PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS A THIRD-PARTY PERSPECTIVE.
A MYSTERY YET TO BE REVEALED.
The morning was quiet, the kind of quiet he paid for. Expensive quiet- sealed windows that kept the sun from pouring in, polished marble floors that echoed only his own footsteps, and curtains heavy enough to choke out the dawn. He liked his world silent, orderly, and under control.
The bed beside him was empty, as it usually was by this hour. The woman he had brought home last night had already gone, leaving behind only the faintest scent of perfume and a smear of lipstick on the rim of a crystal glass. He didn't bother remembering names anymore. They blurred together- bright smiles, eager hands, hollow laughter. All of them temporary. All of them interchangeable.
He rose, adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, and caught his reflection in the mirror across the room. Age hadn't dared touch him the way it touched others. His hair was darker than it should have been, his jaw still sharp. Money had a way of keeping a man young- or at least disguising the years in suits cut from the finest cloth and skin softened by creams imported from places most people couldn't point to on a map.
Still, when he leaned closer, he could see it. The faint lines around his eyes. The shadows that lingered even after a good night's sleep. He touched his cheek, almost curious, before scoffing at his own vanity. He had no time for weakness.
The phone on the dresser buzzed once. A reminder from his assistant about a meeting later in the evening. Deals to close. Accounts to balance. His empire demanded his attention. He thrived on it. Power was his lifeblood now- more intoxicating than love had ever been.
He didn't think about the past often. He didn't allow himself to. But sometimes, in the quiet, it crept in anyway. A different kind of perfume. A different kind of laughter. A softness he had once touched and then thrown away.
He left his house, descending outside where his car waited. The driver opened the door with a practiced bow, and he slid inside without a word. The city unfolded outside the tinted windows as they drove. Glass towers, flashing billboards, faces pressed to shop windows displaying things they couldn't afford. All of it beneath him.
His shop stood out even among the wealth. A high-end boutique designed to remind anyone who stepped inside that they didn't belong unless their pockets were deep and their pride deeper. He owned more than one, but this one- this flagship- was his crown jewel. Everything gleamed: the glass doors, the polished counters, the display cases lined with gold accents. He liked watching people shrink when they walked in, when they realized the price of breathing air in his domain.
He stepped inside, employees straightening immediately at the sight of him. He didn't smile. He didn't need to. His presence was command enough.
This was his kingdom. This was his proof that he had won, that no matter what had been taken from him, he stood taller.
He adjusted his cufflinks, strolling through the aisles with the satisfaction of a king inspecting his treasury. Every polished surface reflected him back in fragments- the gold sheen of his watch,watch worth more than most people's yearly salary. A suit tailored with such precision it looked alive. Shoes that had never touched dirt. The undeniable presence of a man who owned everything in reach.
Customers moved like shadows in his periphery. They weren't people to him, not really. They were wallets with faces, proof that his taste and his empire were worth chasing. A woman lingered near the leather goods, fingers brushing over a handbag that cost more than a year's rent. He barely glanced at her.
All he cared about was the purchase. The transaction. The proof of his dominance sealed with ink and credit.
If she bought, she mattered.
If she didn't, she was invisible.
That was how he measured the world now.
So when his eyes swept past her again, he saw only another customer circling the bait. He didn't notice the stiffness of her posture, the way her hand trembled slightly on the handle, the tension in her jaw. He didn't notice her at all.
But she noticed him.
From the corner of her eye, a familiar frame cut through the glittering edges of the store. A profile she hadn't seen in years, sharpened now but still undeniably his. Her breath caught before she could stop it.
No. It couldn't be.
And yet- her pulse quickened, her feet moved before her mind could catch up. She turned, just enough to see him fully. To make sure.
Yes.
It was him.
The years collapsed in an instant, and the weight of everything unsaid pressed against her chest. She set the handbag down with deliberate care, her fingers cold, and stepped toward him.
Closer.
Closer.
Until she could see him clearly, no longer just a reflection of memory but flesh and bone, arrogance and wealth wrapped in an expensive suit.
The man who had once been hers- before he wasn't.
And this time, she wasn't going to let him pass without recognition.
The sound of her footsteps should have meant nothing. Customers approached him sometimes, greedy for a discount, eager for acknowledgment. He rarely gave them either. He was too important to bow his head to strangers.
But there was something about the way she moved. Firm. Certain. Not hesitant like the others who flinched at the price tags.
He didn't turn right away. He let her come to him, savoring his own importance. A king does not rise to greet; others approach the throne.
"Excuse me," her voice cut through the air- low, sharp, almost trembling, though not with weakness.
Something in his chest jolted, but his pride refused to show it. He turned lazily, prepared to dismiss her with a single glance.
And then he saw her face.
It was like the years collapsed all at once, a storm of memory crashing into him. High school halls. Summer nights. Laughter that had once belonged to him. A girl's hand gripping his, soft and sure. Her eyes, alive and defiant, the kind that demanded to be remembered.
Time had carved lines into her skin, but it had not dulled her. No- she was sharper now, her gaze cutting him in half. The years had only given her gravity, a force that pulled at him whether he wanted it or not.
He blinked, forcing composure back into place. "Can I help you?" he asked, smooth, controlled, as though he didn't recognize her.
Her jaw clenched. "Help me?" she echoed, her voice hardening. "Is that what you call it now?"
He frowned. The words landed heavier than they should have. "If you're here to shop, the associates will assist you." He waved a dismissive hand toward the staff, already annoyed by her tone.
But she didn't move. Didn't step aside. Instead, she stepped closer. Too close. Her presence clawed at the walls he had built around himself.
"You don't recognize me," she said flatly, but her eyes- God, those eyes- burned like she already knew the answer.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted to deny it, to brush her off, to maintain his untouchable mask. But the truth was searing through him. He did recognize her. He always had. From the first glance across the store. He had simply chosen not to believe it.
"It's been a long time," he said finally, each word tasting foreign, unwanted.
Her laugh was bitter, sharp as glass. "A long time," she repeated, as though mocking him.
The sound clawed down his spine.
Before he could speak again, her hand snapped out. Not gentle. Not hesitant. A slap cracked across his cheek, sharp enough to turn heads from every corner of the boutique.
Gasps rippled through the air. His employees froze. A couple dropped their gazes, terrified.
His jaw tightened, the sting of her palm blooming across his face. No one touched him. No one dared. Yet she had. Bold, furious, unapologetic.
"You- " he started, but she cut him off, her voice shaking now with rage that had simmered for decades.
"You don't get to pretend," she hissed. "You don't get to stand here in your palace of glass and gold, acting like you don't remember. Acting like the past never happened."
Heat flared in his chest, part anger, part something else he refused to name. He forced his voice low, warning. "You're making a scene."
"Good," she snapped, stepping closer again, so close he could see the fury in her pupils. "Maybe it's time the world saw who you really are."
He wanted to roar back, to remind her whose ground she was standing on, whose money had built this empire. But the words tangled in his throat, because beneath her fury was recognition- she knew him in ways no one else alive did. She knew what he had been before the suits, before the money, before the carefully polished lie of his adulthood.
And he hated her for it.
"Nobody leave this shop. Close the door now. Am coming," he said firm and commanding. Nobody dated to move. And he dragged the lady and went to his office.
He lifted his chin, forcing his pride into every syllable. "If you came here to dredge up old ghosts, you've wasted your time. I buried that life long ago."
Her eyes flared, wet with something he didn't want to see. Pain. Hurt. Years of silence pressed between them.
"You buried me," she spat. "You buried us. Do you have any idea- " Her voice broke, just for a second, but she swallowed it, steadied it with iron. "Do you have any idea what you left behind?"
His stomach knotted, though he refused to show it. He hated the way her words slipped beneath his armor. "I left nothing," he said coldly. "I owed you nothing."
That did it. Her hand struck again, this time a fist against his chest, small but full of decades of rage. Another shove. Another strike.
"You owed me everything," she snarled, her fists shaking. "And you ran. You ran like a coward and left me to bleed for it alone."
For the first time in years, he felt his composure falter. The words dug into him, pulled at memories he had sealed away. A night beneath the stars. Her voice trembling when she whispered she had something to tell him. His own choice to turn away, to leave before hearing it.
He clenched his jaw, pushing the images down. They didn't matter. They couldn't matter.
But her next words shattered the thin wall he had left.
"I had twins," she said, her voice lower now, but every syllable sharp. "A boy and a girl. Twenty-eight years ago. And you weren't there. Not once. Not ever."
The floor tilted beneath him.
For a moment, the air left his lungs. The office around him blurred. Her words hung heavy, heavier than the slap, heavier than the fists against his chest.
Twins.
His mouth opened, closed. Rage and disbelief twisted together, clashing against a surge of something he refused to name. Hope.
"You're lying," he forced out, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.
Her gaze didn't waver. "Does it sound like a lie?"
His heart thudded, too loud, too unsteady. He turned, searching the office as though the polished glass could anchor him. But all he found was his reflection- pale, shaken, for the first time in years.
She stepped back just enough to breathe, but her words kept cutting. "A boy and a girl. Twenty-eight years old now. A doctor and a model. Brilliant. Beautiful. Everything you'll never deserve to know."
The ground roared beneath his feet. Pride warred with hunger, with curiosity, with an ache he thought long dead.
He gripped the edge of a counter, forcing himself steady. "If that's true," he rasped, "then-"
And then, his phone rang.
The sound split the air like an executioner's axe.
A business call. Urgent. Demanding. His empire pulling him back.
Her eyes bored into him, daring him to choose.
For the first time in decades, the man didn't know which world to answer.
The room tilted. For a heartbeat, he wasn't in his store. He was somewhere else- years ago, in a memory he'd buried under glass and gold. Her eyes dragged it all back, sharper than the sting in his cheek.
He touched his face where her hand had landed. Heat pulsed under his palm. Not just from the slap, but from something deeper, something he didn't name.
His pride told him to laugh it off. To stand taller. To let her rage glance off him like water on marble. He had built his empire on never letting anyone see him stumble.
So he smiled. Thin, cold. The kind of smile that kept investors nervous and enemies guessing.
But inside- he was anything but still.
Why now? Why here? And why did her touch, violent as it was, feel more real than anything he'd held in years?
He straightened his suit, exhaling slow, deliberate control.
He would not chase her. He would not lower himself to ask questions.
If she had come to remind him of something- let her speak. If she had come to destroy him- let her try.
Because he was not the same man she once knew.
And yet… in the echo of that slap, in the way her eyes cut into him like they still belonged there, he felt the dangerous truth:
A part of him still was.
"Then let's do a paternity test. I will be on my way now. And this is my card. Call me if you want to say more lies," he said calm but cold handing her his business card and left the room like nothing happened.
"You saw nothing happening here. So if you love your life I suggest you keep shut." The man who's voice was loud, commanding and cold echoed to the shop. And with that he left and got into his car.