The Vane International building was a labyrinth of cold marble and high-security glass. For Elara, every step through these halls was a reminder of why she had worked so hard. She wasn't just building a skyscraper; she was building a fortress for her son.
"Stay in the lounge, Leo. Nanny Rose has your iPad and your drawing pens," Elara whispered, kissing his forehead before heading into the final design meeting. "Do not—I repeat, do not—leave her side."
Leo, with his father's stubborn chin and observant eyes, gave a mischievous nod. "I'll be a statue, Mama."
Elara didn't believe him for a second, but she had no choice. The board was waiting.
Inside the Conference Room
The atmosphere was suffocating. Silas Vane sat at the head of the table, his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms that looked better suited for a fighter than a CEO. He was dissecting her blueprints with a silver fountain pen, his movements precise and predatory.
"This atrium," Silas said, his voice dropping into that low rumble that made Elara's skin prickle. "It's too open. I value privacy, Ms. Vance. Why so much glass?"
"Glass isn't a weakness, Mr. Vane," Elara replied, leaning over the table. She could smell him—the scent of the man from the gala was still there, underneath the expensive cologne. "It's a statement. It says you have nothing to hide. Or are you afraid of being seen?"
The room went silent. No one spoke to Silas Vane that way.
Silas looked up, his grey eyes darkening until they were the color of a stormy sea. He stood up slowly, walking around the table until he was inches from her. "I'm not afraid of being seen, Elara. I'm afraid of people looking at things that don't belong to them."
The way he said her name—Elara—sent a bolt of electricity through her. He was testing her. He was searching for the waitress beneath the architect.
Suddenly, the heavy glass door of the boardroom creaked open.
A small, dark-haired head peeked inside.
"Mama? Rose fell asleep and I can't find my blue crayon."
Elara's heart stopped. The blood drained from her face. There stood Leo, clutching a sketchbook, staring directly at the man who was essentially a giant version of himself.
Silas froze. He turned his head slowly, his gaze falling on the boy.
The silence in the room was deafening. The board members whispered. Silas's eyes traveled from Leo's messy hair to his small, defiant face, and finally—horrifyingly—to the boy's eyes. Those unmistakable, Vane-family grey eyes.
"Who is this?" Silas asked. His voice was no longer velvet; it was ice.
"He's... he's my son," Elara said, her voice trembling as she rushed to Leo, shielding him with her body. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Vane. He was supposed to be with his nanny. Leo, honey, we have to go."
"Wait," Silas commanded. The word was a whip-crack.
He walked toward them, his eyes locked on Leo. The boy didn't flinch. Instead, Leo looked up at the billionaire and tilted his head. "You have a big tower," Leo noted. "But your windows are dirty on the top floor."
A flicker of something—was it a smile?—passed over Silas's face, but it was gone in an instant. He looked at Elara, his gaze burning with a thousand questions.
"He has your spirit," Silas murmured, his voice thick with a strange tension. "But he doesn't look like you, Ms. Vance. Who is the father?"
"That is none of your business, Mr. Vane," Elara snapped, scooping Leo into her arms. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure Silas could see it through her blazer. "Our contract is for a building, not my autobiography."
She turned and sprinted out of the room, leaving the most powerful man in the city standing in the middle of his empire, his mind spinning with a memory of a masked girl and a night he had tried for five years to erase.
As the elevator doors closed, Elara leaned against the wall, gasping for air.
She had survived the meeting. But she knew Silas Vane. He was a hunter. And now, he had the scent.