I exhaled, a low chuckle slipping out. “Avery,” I said without thinking. “I told you—no matter how late it gets, I always come back. You don’t need to—”
I stopped.
It wasn’t her.
Nina sat up slowly, fear flickering across her face. “Zachary… she hasn’t come back. Not once. I’ve messaged her so many times—apologies, explanations—nothing. Maybe I should leave. I don’t know what else to do.”
Her voice wavered.
I lowered myself beside her and pressed a hand to her forehead. It wasn’t tenderness. It wasn’t love. It was habit. Reassurance by default.
“Don’t overthink it,” I said calmly. “Stress isn’t good for the baby. This estate is yours now. Yours and the child’s. Whether Avery accepts that or not.”
---
Later, I stood alone on the terrace, robe loosely tied, city lights stretching endlessly below.
I lit a cigarette.
I hadn’t touched one in years, but tonight restraint felt pointless. The craving wasn’t for nicotine—it was for release from the pressure coiling in my chest.
I pulled out my phone.
My thumb hovered over the last name at the bottom of my contacts.
Avery.
I stared at it longer than necessary. Thought of calling. Thought of demanding answers. Thought of saying things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel.
In the end, I didn’t dial.
I typed instead.
[Avery. Tomorrow is Sebia’s eightieth birthday. Don’t cause trouble. Keep your distance from Nina and the child.]
The message sent.
I stared at the screen, chest tightening.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was the cold night air—
Or something else entirely.
No.
Not panic.
Something heavier.
Something I didn’t have a name for yet.
Zachary’s POV
Patriarch Sebia’s eightieth birthday was not merely a celebration—it was a ritual.
An event where every expression was calculated, every smile rehearsed, every gesture weighed for consequence. This was the kind of gathering where reputations were reinforced or quietly buried, where one wrong word could echo through boardrooms and bloodlines for years.
Perfection wasn’t optional. It was mandatory.
I entered the grand ballroom with Nina at my side, her pregnancy now unmistakable beneath the silk gown chosen by my staff. Conversations dipped as we passed. Eyes followed. Whispers moved like currents beneath calm water. I ignored all of it, my expression locked into the neutral mask I’d worn since becoming Don.
Inside, though, every instinct was on edge.
Something was wrong.