking down at Luke, who was quietly trying to fit the red crayon into the seam of his armrest. "Julian met me in the coffee shop across from your building. I brought the ultrasound. I was terrified, Damon. I didn't have health insurance, my studio was failing, and I was carrying twins. He handed me an envelope with fifty thousand dollars in cash and a non-disclosure agreement."

My chest seized, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. "Julian did what?"

"He said you were six weeks away from taking Prescott Technologies public," she continued, a single tear spilling over her lashes and tracing a quiet path down her pale cheek. "He told me that a scandal involving an illegitimate pregnancy with an ex-girlfriend who couldn't afford her rent would tank the valuation. He said... he said you had personally authorized him to pay me off to disappear."

"That's a lie," I growled, my hands crushing the edges of the returned letters. "Cassandra, look at me! I never saw these. I swear on my sister's memory, I never knew!"

Cassandra looked up, her green eyes searching my face with a devastating mix of hope and ancient, calcified pain. "He had a signed letter from you, Damon. It had your corporate seal. It told me that if I ever tried to contact you again, your legal team would ensure I lost custody of the children before they even took their first breath."

A cold, murderous rage, clearer and sharper than any emotion I had ever experienced in a boardroom, settled into my bones.

Three years ago, Julian Mercer had been my right hand. When Cassandra and I broke up after an explosive argument about my eighty-hour work weeks and endless business trips, I had gone on a three-day bender of work and alcohol. I had given Julian broad power of attorney to handle my personal affairs while I buried myself in the acquisition that built my company's medical division.

He hadn't just managed my affairs. He had surgically severed the only tether I had to a real life.

"Mama," Violet whimpered, reaching out her tiny, milk-pale hand from Cassandra's lap. "The angry man is making your face wet."

I froze. The rage in my chest instantly collapsed into a hollow, aching guilt.

I leaned down, lowering my height, and looked directly at the little girl who possessed my exact eyes—a bright, arresting shade of moss green framed by dark lashes.

"I'm not angry at your mama, Violet," I said, my voice cracking under the weight of three lost years. "I'm... I'm just sorry."

Violet stared at me, then slowly held out her gray stuffed elephant, offering the worn plush ear to my thumb. "Ellie says don't cry."

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated violently in my coat pocket. I pulled it out. Airplane mode was off—the pilot had just enabled the high-altitude satellite network.

JULIAN: Damon, Calder's lawyers just entered the boardroom in Denver. They are offering Merritt Systems $800 million cash. If you aren't on the ground by 11:30 PM to sign our papers, the board is taking Calder's deal. Where are you?

I looked at the glowing screen. Then I looked at Luke, who was now leaning his head against Cassandra's arm, his eyes heavy with sleep, and Violet, who was holding her elephant against my hand.

Julian wasn't just trying to close a deal tonight. He was trying to ensure I stayed on that plane, focused on money, while he completed a takeover of my life's work—just like he had taken my family three years ago.

I typed a six-word reply, my thumb pressing hard into the glass.

I am exactly where I belong.