The Maybach descended into the private underground parking garage of the Holloway Group headquarters in Manhattan.

Damon stepped out of the car. The air around him was suffocatingly heavy. His employees kept their heads down, terrified of the dark aura radiating from their CEO. He walked with long, aggressive strides toward his private elevator.

He stepped into his top-floor office and ripped his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the leather sofa. He walked behind his massive mahogany desk. His eyes immediately fell on a silver photo frame. It was placed face-down on the wood.

The intercom on his desk buzzed.

"Mr. Holloway," his secretary's voice trembled. "Ms. Kara Berger is in the lobby. She doesn't have an appointment, but she's causing a scene."

Damon's brow furrowed deep. A wave of pure disgust rolled through his stomach. "Send her up."

Minutes later, the office doors opened. Kara walked in wearing a simple, innocent white dress. Her eyes were red and puffy. She looked fragile and broken.

She practically ran to the desk. She reached her hand out, trying to grab Damon's wrist.

Damon shifted his arm back, dodging her touch effortlessly.

Kara's hand froze in the air. She pulled it back, her face flushing with embarrassment. She immediately burst into tears.

"Damon, you have to help me," she sobbed. "The internet trolls are ruining my life. They are spreading vicious rumors that I used a ghostwriter for my memoir."

Damon leaned back in his leather chair. He stared at her with dead eyes.

"It's not a rumor, Kara," Damon said, his voice slicing through her tears like a blade. "It's a fact."

Kara's face went paper-white. She gripped the edge of his desk. "It's my competitors! They are trying to destroy me. I need the Holloway PR team to release a statement."

Damon didn't speak.

"If I can just get an exclusive cover interview with Nova magazine, I can flip the narrative," Kara pleaded. "Please, Damon."

"I don't use my company's resources to cover up stupid lies," Damon said coldly.

Kara gasped. She suddenly clutched her chest, her breathing turning ragged and shallow. She swayed on her feet.

"My chest," she wheezed. "It hurts so much. Ever since that night five years ago... when your wife's blood was pumped into my veins... my body has never been the same."

The words hit Damon's ear. The muscle in his jaw ticked violently. The guilt of having destroyed Corrie to save this wretched woman was a daily torture.

Damon stared at her pathetic display. "Fine. I will have my office contact Nova."

Kara instantly stopped wheezing. A bright smile broke through her tears. "Thank you! Will you come with me to the charity gala tonight?"

"No," Damon snapped. He pressed the button on his desk. "Brad. Escort Ms. Berger out."

Kara bit her bottom lip, furious but hiding it. She turned and walked out as Brad entered.

The heavy doors clicked shut.

Damon grabbed the knot of his silk tie and yanked it down, desperate for air. The guilt of owing his life to a woman he despised was a daily torture.

Brad walked to the desk and handed Damon a sleek black folder. "Background check on Nova magazine, sir."

Damon flipped the folder open. His eyes scanned the executive summary, stopping on the name of the Editor-in-Chief: Aria.

"She has no last name on file," Brad explained. "No public photos. She took over Nova two years ago and pulled it out of bankruptcy. She's ruthless."

Damon felt a flicker of predatory interest. "Skip the PR department. Book a meeting with this Aria for me directly."

Brad shifted uncomfortably. "I tried, sir. Her assistant rejected the request ten minutes ago. She said Nova doesn't do favors for liars."

Damon raised a dark eyebrow. In this city, no one slapped the Holloway Group in the face.

A cold smirk played on his lips. "Cancel my afternoon meetings. I'm going to meet this editor myself."

He stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the crawling traffic of Manhattan.

Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain hit the left side of his chest.

It was a phantom pain. It happened every time it rained, every time he remembered that night five years ago.

He walked slowly back to his desk. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out and touched the back of the face-down silver frame.

He flipped it over.

Behind the glass was a candid photo of Corrie. She was laughing, her hair blowing in the wind, her eyes full of bright, innocent light.

Damon's thumb rubbed over the smooth glass, tracing the curve of her cheek.

"Corrie," he whispered. The sound tore out of his throat, thick with agonizing pain.

Brad stood silently near the door. The world thought Damon Holloway was a machine made of ice and money. Only Brad knew that the CEO had died the same night his wife's car went off that bridge.

Brad's phone buzzed aggressively in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the text message. His eyes went wide.

"Boss," Brad said, his voice tight. "There's an anomaly at the Golden Leaf Academy. The autism project you fund."

The black Maybach rolled smoothly into the VIP drop-off lane at the Golden Leaf Academy.

Damon stepped out of the car. Principal Eleanor was already waiting on the marble steps, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She forced a bright, welcoming smile.

"Mr. Holloway, what an unexpected honor," Eleanor gushed, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides as they entered the main hall.

"Explain the anomaly," Damon demanded, his voice bored. He only came here to escape the suffocating air of his office.

"It's nothing bad, sir," Eleanor explained quickly. "A massive, anonymous overseas wire transfer just hit the school's account, specifically earmarked for the autism art therapy room you sponsor."

Damon stopped listening. His eyes wandered to the wall of fame lining the main corridor. Rows of framed photos displayed the school's top students.

His gaze drifted over the smiling faces.

Suddenly, his eyes locked onto a photo in the second row.

His expensive leather shoes stopped dead on the marble floor.

It was a picture of a second-grade boy in the school uniform. The boy wasn't smiling. He stared at the camera with cold, indifferent eyes. His brow bone was slightly lowered, casting a shadow over his eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin, arrogant line.

It was Damon's face. Just shrunk down to the size of a child.

Damon's heart violently contracted. The air vanished from his lungs. He couldn't breathe. He took a slow, stiff step toward the wall, his eyes burning into the photograph.

Brad followed his boss's gaze. Brad gasped, the sound loud in the quiet hallway. "That's... that's impossible."

Damon reached out and grabbed Eleanor's upper arm. His large hand clamped down like a steel vice.

Eleanor let out a sharp cry of pain. "Mr. Holloway! You're hurting me!"

"Who is this boy?" Damon roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

Eleanor trembled, terrified by the sudden violence in his eyes. "He... he's a new transfer student. He started today. His name is Leo Alvarez."

Alvarez.

The name struck Damon like a physical blow to the head. The blood roared in his ears, rushing backward through his veins.

He let go of Eleanor's arm, shoving her slightly. "Bring me his entire enrollment file. Now."

Three minutes later, Damon sat in the principal's leather chair behind her desk. His large hands shook visibly as he flipped open the thick manila folder.

On the first page, clipped next to Leo's form, was a photo of a little girl. Stella. She had the exact same striking, icy blue eyes that every Holloway possessed.

Damon's eyes darted down the page. Under grade placement, a bold notation read: Accelerated placement, Grade 2. Qualified via gifted assessment. IQ: 168.

Father: [Blank]

Mother: Corrie Alvarez

The black ink on the white paper hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Damon slammed the folder shut. He sucked in a massive breath of air, his chest heaving.

Five years of crushing guilt, of waking up in cold sweats, of wishing he was dead-all of it vanished in a single second. It was instantly replaced by a wild, manic joy, followed immediately by a volcanic rage.

She wasn't dead.

She faked her death and hid his flesh and blood from him for five years.

Damon shot to his feet. The heavy leather chair flew backward, crashing violently into the wall behind him.

"Bring those children to this office immediately," Damon ordered Eleanor, his voice a lethal growl.

"Mr. Holloway," Eleanor stammered. "The teacher says... a man claiming to be their uncle came and picked them up ten minutes ago. He presented a legally notarized emergency pickup authorization form signed by Ms. Alvarez, and we verified the signature."

Damon's eyes turned pitch black. The temperature in the room plummeted.

"Uncle?" Damon whispered, the word dripping with venom. "What wild man is suddenly playing family with my children?"

He snatched the phone out of Eleanor's hand and looked at the digital sign-out log on her computer screen.

Authorized Pickup: Mael Corbin.

A sickening wave of pure, violent jealousy chewed through Damon's stomach. He turned to Brad.

"Lock down this entire block," Damon commanded. "Nobody leaves."

"Sir, we can't," Brad said calmly, stepping in front of his boss. "Locking down an Upper East Side block will bring the NYPD in minutes. Let me pull the security footage. We track the car."

Damon forced his fists to uncurl. He walked to the security monitors on the wall.

He watched the grainy footage. A man-Mael-was holding Stella's hand and guiding Leo toward a black SUV.

Just before stepping into the car, the boy, Leo, stopped. He turned his head and looked directly up at the security camera hidden in the corner of the building.

Leo smirked. A deliberate, mocking challenge.

Damon stared at the screen. He saw his own arrogant expression mirrored on his son's face.

Damon laughed. It was a dark, terrifying sound. He cracked his knuckles, the popping sound sharp in the quiet room.

He turned and marched toward the door.

"Find out everything about this Mael Corbin," Damon barked at Brad. "I want their exact location. Now."

In a sunlit jewelry studio in SoHo, Corrie sat on a tall stool. Mael had dropped the kids at the secure safehouse an hour ago and come straight here. The twins were safe with the housekeeper. For now.

She wore a heavy canvas apron and protective plastic goggles. She held a small, high-speed rotary tool, carefully polishing the rough edges of a rare, deep blue sapphire.

The brass bell above the studio door chimed. A courier in a uniform walked in, holding a thick, red-stamped envelope.

Mael signed the digital pad and took the envelope. He ripped it open, his eyes scanning the document. A massive grin spread across his face.

"Corrie, look at this," Mael said, walking over to her workbench. "It's a rush custom order. The deposit alone is enough to cover our rent for the next two years."

Corrie turned off the rotary tool. She pushed her goggles up onto her forehead and rubbed her aching wrist. She took the contract from Mael's hand.

Her eyes skipped down to the bottom of the page, looking for the client's signature.

Holloway Group.

Corrie's fingers went numb. The raw sapphire slipped from her hand. It hit the wooden workbench with a heavy thud and rolled onto the floor.

She quickly read the item description. It was a custom diamond and sapphire necklace for the upcoming Holloway Charity Gala.

A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck. The danger was suddenly suffocating. Accepting this money meant interacting with Damon's world. The risk of exposure was too high.

She shoved the contract back into Mael's chest.

"Cancel it," Corrie ordered, her voice shaking. "Wire the deposit back immediately."

Mael looked at her like she was crazy. "Corrie, did you read page two? The breach of contract penalty is three million dollars. But that's not even the real threat. If we breach, the Holloway legal team will scrutinize every detail of this studio. They'll dig into your name, your history, the kids... Everything you've built to stay hidden will collapse in a week."

Corrie's knuckles went white. It wasn't the money. It was the exposure.

Before Mael could say more, Corrie's cell phone sitting on the workbench began to vibrate violently.

The caller ID flashed: Golden Leaf Academy.

Corrie's heart leaped into her throat. She snatched the phone and pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Alvarez," Principal Eleanor's voice was shaky. "I'm calling to inform you that Mr. Damon Holloway was here at the school an hour ago. He saw Leo's photo on the wall of fame and demanded the children's files. I had no choice but to hand them over. He knows about the twins. I thought you should be warned immediately."

Corrie's blood turned to ice. Damon had been at the school. After Mael had already picked up the kids. He hadn't found them, but he knew they existed. He knew she was alive.

She ended the call. Her hands shook violently as she turned to Mael.

"Damon was at the school," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "After you left. He saw Leo's picture. He has their files."

Mael's eyes widened in horror. "Are the kids still safe?"

"They're at the safehouse. But Damon has the entire Holloway security apparatus. It's only a matter of time before he finds them. Before he finds us."

Corrie grabbed a duffel bag from under the desk. She started throwing her passport, the kids' birth certificates, and her design blueprints into the bag.

She had to run. Again.

She looked around the beautiful studio she had built from nothing. She felt a sharp pang of grief, but she pushed it down.

She grabbed her duffel bag and walked to the back wall. She reached up to pull the heavy metal lever of the main electrical breaker, ready to shut the studio down forever.

Her fingers brushed the cold metal handle.

CRASH.

The heavy, bulletproof glass front door of the studio was violently kicked open. The glass shattered into a million pieces, raining down on the hardwood floor.

Four men in sharp black suits flooded into the room, instantly blocking the front door and the back exit.

The men stepped aside.

Damon Holloway walked through the empty doorframe. His expensive shoes crunched over the broken glass. He looked like a demon crawling out of hell, his eyes locked directly on her.