Three weeks had passed since the warehouse incident, and life at The King's Castle had settled into an almost surreal normalcy. Aaron found himself back in his familiar role as house husband, preparing breakfast each morning while Sarah readied herself for another demanding day managing the Crimson Valley project. The routine felt both comforting and strange—as if the terrifying events with Volkov had been nothing more than a vivid nightmare.
Sarah's recovery had surprised everyone, especially Aaron. He'd expected weeks of trauma counseling, sleepless nights, and lingering anxiety. Instead, she'd thrown herself back into work with renewed determination, as if the ordeal had somehow strengthened her resolve rather than breaking it down. She rarely spoke about what had happened, and when she did, it was with a clinical detachment that worried Aaron more than tears would have.
Amanda, predictably, had returned to form within days of her rescue. She sat at the marble kitchen island now, complaining about the temperature of her coffee while scrolling through social media on her phone.
"This coffee is barely lukewarm, Aaron," she snapped without looking up. "How hard is it to make a proper cup of coffee? Even a trained monkey could manage better."
Aaron poured himself a cup and leaned against the counter, studying his mother-in-law. It amazed him how quickly she'd reverted to her old patterns of criticism and entitlement, as if she hadn't been tied to a chair in a warehouse just weeks ago.
"You know, Amanda," Aaron said quietly, "most people would be grateful to be alive after what you went through."
Amanda's head snapped up, her eyes flashing with indignation. "Grateful? I should be grateful that my own brother and nephew sold us out to criminals? That they put us in danger in the first place?"
Than her tone shifted, her anger turning to grief.
"They were forced into it!" she continued, her voice rising. "Patrick called me yesterday. He's devastated about what happened. He had no choice—those men would have killed him and Jason if they hadn't cooperated. You can't blame family for trying to survive."
Aaron set down his coffee cup with deliberate control. "They sold Sarah to a criminal who planned to—"
"They were desperate!" Amanda interrupted. "And besides, everything worked out fine in the end, didn't it? We're all alive, we're all safe."
The casual dismissal of Sarah's trauma made Aaron's jaw clench, but before he could respond, Sarah walked into the kitchen, dressed in a sharp business suit and carrying her briefcase.
"Good morning," she said, kissing Aaron's cheek before pouring herself a travel mug of coffee.
"Sarah, honey," Amanda began, her tone suddenly sweetening, "I just got off the phone with your uncle. He's beside himself with guilt about what happened. He wants to make amends—"
"No." Sarah's voice was flat and final. "I don't want to hear from him again. Ever."
Amanda's face reddened. "He's family! And speaking of family obligations, I found out something very disturbing yesterday."
Sarah paused in gathering her papers. "What now?"
"I discovered that you sold The King's Castle during the kidnapping!" Amanda's voice rose to a near shriek. "How could you do something so stupid without consulting me?"
Sarah turned slowly to face her mother. "I sold it to raise money for your ransom. To save your life."
"You could have gotten the money somewhere else!" Amanda shot back. "Did you even try the banks? Did you call your grandmother?"
"I did call Grandma," Sarah replied, her voice dangerously quiet. "She refused to help."
Amanda's mouth fell open. "What? That's impossible. Eleanor would never—"
"She said you weren't important to the family," Sarah continued, her words cutting like surgical instruments. "She compared you to Aaron in terms of uselessness and told me to handle it myself."
The color drained from Amanda's face, replaced by a mottled purple of rage and humiliation. "She said what?"
"Her exact words were that she wouldn't provide ransom money for someone useless," Sarah said. "She hung up on me."
Amanda stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the marble floor. "That pompous old witch! After all the years I've supported this family, after all the sacrifices I've made—how dare she!"
Aaron watched the exchange with fascination. For once, Amanda's anger wasn't directed at him or Sarah, but at someone who truly deserved it.
"The point is," Sarah continued, gathering her things, "I did what I had to do to save you. And now, miraculously, I have the house back."
This was true, and it still baffled Sarah. Two days after the rescue, she'd received a call from Winston Villa Offices explaining that the buyer had decided to return the property at no cost. When she'd asked why, she'd been told simply that the buyer had experienced a change of heart and no longer required the residence. The twenty-five million dollars had also remained in her account, making her far wealthier than she'd ever imagined.
"It's like the universe is finally paying me back for everything I've been through," she'd told Aaron the night before.
Now Amanda's fury shifted to a different target. "If you have the house back, then why haven't you used that money to help Patrick and Jason? They're probably struggling, living in fear—"
"They're gone," Aaron said quietly.
Both women turned to look at him.
"I mean, they left the country," he clarified. "The police told me they'd fled to avoid potential retaliation from Volkov's associates. They're probably in South America or somewhere else by now."
This wasn't entirely untrue—Aaron had indeed sent them far away, though not for the reasons he'd implied.
Sarah nodded, seeming satisfied with this explanation. "Good. The farther away they are, the better."
Amanda looked like she wanted to argue further, but Sarah was already heading toward the door.
"I have meetings all day," Sarah called over her shoulder. "Aaron, don't let her work you too hard."
After Sarah left, Amanda spent the remainder of the morning alternating between bitter complaints about Lady Eleanor's betrayal and renewed criticism of Aaron's housekeeping skills. Aaron endured it all while managing his other responsibilities—reviewing financial documents that Natalie had couriered over, making decisions about various business holdings, and trying to understand the vast scope of his inherited empire.
The paperwork was overwhelming. Every day brought new contracts to review, quarterly reports to analyze, and investment decisions to make. Aaron would spend hours in his makeshift office—a converted bedroom on the second floor—poring over documents that detailed everything from agricultural yields in Texas to pharmaceutical research in Switzerland.
Juggling his role as house husband with his secret identity as a billionaire business mogul was becoming increasingly difficult. He found himself falling behind on both fronts—Amanda's complaints about his housework grew more frequent, while Natalie's messages about urgent business matters piled up in his inbox.
He considered hiring household help, but he knew Amanda would never accept it. In her mind, domestic work was Aaron's primary function, and she would view any assistance as an admission of his failure in his designated role.
As he scrubbed the marble countertops for the third time that morning—Amanda had found invisible water spots—Aaron wondered how long he could maintain this double life. The weight of secrecy was becoming heavier each day, and he longed to share his true circumstances with Sarah. But the risks were still too great, the Eternal Bank's rules too strict.
Meanwhile, across the city at Acadia Media Group, Vivian sat behind her executive desk reviewing the latest quarterly projections. The numbers were encouraging—the company had not only recovered from its previous difficulties but was actually showing significant growth. Her reforms were working, and even the most skeptical board members were beginning to acknowledge her leadership.
She was just signing off on a new marketing campaign when her assistant's voice came through the intercom.
"Miss Carter? I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's someone here who insists on seeing you immediately. He says it's extremely important."
Vivian frowned. Her schedule had been deliberately cleared for the afternoon to allow her to focus on strategic planning. She didn't appreciate unannounced visitors, regardless of their claimed importance.
"I don't have any appointments scheduled," she replied. "Please ask him to make an appointment through proper channels."
"Ma'am, I tried that, but he's very insistent. He says you'll want to see him."
There was something in her assistant's voice—a nervousness that went beyond normal professional concerns. Vivian's instincts began to prickle with unease.
"Did he give you his name?"
"Yes, ma'am, but... he asked me not to announce it over the intercom. He said you'd understand once you saw him."
Vivian's frown deepened. This was highly irregular, but something about the situation made her curious despite her annoyance.
"Fine," she said finally. "Send him in. But make it clear that I only have a few minutes."
"Yes, ma'am."
Vivian straightened her jacket and arranged her papers, preparing to deal with whatever salesman or ambitious entrepreneur had managed to talk his way past reception. She heard her assistant's heels clicking across the outer office floor, followed by the sound of her door opening.
"Miss Carter? Your visitor."
A man in an impeccably tailored suit stepped through the doorway, and Vivian's world tilted on its axis. The papers in her hands scattered to the floor as all the blood drained from her face. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp of pure horror.
The man smiled—that same charming, predatory smile she remembered from her nightmares.
"Hello, Vivian," he said in a voice that dripped with Familiarity. "Did you miss me?"