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.

Damon stopped exactly three steps away from her.

His chest heaved. His blue eyes dragged over every inch of her face, burning with a mixture of rage, relief, and agonizing pain. He stared at her as if trying to rip her soul out through her skin.

Corrie forced her hand to let go of the electrical breaker. She locked her knees to stop them from shaking and stood up perfectly straight. She met his stare with walls of ice in her eyes.

She was thinner than he remembered. The soft, innocent curve of her cheeks was gone, replaced by sharp angles and cold indifference. The change in her physically hurt him.

Damon broke the suffocating silence. His voice was a raw, gravelly whisper.

"A widow?" Damon asked. "I didn't realize I died five years ago."

Corrie let out a short, cruel laugh. "As far as I'm concerned, you drowned at the bottom of the Hudson River five years ago."

Damon's pupils contracted sharply. The mention of the river was a knife twisting in his gut. But the anger quickly swallowed his guilt. He took a massive step forward.

His tall, broad body cast a dark shadow over her, trapping her against the edge of the workbench. The physical pressure of his presence was overwhelming.

"Why did you hide my children?" Damon growled, his face inches from hers.

Corrie leaned back, her spine pressing uncomfortably into the wood. "They are not your children. They are Mael's. They have nothing to do with the Holloway family."

The lie was the spark that ignited the powder keg.

Damon's hand shot out. His long fingers clamped around her jaw, just like he had in the hospital room five years ago.

"Do you think I'm blind?" Damon roared, his warm breath hitting her face. "That boy's face is my face! It is undeniable proof!"

Corrie gasped in pain. She raised her hands and slapped at his wrist, fighting to break his grip. As she thrashed, the heavy plastic goggles resting on her forehead slipped down. The sharp plastic edge caught her cheek, slicing a thin line into her skin.

A drop of bright red blood welled up on her pale cheek.

Damon saw the blood. His eyes widened in shock. He instantly snatched his hand back, as if her skin burned him. But he didn't step back. He kept his body planted, blocking her only path of escape.

Corrie pressed her hand to her bleeding cheek. Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly. The claustrophobia of being trapped by him triggered a visceral memory of the sinking taxi. She couldn't get enough air.

"Get out of my studio," Corrie commanded, her voice trembling. "Or I will call the police and have you arrested for trespassing."

Damon looked at her like she had just told a joke. He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out his sleek black smartphone, and tossed it onto the workbench next to her.

"Call them," Damon sneered. "Let's see which cop in New York has the balls to interfere with Holloway family business."

Corrie's entire body shook with fury. She stared at the phone. She knew he was right. His money and power made him untouchable.

Damon's eyes scanned the back room of the studio. He saw the empty chairs. He saw her packed duffel bag. His gaze fell on the contract still sitting on the workbench.

"That contract," Corrie said, her voice trembling with rage. "Did you send it? To trap me?"

Damon picked up the paper. His brow furrowed as he scanned it. "I didn't send this. The charity committee handles procurement." His jaw tightened as understanding dawned. "Kara. She must have pushed this through the committee. She's been trying to claw her way into every corner of my life since you disappeared."

His eyes turned pitch black. He looked back at her.

"Where are they?" Damon demanded, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Tell me where Mael took them, or I swear to God, Mael Corbin will not live to see the sun rise tomorrow."

The threat against Mael snapped the last thread of Corrie's control.

She reached behind her on the workbench. Her fingers wrapped around the thick wooden handle of a sharp metal carving knife.

She whipped her arm around and pointed the blade directly at the center of Damon's chest.

The four bodyguards in the room instantly drew their firearms, aiming right at Corrie's head.

Damon didn't even blink. He raised his right hand, a silent command. The guards immediately lowered their weapons.

Damon looked down at the knife, then up into Corrie's terrified, furious eyes.

He took a step forward. The sharp tip of the blade pierced the expensive fabric of his suit jacket, resting right over his heart.

"Do it," Damon whispered, his eyes wild and obsessive. "Push it in. Kill me again, just like you did five years ago."

Corrie's hand shook violently. The metal blade rattled against his chest. She looked at the madman standing in front of her. A crushing wave of powerlessness washed over her.

Suddenly, a bright, electronic ringtone echoed from the pocket of Corrie's apron.

It was a custom 8-bit video game sound. Leo's ringtone.

Damon's eyes snapped to her pocket. In a flash of movement too fast to track, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. He twisted her arm sharply, forcing her to drop the knife.

He spun her around, pinning her back against his chest. He locked both her arms behind her back with one hand. With his free hand, he reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her phone.

The screen flashed: Leo Baby.

Damon stared at the screen. A slow, cruel smirk spread across his lips. His thumb swiped the green button. He answered the call.