The skyline bled gold into dusk. From the forty-seventh floor, the city looked like a map of broken stars, cold light reflected off rain-slick glass, moving cars, restless lives. Inside the office, silence held court. Only the low hum of the air-conditioning and the rhythmic tick of a wall clock dared intrude.
Selene stood near the doorway, spine straight, hands gripping her purse like armor.
Alexander was behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His watch gleamed in the dying light, precise and merciless as the man himself.
He hadn't spoken since she entered. He didn't need to. His gaze did the talking, sharp, deliberate, dissecting her the way he might study a hostile market or a piece of art he couldn't decide whether to destroy or keep.
Finally, he said, "Sit down."
His voice was low, controlled, the kind that didn't ask. It ordered.
"I'll stand," she said evenly.
"You've been standing for six years," he replied, eyes still on the papers before him. "You can sit for this."
The words hit like a subtle strike, too calm, too dangerous. Selene didn't move.
He exhaled once, set the papers aside, and leaned back in his chair. "I could have you arrested."
"For what?" she asked quietly. "Breathing?"
"For withholding my children." His tone didn't rise, but the words landed like a blade laid flat against skin.
She lifted her chin. "Your children? Or the children I raised alone while you were busy ruling the world?"
The faintest muscle flicked in his jaw. "They carry my blood."
"And I carry the scars of what that cost me."
He stood. The movement was slow, unhurried, predatory. His height filled the room, making the polished glass walls feel too narrow.
"I would've given them everything," he said.
"No," Selene replied. "You would've bought them everything."
His laugh was soft, humorless. "You think that's all I am? A wallet with a pulse?"
"I think you're a man who calculates love by its cost."
That silenced him for a heartbeat. The air thickened. The city outside flickered, lightning catching on the horizon.
Alexander walked around the desk, each step measured, deliberate.
"I told you the rules when we started, Selene. You agreed."
"I did," she said. "And I followed them. Until I couldn't."
"And instead of telling me, you ran."
"I had to," she whispered. "You made sure there was no other way."
He stopped in front of her. The space between them vibrated. He smelled of rain and cedar, the kind of scent that lingered in the bloodstream long after touch had ended.
"You should've trusted me."
She looked up, eyes steady. "I did once. That was my first mistake."
A flash of pain crossed his face, too brief to name. Then it was gone.
"You think I wouldn't have claimed them?" he said.
"I knew you would," she answered. "That's exactly why I left."
He stared at her for a long, dangerous moment.
Then his hand came down flat on the desk beside her. "You don't get to decide who I am to them."
"And you don't get to rewrite what you were to me."
The silence that followed was almost holy in its tension.
Then he turned, walked to the window, hands in his pockets, shoulders rigid with a restraint that looked like violence wearing a suit.
Outside, thunder murmured low and distant.
"You should know," he said finally, "my lawyers have already drawn up documents. Custody petitions. Recognition orders."
Selene went still. "You wouldn't."
"I would," he said simply. "And I will."
She drew in a shaky breath, but her tone stayed calm. "You'd drag two children through courtrooms just to feed your pride?"
"No," Alexander said. "To keep them safe. You've done well, Selene, beautifully, even. But I won't live another day knowing my son and daughter are growing up as if I were dead."
"You were," she said. "To me."
He turned, slow and sharp, eyes glacial. "And now I'm back."
For a moment, she hated how much gravity his presence still carried, how every word he spoke seemed to pull her closer, even when she wanted to run.
She crossed her arms. "You think power makes you right?"
He tilted his head, gaze narrowing. "Power doesn't make me right. It makes me inevitable."
Her throat tightened. "You can't buy fatherhood."
"No," he said quietly. "But I can claim it."
He stepped closer, closing the last few feet between them. His shadow fell across her face, his proximity a kind of force.
"Move in with me," he said. "For their sake."
The words struck her like cold water.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"You expect me to live under your roof again? After everything?"
"I expect you to do what's best for them."
"And you expect me to forget what you are?"
He smiled faintly, an echo of the man she once knew, dangerous because it was almost tender.
"I don't expect you to forget," he murmured. "Only to remember what it felt like to stop fighting me."
Her pulse betrayed her, one sharp thud too loud. He heard it. Of course he did.
"Don't," she said. "Don't use that."
"I'm not using anything," he replied. "You and I were always honest in our dishonesty."
She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to erase the six years between them and all the ghosts they'd both become.
Instead, she said, "If you think you can intimidate me, you've forgotten who I am."
"No," Alexander said softly. "I remember too well."
He reached into a folder on the desk and slid a document toward her. The sound of paper against glass was sharp as a gunshot.
"Sign it."
She looked down. It wasn't a custody order, not yet. It was a "temporary cohabitation agreement" drafted in the language of reason and threat.
She let out a bitter laugh. "You had this ready."
"I'm a man who plans ahead."
"You're a man who doesn't ask," she said.
He met her gaze. "You think I'm giving you a choice?"
She straightened. "You should."
"I did, once," he said. "You ran."
"And this time?"
"This time," he said quietly, "you'll stay."
Something inside her broke and hardened at the same time.
"You can't keep me."
He stepped forward until their breaths tangled in the space between them. "Watch me."
Selene's voice trembled, just once. "You think this is love?"
"No," he said. "This is consequence."
She swallowed hard. "You can't force a family."
His expression shifted, something wounded, then gone. "No, Selene. But I can claim one that was stolen from me."
Lightning split the sky outside, throwing silver light across the glass, across his face. He looked carved from the storm itself, beautiful, cold, inevitable.
Selene whispered, "You haven't changed."
Alexander's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. "You have."
That caught her off guard.
He went on, quieter. "You're stronger now. Colder. I almost admire it."
She wanted to answer, but her throat refused. He stepped closer again, until her back brushed the edge of his desk. The heat of him pressed through the air between them.
He lifted a hand, tracing his thumb along her jaw, not touching, just near enough to feel the pull.
"Sign it," he murmured. "Or I'll make the law do it for you."
Her eyes burned, fury and something older rising. "You don't know what it cost me to leave."
He leaned closer, voice low and lethal. "Then tell me."
"I won't give you that power again."
"You already have," he said. "You gave it the moment you let me see them."
Silence filled the office. Rain began tapping against the glass, a steady, relentless rhythm.
Finally, Selene said, "You can't win this, Alexander."
He smiled faintly. "You always underestimate how far I'll go."
He reached past her, caging her between his arm and the desk. His body didn't touch hers, but his presence swallowed the space, leaving her nowhere to retreat.
"Move in with me," he said again, quieter this time, the threat softened into something far more dangerous, conviction. "Let them know me. Let me…" his voice caught, then steadied, "let me know them."
Her pulse stuttered. The nearness was suffocating.
"I don't trust you," she whispered.
He exhaled slowly, his breath brushing her cheek. "Then trust the part of me that's theirs."
Selene looked up, meeting his eyes. There it was, the crack in his armor. Not weakness. Ache. Regret, buried under steel.
And yet, he still played the tyrant because that was all he knew how to be.
"I won't let you take them," she said.
"I'm not asking," Alexander replied.
She turned away, breaking the line of sight, gathering what little dignity she could in the small act of refusal.
He let her walk two steps.
Then his hand caught her wrist.
Not harshly. Not painfully. Just enough to stop her world again.
"Don't walk away from me," he said, voice low, shaking for the first time.
She turned back, eyes burning. "What do you want me to say? That you win? That I forgive you? That we can pretend none of it happened?"
"I want," he said, "what's mine."
The words hung between them, jagged and holy.
Selene pulled her hand free, breath trembling. "They are not possessions."
He looked at her then, the kind of look that stripped years, pride, and power from a man. "No," he said. "They're everything I never thought I could have."
And then, because he was Alexander Knight, he ruined the mercy in that sentence by adding, "Which is exactly why I won't let you take them again."
Lightning flared. The glass reflected two figures standing too close, caught between history and hunger.
Selene whispered, "You're cruel."
"Only when I have to be."
"Then you'll die that way."
"Maybe," he said. "But not alone."
He reached for the paper again, slid it toward her a second time. "You have until morning."
She looked down at it, words and ink, but all she saw was the ruin of peace.
When she didn't move, he took a step back. The space he left behind felt like a wound.
"I don't bluff, Selene," he said softly. "And I don't lose."
She lifted her chin, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "You already did."
Her heels clicked once against the marble as she turned and walked out.
He didn't stop her this time. Not with his hand.
But as the door closed, his voice followed her like a vow carved in thunder.
"No one hides my blood from me," Alexander said.
And the words lingered, like a promise that would tear worlds apart before it broke.