Chapter 2 His wife

I woke up at five with a heavy head and eyes that still felt swollen. My back hurt from the way I had held the baby most of the night, but I got up anyway. Part of me still wanted to believe last night's messages were some stupid prank. Billionaires don't just show up and offer to bring ordinary women into their empire. That kind of thing only happens in stories.

The house was quiet when I went downstairs. Our wedding photo hung on the wall near the hallway. In the picture he was smiling with both arms around me like I was the only person who mattered. I looked away and went straight to the kitchen.

Habit pulled me to the stove even after everything he said last night. I cracked eggs, laid out bacon, and toasted the bread the way he liked it. I packed his lunchbox too, the same way I used to when we first got married. Some small, stupid part of me still hoped that if I kept doing the things a good wife did, the man who used to look at me like that might come back.

By six I heard his footsteps on the stairs.

He walked into the dining area already buttoning his jacket, eyes on his phone.

"Food is ready," I said, keeping my voice soft. "I made the eggs the way you like them."

He didn't look at the table. He didn't look at me either. He just adjusted his watch and kept scrolling.

"I can't eat," he said. Flat. "Leave it. I need to get to the office early."

I picked up the plate and took a step closer. "I packed your lunch too. There's fruit and the sandwich you used to ask for every morning."

He finally lifted his head. The look he gave me made my fingers tighten around the plate.

"I said I don't want it."

"You haven't eaten anything I cooked in weeks."

"Because I don't have time for this." He grabbed his briefcase from the couch. "Stop acting like everything is fine when it's not."

"I'm not acting like everything is fine. I'm trying."

He walked past me toward the door. "Well, stop trying so hard. It's embarrassing."

The front door opened and shut hard behind him. A few seconds later I heard the car start and pull away. He never once looked up the stairs toward the baby's room.

I stood there holding the hot plate until the heat started to sting my palms. Then I set it on the counter and let out a long breath.

From upstairs came a soft cooing sound.

I went up and found our son lying in his crib, kicking his legs and waving both hands in the air. The second he saw me his whole face lit up. I picked him up and held him against my shoulder.

"Good morning, my baby," I whispered against his cheek. He smelled like warm milk and clean cotton. "Mommy's here. I've got you."

I changed him, put him in a fresh onesie, and carried him back down to feed him. Holding him settled something in my chest that had been shaking since last night. My husband could walk out without a word. This little boy still needed me.

He was halfway through his bottle when the sound of engines rolled up outside. Not one car. Several. The windows rattled a little from the weight of them.

I set the bottle down, put the baby in his playpen, and pulled the curtain aside.

Three long black cars sat in my driveway, blocking the whole thing. Tinted windows. Shiny rims. A silver crest on each hood. Across the street Mrs. Gable stood on her porch with a broom in her hand, staring with her mouth open.

Doors opened on the front and back cars. Six men in dark suits and earpieces stepped out and took positions around the lawn like they did this every day.

Then the back door of the middle car opened.

A man in his fifties stepped out. Charcoal suit. Straight back. The kind of presence that made the air feel different. I knew that face from the news and from billboards all over the city. Darius Sterling.

My hand went to the door handle before I could stop myself. I opened it and stepped out onto the porch in my slippers and oversized sweater.

The man looked up. The second he saw me his face changed. The strict look softened into something almost warm. He walked up the creaky steps like he had all the time in the world.

"Nice to meet you, Veyra," he said, and held out his hand.

I couldn't move for a second. My mouth opened but nothing useful came out.

"It's... it's an honor, sir," I managed, and started to lower my head.

He touched my shoulder lightly, stopping me. "None of that. How are you this morning? You got my message last night, didn't you?"

I looked up at him. My throat felt dry. "I saw it. I thought someone was playing a joke on me. I'm just a regular person. I'm married. I have a baby. Why would you want to bring someone like me into your family?"

He glanced past me through the open door. His eyes moved over the small living room, the worn couch, the playpen. Something tight passed across his face before he looked back at me.

"You deserve more than what this house has given you," he said. "We know how you're being treated. A real man doesn't turn on the woman who built a life with him. You belong somewhere people actually see your worth."

I swallowed. "My husband is under a lot of pressure at work. He's just..."

"Stress is not an excuse for cruelty," Darius said, voice steady. "You don't have to keep defending a man who doesn't even care about his own child."

The words landed harder because they were true. I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

Behind him the middle car door opened once more.

A younger man stepped out into the morning light, buttoning his jacket as he walked. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. The same kind of quiet authority Darius carried. He looked up and his eyes found mine across the short distance.

I forgot how to breathe for a second.

His gaze swept over me, taking in my face, my soft frame, and the oversized sweater hanging off my curvier figure. There was no disgust in his eyes. No judgment. Just a deep, intense focus that made my heart hammer against my ribs.

He didn't smile. He didn't look away either. He just kept walking until he stood beside Darius on my porch. His shadow fell across the steps between us.

Darius turned slightly, pride clear in his voice. "Veyra, this is my eldest son."

The younger man held out his hand. His voice was low and even when he spoke.

"My name is Cassian."

I stared at the offered hand, then at his face, then back at Darius. My own hand stayed at my side.

Darius watched me for a moment longer, then said quietly, "The car is waiting, Veyra. Your place has already been prepared. The only question left is whether you get in."