The rain came that night without warning.
It drummed against the glass walls of his penthouse, steady and relentless, as if the heavens were trying to remind him that even the untouchable were not immune to weather.
Alexander stood before the window, sleeves rolled, tie discarded on the counter beside his untouched dinner. The city glimmered below — a tapestry of headlights and wet streets — but his reflection in the glass was the only thing he could see.
A stranger wearing his own face.
Zane.
The name had followed him like a scent he couldn't wash off. He'd gone home after the café, but not really — his body had moved through the motions of return, his mind still trapped in that moment: the child's voice, the drawing, the eyes that looked too much like his.
He hadn't even told his assistant where he'd gone. For once, he'd wanted no witnesses to his disquiet.
But Alexander Knight didn't believe in coincidences. Coincidences were for ordinary men.
He reached for his phone and called his head of security. "Damian. I need a name."
"Of?"
"The woman who left Café Dandelion around ten-thirty this morning. She was with a boy, seven or eight. I want footage from every street cam within a five-block radius."
There was a pause. "Do you have an image?"
He hesitated. His pulse tightened. "No. Just… find her."
"Yes, sir."
He ended the call and stared at the skyline again.
It wasn't just curiosity anymore. It was instinct — the kind that had built empires and destroyed rivals. The boy wasn't simply familiar; he was echo.
Same eyes. Same quiet strength in the jaw. The same stubborn air of self-possession that no child should wear so naturally.
Hours bled into one another. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. His mind replayed every word, every glance. The laughter that sounded like sunlight breaking through stone.
He poured himself a glass of Scotch and sat on the leather couch. The sound of ice against crystal was too loud.
When the intercom buzzed, he didn't startle — just set the glass down and pressed the button.
"Sir, I have the files you requested," Damian said. "Delivered to your inbox. Facial recognition confirmed the woman's identity — Lena Ward. Lives in the city under that name."
Alexander's jaw flexed. "And the boy?"
"We're still verifying. There are school records under her address — one child. Male. Seven years old."
"Name?"
Damian hesitated. "Zane Ward."
The air left the room.
Alexander sat very still, fingers drumming once against his knee — the only outward sign of motion.
Zane Ward.
His hand went to the phone again. "Pull every record. Medical, academic, residential. Quietly."
"Understood."
He ended the call.
The rain outside softened to a whisper, like a secret being told. He walked to his desk and opened his laptop. Within minutes, files appeared — scanned documents, photographs, digital records stitched together by efficiency and intrusion.
He scrolled through them with the detachment of a man reading someone else's life.
Selene Brooks. Now Lena Ward.
Same birth date. Same handwriting on a signature line, just altered enough to fool anyone but him.
She had disappeared off the map after that hospital incident — and now he knew why.
He leaned back, eyes narrowing at the screen.
A photograph blinked open.
Zane, smiling shyly beside a school banner, his small hands gripping a certificate. His hair was dark, a little too unruly for perfection — but those eyes. Those impossible, clear-gray eyes.
Alexander's throat tightened.
The world, for a brief and punishing second, went utterly silent.
He zoomed in. The image blurred slightly, but it didn't matter — he could see it. The way the boy's expression carried something achingly familiar: restraint even in joy. The attempt to hide emotion that came too easily.
His reflection in miniature.
A low exhale escaped him — almost a laugh, almost a curse.
He had a son.
The thought didn't feel real. It didn't fit the man he'd built himself to be. Alexander Knight wasn't made for fatherhood; he was made for conquest, for precision, for the cold satisfaction of control.
And yet here was proof that life had dared to create something from the ashes of his ruin.
He rubbed a hand over his face. His pulse was no longer steady.
There was another photo — Zane holding a paper plane, sunlight slanting over his hair. In the background, blurred, Selene stood watching him.
Her posture — cautious, soft, protective. She looked older, yes, but stronger too.
He zoomed in again.
Even from behind, she still undid him.
All those years of anger, of pretending she hadn't mattered — reduced now to this sharp ache behind his ribs.
He shut the laptop. Hard.
For a moment, he sat in darkness, the rain dimming, the city lights a muted heartbeat below.
He tried to reason it away.
Maybe it wasn't his child. Maybe it was just resemblance. Maybe fate wasn't cruel enough to play this joke.
But deep down, he already knew.
The way the boy had met his gaze — calm, searching, unafraid — that wasn't something learned. That was blood.
He stood, restless, pacing the length of the room. Every step echoed like accusation.
He had once told Selene she wasn't the type to keep things. And yet she had kept this — a secret so vast it made every lie before it small.
He should have been furious. He wanted to be.
But beneath the anger was something worse. A hollow he couldn't fill.
Because in all his years of power, he had never missed something he didn't know he'd lost.
Until now.
The clock struck midnight. He poured another drink, his reflection rippling in the amber liquid.
His phone buzzed again — another message from Damian.
Attachment: photo.jpgCaption:Found this on social media, sir. Taken last month. Same boy. Tag location: Seraphine Park.
He opened it.
This time, Zane was laughing — a real laugh, not the careful kind. There was a kite above him, tangled in sunlight. And Selene was there, her face turned up, eyes bright, hair caught in the wind.
They looked like a family.
Not the kind Alexander understood, but the kind that existed without him.
Something broke quietly inside him.
He closed the photo, but the image didn't leave. It stayed behind his eyelids, haunting and cruelly beautiful.
He could almost hear her voice. You don't get to decide everything, Alexander.
He leaned against the counter, head bowed, both hands braced on the edge. The storm outside was beginning to fade, but inside him, it had only just begun.
He straightened after a long minute, the mask of composure sliding back into place like armor.
He had built empires from ashes before. He could rebuild this, too — or destroy it, depending on what truth required.
"Find out everything about Zane Ward," he said when he called Nathan again. "Everywhere he goes. Everyone he talks to. And his mother."
"Yes, sir."
He hung up and stood before the window once more. The city glowed beneath the clearing clouds, washed clean, but Alexander felt no peace.
Because the photograph had done more than confirm suspicion — it had resurrected something he had long buried.
Not just Selene. Not just the past.
But a part of himself that remembered what it was to want something pure — and ruin it anyway.
He touched the glass, tracing his reflection — the same eyes Zane had, but colder.
He whispered, almost to himself, "You kept him from me."
And though the city could not hear him, the night did — carrying the promise that this time, Alexander Knight would not let secrets slip quietly away.
He turned from the window, jaw set, eyes hard with resolve.
Some truths could destroy him. He would seek them anyway.