Austin's pov-
I don't usually do school pickups.
That's what assistants are for. Drivers. Security. Nannies. Whatever.
I'm the CEO of Chen Corporation. I run a billion-dollar empire. I don't wait in school traffic.
But when Ava sent me a text that said:
> "I miss u Dada. If you don't come get me I'll cry in public and make it your problem. Xoxo."
I cleared my schedule.
The city parted for me. My Aston Martin Valhalla—custom matte obsidian, 1-of-1, silent engine tuned to sound like a lion purring before it strikes—roared down the boulevard like it owned the pavement.
Which, technically, I do.
The gates of St. Rosalia's opened for me before I even hit the brakes.
Smart.
I pulled into the circular drive, parking exactly where the "No Standing" sign was posted.
Engine humming low. Doors gliding open with a hiss.
Silence fell like a dropped glass.
Students froze mid-step.
Teachers straightened their blazers.
Phones lifted in unison.
I stepped out.
Charcoal-black suit. Silk shirt—two buttons open. Cufflinks diamond. Belt? Italian. Watch? Custom Swiss, limited to five in the world.
No tie. Never needed one. Authority doesn't beg.
I adjusted the sleeves of my blazer, slow and deliberate. Let them look. Let them wonder.
"Holy crap, is that a celebrity?!"
"No, that's… that's Austin Chen."
"The CEO?! The one who owns half the city?"
"Wait—he's here to pick someone up?"
A group of boys nearby straightened their hair like that would help. Girls fanned themselves. Even the headmistress looked like she might faint.
And then—
"DADAAAAA!!!"
Her voice hit before she did.
I turned.
There she was—Ava. My daughter. My sunshine. My chaos.
Sixteen. Five foot nothing. Backpack bouncing, braid flying behind her like a golden whip.
And running full-speed toward me.
I didn't even get to say her name.
Thud.
Trip.
Slide.
She hit the pavement like a cartoon character, arms flailing, then face-planted dramatically with her legs still tangled in her skirt.
I didn't react.
Yet.
She popped up a second later, hands in the air like a gymnast who just stuck the landing.
"I'm okay!!"
Jesus.
And then she spotted me again—eyes wide, mouth breaking into the kind of grin that could bring empires to their knees.
She sprinted the rest of the way.
"Wait—he's her dad?!"
"No freaking way. She just called him—"
"I thought he was her boyfriend."
"Or her brother??"
Too late.
She launched herself at me like a rocket and I caught her midair—one hand around her waist, the other under her knees, backpack still swinging behind her. She kissed both my cheeks in rapid-fire smacks.
"I MISSED YOUUUU!" she sang, hugging me like a lifeline. "I MISSED YOU LIKE IT'S BEEN A YEAR AND IT'S ONLY BEEN SIX HOURS!"
I exhaled slowly, balancing her like she weighed nothing.
"You tripped again."
"The ground attacked me. Rude. Are you okay? Did you eat? Did you drink water? You look a little dehydrated—do you need fruit? Vitamins? Love?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar. You have your grumpy face. Did that one scary board member say something again? I swear I'll fight him."
"I'm not letting you fight a board member."
"Why not? I'd win. I'm scrappy."
She shifted in my arms, already talking a mile a minute.
"I told you to wear that tie I picked, but nooo, you wore the boring one. You need more color, Dada. You're so grayscale. Also, I got an A in chemistry. I think the janitor's in love with me. Also, Oliver fell down the stairs again, and I didn't even push him this time!"
God help me.
"Also, I brought you a cookie, but I sat on it. But it's the thought that counts."
"...Thanks."
She grinned, then buried her face in my neck. "I love you so much."
The crowd was still watching.
Phones were still recording.
Somewhere, someone whispered, "He just smiled at her. That's terrifying."
Yeah.
Let them whisper. Let them post. Let them speculate.
They'll get one thing right:
She's my daughter.
My only weakness.
My only softness.
And the first idiot who even thinks about hurting her?
I'll make them disappear.