Azrael Hawthorne.
The name struck her like a last, desperate gamble.
Valerie dropped to her knees beside the sofa and tore open her purse, her hands shaking so violently that everything inside spilled onto the marble floor. Marco crouched beside her, trying to steady her, but she brushed him off.
"Vivi, what are you doing?" Marco asked, startled.
She did not answer.
Her fingers finally closed around her wallet. She tore it open and found it—the old, slightly creased cheque and the black card. She had told herself she kept it for closure. Now it felt like a lifeline.
Her vision blurred as she keyed in the number printed beneath his name. The line rang, making her bite her lips.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear it.
Then the call ended.
She sucked in a breath and dialed again.
And again.
And again.
Each unanswered ring scraped against her nerves.
On the fifth attempt, the line clicked.
A deep, controlled voice came through, edged with irritation. "Who is this?"
Her throat tightened. He didn't recognize the number.
"I—It's… Valerie." Her voice cracked. She swallowed. "Yo-You don't know me."
A pause.
"Then this had better be important."
She ran to a corner with shaking legs. "Uh... Five years ago, at the Imperial Summit Hotel. I accidentally entered your suite and you..." Her hands shook harder as she took a deep breath. "You left a cheque and your card as if I were some prostitute."
Silence followed, long enough that she thought the call had dropped.
She bit her lips, not knowing if he remembered.
Her fingers tightened around the phone. "T-the room was black and gold. It was after the New Year..."
"What is this about?" he said, his tone flattening.
"I-I need help." Her composure was shattered. "My son is missing."
"And you're calling me because?" His voice had turned colder, sharper.
She had forced the words out. A thousand things went through her mind. He could take her child away from her. He could destroy her family, but none of it mattered more than her Little Roe.
"Because he's yours too."
The line went completely silent.
In the lobby, sirens wailed faintly through the glass doors. Marco watched her, confused, unable to hear the other side.
When Azrael spoke again, his voice was quieter. Controlled to a frightening degree.
"Explain."
"He's four," she rushed out. "He just turned four. I— I found out later. He turned four this spring. His name is Roe—Roman Sinclair on paper—but he—"
"You're telling me," he said slowly, "that I have a four-year-old son."
"Yes. I really need your help, please-"
"And you chose to inform me of his existence because he is currently missing."
"Please! We have tried everything! It's been 6 hours!" Her chest felt like it was caving in. "I don't know what else to do!"
Another silence.
Before a sharper voice added, "Where are you?"
"At the Grand Crescent Hotel. He ran out three hours ago. The police are searching, but there's no update."
"What was he wearing?"
"Navy suit. White shirt. He has green eyes and black hair." Her voice broke. "He's small. He— he cries when he's scared."
"Stay where you are," Azrael ordered. The irritation was gone. So was the distance. What replaced it was something far more dangerous. "And Valerie?"
"Y-Yes?"
"I don't remember your face," he said evenly. "But if what you're saying is true, we will discuss why you were playing games with me."
"I-" She shook her head. It wasn't the time, "O-okay."
......
Azrael stared at his phone long after the call ended, the screen still glowing in his hand. A second later his phone rang again with a photo.
The young boy was walking DNA test. If it wasn't for his wide grin and gleaming green eyes, he would assume it was his own childhood photo.
His phone rang again with further details, footages and information
At least the girl was smart. Well, she would have to be this clever at least to play him for five years.
He was having a shitty night as is, working for 48-hour straight. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he lifted his gaze.
"Grand Crescent Hotel."
His assistant, Adrian, who had been reviewing departure documents a few steps away, immediately straightened. They were inside the private VIP terminal, luggage already cleared, security handled, the jet fueled and waiting on the runway. In less than twenty minutes, they were scheduled to take off.
"Sir?" Adrian asked carefully.
His boss shoved his phone at him
"Contact the tower. Delay departure." Azrael's voice was calm, level, but something in it made the surrounding staff instinctively lower their heads. "My 'son' is missing."
"Son?"Adrian blinked, trying to process the situation, but was quick to follow orders. "Yes, Mr. Hawthorne."
His boss was as eccentric as they come. Trying to understand him was above his pay grade, which was already above the market.
Outside the glass wall of the terminal, the Hawthorne jet idled beneath the floodlights, engines humming softly against the night. They had been prepared to depart for home after a week overseas.
Azrael was here to attend the Grand Crescent Global Summit as the primary investor behind its newest expansion, but a compliance issue at one of the regional branch offices had required his immediate intervention. He had spent the last forty-eight hours extinguishing that fire personally.
He had been ready to leave. Now he was very much staying.
Azrael slid his phone into his pocket and walked toward the exit with hurried steps. Adrian fell into stride beside him.
"Mobilize everything," Azrael said.
Adrian's fingers were already moving across his tablet. "Define scope, sir."
"Full city sweep." His tone did not rise, yet Adrian could sense his absolute urgency. "Traffic cameras within a five-kilometer radius of the Grand Crescent. Pull live feeds and archived footage from the last three hours. Cross-reference for a four-year-old male, navy suit, approximately one meter tall. Air the photo."
Adrian nodded, already issuing encrypted messages.
"Engage our local security contractors," Azrael continued. "I want boots on every street between the hotel and the nearest transit hubs. Bus stations. Subway entrances. Rideshare logs. Quietly."
"Yes, sir."
"Contact the hotel's executive board. I want unrestricted access to their internal security system."
"Already on it, Sir."
They stepped into the waiting car, the driver already alerted. The door closed with a muted thud, sealing them inside the dimly lit cabin.
Azrael leaned back slightly, gaze fixed forward.
"A son," he said, throwing his head back, as though testing their weight before rubbing his face with a shake.
How did that even make sense?
Adrian did not react outwardly, though the information had clearly registered as he analyzed the received information.
Azrael's expression did not change, but his mind moved with ruthless clarity. A four-year-old left the hotel alone.
Either there was a big screw-up, or he didn't take the brains from him.
He replayed every word of the woman's voice. She had been on the verge of collapse, but she had not sounded deceitful. She had sounded terrified.
"Pull my schedule from five years ago sometime after the New Year," he said suddenly.
Adrian glanced up. "For verification, sir?"
"For confirmation."
Within seconds, the tablet displayed archived travel logs. Imperial Summit Hotel... so it was that night. Azrael's gaze hardened.
He remembered the night. One of his cousins had slipped him a dissociative drug as a joke. The woman... he vividly remembered her.
That blonde hair and trembling pouty lips... he took a sip at his parched throat.
'You left a cheque and your card as if I were some prostitute.' Even as she was crying, he could hear her whinnying. He almost caught himself smiling.
He had made sure to deal with his cousin and clean the scene.
Not clean enough, apparently.
When he had woken up with a looker in his arms. He had assumed his moron cousin had called him an escort.
"Damn you, Vincent. Damn you." He murmured. He was causing him trouble from a continent away.
"Sir," Adrian said quietly, reading incoming data. "Preliminary scan of nearby traffic feeds is underway. Local law enforcement has established a perimeter search, but coverage gaps exist beyond two intersections."
"Expand it."
"Yes, sir."
Azrael's fingers tapped once against his knee before going still. He had been preparing to leave this city behind within the hour.
The stunner was the reason he had gone easy on that bastard, Vincent. For months, he had waited to hear that melodious voice to contact him like a boy under puberty.
Now the entire city would be turned over if necessary.
"Notify the aviation team to remain on standby," he added. "We do not depart until the child is found."
Adrian nodded. "Understood."
The car accelerated smoothly, merging onto the main road leading back toward the Grand Crescent Hotel.
Azrael's eyes narrowed in thought.
He had raised an empire from nothing. And somewhere within this city, a four-year-old boy carrying his blood was missing.
The air inside the car seemed to shift.
Azrael spoke once more, "Trace routes and vehicles that left the hotel since he went missing, and tell them to check the hotel footage again. He might have come back."