The apartment above Haven was nothing like the penthouse.
Liam stood in the narrow hallway, cataloguing details with the cold precision of a man assessing an acquisition target. Hardwood floors worn smooth by time. Walls painted in warm creams and soft blues. Photographs everywhere—candid shots of Leo laughing, Leo playing chess, Leo covered in paint. A life documented in moments Liam had no part of.
The space was small. Cozy. The kind of place people called "charming" when they meant "inadequate."
It made his teeth ache.
He'd spent the night in a hotel—the best suite in Sunshine Valley, which meant overpriced and underwhelming—strategizing with his legal team. By 3 AM, they'd built a case file six inches thick. Character witnesses. Financial analysis. Expert testimony on the benefits of the Vance resources. Everything needed to obliterate Elara's defense and claim what was his.
He'd expected her to crumble by morning. To call, panicked and apologetic, begging for mercy.
She hadn't called.
So here he was, 9 AM sharp, ready to collect his son and begin the process of erasing five years of damage.
He knocked. Two sharp raps that echoed with authority.
The door opened.
Elara stood there, dressed in dark jeans and a simple white blouse, her hair pulled back in a neat bun. No tears. No panic. Just that same cold assessment he'd seen yesterday, like she was looking at a problem to solve.
"Mr. Vance," she said. Not his name. His title. "You're punctual."
"Where's Leo?" He moved to enter, but she didn't step aside.
"At a friend's house. We need to talk first."
"We talked yesterday—"
"Sit down, Mr. Vance."
Something in her tone stopped him. Not fear. Not submission. Command.
She turned and walked into the apartment, leaving him standing in the doorway like a door-to-door salesman. The disrespect was intentional. Calculated.
Liam's jaw ticked. He followed, David trailing behind.
The kitchen was barely large enough for its small table and four mismatched chairs. Morning light streamed through windows that overlooked the gallery below. Elara stood beside the table, her hand resting on a stack of papers.
Professional. Prepared.
Wrong. This was all wrong.
"I said, where is my son?" His voice dropped to something dangerous.
"And I said, sit." She pulled out a chair, the scrape of wood on wood loud in the quiet space. "Or leave. Your choice."
They stared at each other. A battle of wills conducted in silence.
Liam sat. Not because she'd commanded it, but because he needed to end this farce and take Leo home where he belonged.
She remained standing. Power position. She'd learned that somewhere.
"I assume," Liam said, leaning back with affected boredom, "you've come to your senses. Is the boy ready, or do you need time to pack his things?"
Elara slid the document across the table.
Bold. Professional. Utterly humiliating.
CO-PARENTING CONTRACT
The words hit him like a fist.
"What," he said slowly, "is this?"
"Your terms of surrender." She sat across from him, spine straight, hands folded. "I suggest you read carefully."
Liam snatched the papers, his eyes scanning the first page. Legal jargon. Clauses. Stipulations. A contract—she'd drawn up a goddamn contract—dictating his access to his son.
"You're insane." He laughed, harsh and disbelieving. "You actually think I'm going to—"
"Clause One." Her voice cut through his like a scalpel. "Supervised Visits. You will be permitted two hours with Leo on Saturdays only. Visits will occur in public spaces—parks, museums, restaurants. I will be present at all times. Any attempt to remove Leo from the agreed location will result in immediate termination of visitation rights."
His vision tunneled. "Supervised? You think I need supervision with my own—"
"Clause Two: Conduct." She continued as if he hadn't spoken, her tone clinical. Detached. "You will enroll in and complete a certified parenting course within sixty days. You will attend weekly therapy sessions with a licensed child psychologist. Proof of attendance will be provided to me every Monday."
"Therapy?" The word came out strangled. "You want me to attend therapy—"
"Clause Three: Non-Interference." Her eyes met his, chips of frozen amber. "You will have no say in Leo's day-to-day life, education, or medical decisions. You will not interfere with my personal life or relationships. You will not attempt to contact me outside of scheduled visitations. Any violation will result in—"
"Termination of rights. I get it." Liam threw the papers on the table. "This is a joke. You're treating me like some deadbeat who can't be trusted—"
"Can you be trusted?"
The question hung in the air like a blade.
"I'm his father—"
"Biologically." She leaned forward, and something fierce blazed in her eyes. "But you haven't earned the title. You don't know his favorite color. His nightmares. The way he hums when he's thinking through a chess problem. You don't know him, Liam. And until you prove you want to—actually want to, not just want to own him—these are the terms."
"I'm not signing this."
"Then you're done here." She stood, gathering the papers. "My lawyers have already filed for full custody. I have documented evidence of emotional abandonment, financial neglect, and—thanks to your recorded conversation with Isabelle—intent to divorce while I was pregnant. Any judge will see you for what you are: a man who views his child as property, not a person."
"You have nothing—"
"I have everything." Her voice was quiet. Lethal. "I have five years of being his mother. Five years of bedtime stories and scraped knees and teaching him to be kind. I have character witnesses who will testify that you never once looked for him. Never once sent child support. Never once gave a damn."
She moved to the door, opening it. Dismissing him.
"And I have Xander."
The name was a detonation.
"My partner," she continued, each word precisely chosen to wound, "has resources you can't imagine. His family owns half the judges in this state. His connections run deep. He's been ready to fight for Leo since the day I told him about you." Her smile was cold. Sharp. "You think you can win this battle? You can't. I've had five years to prepare. You've had one day to rage."
Liam rose slowly, his hands flat on the table, his entire body vibrating with a fury so vast it threatened to consume him.
He'd been outmaneuvered. Cornered. Trapped by a woman he'd dismissed as weak, armed with weapons he hadn't seen coming.
She held all the cards. And she knew it.
"You're bluffing." But even he could hear the doubt in his voice.
"Try me." She stepped closer, fearless, and he realized with dawning horror that she meant every word. "Fight me in court, and I will drag every dirty secret, every affair, every ruthless business deal through the media. I will make you a villain. And when the dust settles, you'll be lucky if you get supervised phone calls once a month."
The silence stretched. Taut. Suffocating.
David shifted behind him, uncomfortable.
Liam's mind raced, calculating odds, finding angles, searching for leverage.
There was none.
She'd built a fortress, and he was standing outside the walls with nothing but his rage and his name. And for the first time in his adult life, those weren't enough.
"How do I know you'll honor this?" His voice came out rough. "How do I know you won't just take him and disappear again?"
Something flickered across her face. Not sympathy. Not quite.
"Because unlike you," she said quietly, "I keep my promises. Sign the contract, follow the terms, and you'll see your son. Prove you can be a father instead of a dictator, and maybe—maybe—we can renegotiate." She paused. "But give me one reason not to trust you, and you're done."
Liam looked at the papers. At the humiliating clauses. At the cage she'd built so carefully.
Every instinct screamed at him to walk away. To unleash his lawyers. To burn her world to ash and take Leo from the rubble.
But there was a chance—however small—that she was right. That her lawyers could paint him as the monster. That Xander's resources could match his own. That he could lose Leo entirely.
He couldn't risk it.
Not when he'd just found him.
Liam picked up the pen.
It felt like holding a knife meant for his own throat.
"I want the therapy requirement removed," he said, his voice ice.
"Non-negotiable."
"Then I want the schedule increased. Four hours. Twice a week."
"Two hours. Once a week. For the first month. Prove you can handle that, and we'll revisit."
His hand tightened on the pen. Hard enough that his knuckles went white.
This was what defeat tasted like. Bitter. Caustic. Wrong.
But it was temporary. He'd sign this farce, play by her rules, and the moment he saw an opening—the moment she slipped, made one mistake, gave him one inch—he'd take everything.
She thought she'd won.
She had no idea who she was dealing with.
Liam pressed the pen to paper and signed his name with vicious, precise strokes.
Elara took the contract, her fingers careful not to touch his, and tucked it into a folder. When she looked up, her eyes were glacial.
"Welcome back, Mr. Vance." She walked to the door, holding it open. "Your first supervised visit is tomorrow. Ten AM. Sunshine Valley Park. The playground near the duck pond." Her smile could've cut glass. "Don't be late."
Liam stood, straightening his suit jacket with sharp, angry movements. He walked past her, close enough to smell her shampoo—something floral and achingly familiar—and stopped in the doorway.
"This isn't over," he said softly. "You've won the battle, Elara. But the war? That's just beginning."
"Good," she replied, her voice just as quiet, just as deadly. "I've been ready for five years."
She closed the door in his face.
Liam stood in the hallway, David beside him, the contract burning in his mind like a brand.
He'd been dismissed. Humiliated. Reduced to supervised visits like some criminal. By the woman who'd once looked at him like he hung the stars.
The rage was a living thing, clawing through his chest.
But beneath it, buried deep where he refused to acknowledge it, was something else.
Respect.
She'd become someone he didn't recognize. Someone formidable.
Someone who might actually be able to stop him.
He pulled out his phone, already dialing.
"Get me everything," he growled to his head of legal. "Every loophole. Every precedent. Every angle to break this contract." He paused, his gaze fixed on her closed door. "And find out who the hell Alexander Reed really is. I want to know what I'm up against."
He ended the call and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway.
Tomorrow. He'd see Leo tomorrow.
And Elara had just made the biggest mistake of her life.
She'd let him in.