THE MILLIONAIRE STOPPED TO BUY FLOWERS — BUT DESTINY STRUCK WHEN HE SAW HIS EX WITH TWIN DAUGHTERS

The Blake Tower soared sixty stories above the city's financial district—a glittering monolith of dark glass and steel that bore Adrien’s name at the summit.

At 2:00 AM, the top floor was completely dark except for the warm desk lamp inside the corner executive suite. Adrien sat in his high-backed leather chair, his coat thrown haphazardly across a sofa, his tie undone.

Laid out across his pristine glass desk were not financial reports, market evaluations, or merger proposals.

Instead, his desk was covered in private investigation dossiers.

When Adrien had returned to his penthouse three hours ago, he had bypassed his assistant and hired the most expensive, discreet private intelligence firm in the country. Within ninety minutes, a thirty-page document detailing Isabella Vance’s last six years had been delivered to his encrypted server.

He read every single line, his heart breaking with every turn of the page.

After leaving his apartment six years ago, Isabella had moved into a small, rented room in the outer suburbs. She had worked two jobs—as a waitress by day and a freelance floral assistant by night—while putting herself through night school for horticulture.

She had given birth to Lily and Maya alone at Saint Jude’s Community Hospital. There was no father listed on the birth certificates.

When the twins were two, Lily had suffered from a severe bronchial infection that required three weeks in pediatric intensive care. Isabella had sold her grandmother’s antique jewelry and taken out high-interest personal loans to pay the medical bills, refusing to reach out to Adrien even when she was down to her last fifty dollars.

Three years ago, she had managed to buy The Blossom Co. using a small small-business grant and a heavy mortgage on the building. She lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment directly above the shop.

"She carried it all alone," Adrien whispered to the empty room, pressing his palms against his face.

He looked at the high-definition photographs attached to the report. There were pictures of Lily and Maya playing in a neighborhood park, blowing out birthday candles on a homemade cake, and sleeping in matching twin beds beneath hand-painted flower murals.

They looked happy. Safe. Loved.

And he had paid over a hundred thousand dollars for a single watch while his daughters were sleeping in a small apartment built on debt.

A soft knock at his office door shattered his thoughts.

Julian stepped inside, holding a tablet and a fresh cup of espresso. The assistant looked exhausted but impeccably dressed.

"Sir," Julian said cautiously. "Ms. Veronica has called four times tonight. She received the Cartier bracelet, but she is... displeased about the canceled dinner. Her management team is asking if the press announcement scheduled for Monday is still proceeding."

Adrien didn't look up from the photo of his daughters. "Cancel the press announcement. Break off the relationship with Veronica."

Julian froze. "Sir? The corporate cross-promotional campaign with her brand is valued at forty million dollars. The board—"

"I don't care about the board, Julian!" Adrien snapped, his voice booming off the glass walls. He stood up, towering over his desk. "Call my personal legal team. Tell them I want a meeting at six o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Regarding what, sir?"

Adrien looked down at the paper containing his daughters' birth certificates.

"I am establishing a ten-million-dollar irrevocable trust for Lily and Maya Vance," Adrien said, his voice dropping into a cold, terrifyingly sharp register. "And then I am buying the building that houses The Blossom Co.."

Julian blinked in complete bewilderment. "The flower shop in the historic district? Sir, that building is worthless from an investment standpoint."

"I didn't ask for an investment analysis," Adrien said, stepping around his desk and picking up his coat. "I asked you to buy it. Have the deed transferred to my personal name by noon tomorrow. And Julian?"