ASHER'S POV
The preschool director's eyes go wide when she sees the check amount.
"Mr. Thornwell, this is... this is incredibly generous. Half a million dollars will fund our new playground, the library expansion, and scholarships for—"
"Whatever you need," I interrupt, signing the papers quickly. My hands are steadier now. I have a mission. A purpose. "I believe in investing in early education."
That's a lie. I believe in getting access to my children, and money opens doors that apologies can't.
The director—Mrs. Patterson, her nameplate says—practically glows with excitement. "We're so grateful! Is there anything specific you'd like to see? Perhaps a tour?"
"Actually, I was hoping to volunteer." I turn on the charm that's closed a thousand business deals. Confident smile. Warm eye contact. Just the right amount of humble. "Story time, perhaps? I have a flexible schedule, and I'd love to give back to the community."
"Oh, that would be wonderful! The children adore story time." She's already pulling out volunteer forms. "We do require background checks, of course, but for someone of your standing—"
"Run whatever checks you need. I'll pass them all." Because I will. I'm an Alpha with a spotless record who runs a legitimate business empire. On paper, I'm the perfect volunteer.
She has no idea I'm here because two specific children with silver eyes are currently playing in her playground.
My wolf is pacing frantically. Cubs. So close. Need to see them.
"Why don't I show you the classroom?" Mrs. Patterson suggests. "The four-year-old group is having outdoor play right now, but you can observe through the window."
She leads me down a hallway covered in children's artwork. Handprints, finger paintings, crooked letters spelling names I don't recognize. My chest aches thinking about all the art projects I've missed. Four years of drawings and achievements and milestones I'll never get back.
But I can start now. Today. This moment.
We reach a large window overlooking the playground. Mrs. Patterson points out various play areas, talking about their educational philosophy, but I'm not listening.
Because I see them.
Lily and Lucas. My children. Playing in the sandbox with three other kids.
My wolf ROARS with recognition. MINE. CUBS. OURS.
"That's them," I breathe without thinking.
Mrs. Patterson stops mid-sentence. "Pardon?"
I catch myself. "I mean—they seem happy. The children. They all seem very happy."
But I can't look away from the twins. Lily is building an elaborate sandcastle, barking orders at the other kids like a tiny general. Lucas is carefully decorating it with leaves and pebbles, his tongue sticking out in concentration.
They're perfect.
Lily has Ezra's stubborn chin, the way she juts it out when she's being bossy. Lucas has my serious expression when I'm focused on work. They're both small for their age—probably from the difficult pregnancy—but healthy. Strong. Beautiful.
Mine.
"Those two are actually new today," Mrs. Patterson says, following my gaze. "Twins. Lily and Lucas. Their father just enrolled them."
Father. She means Kai. The man they call Papa while I'm a stranger watching through glass like some creep.
"They're adorable," I manage to say around the lump in my throat.
"Very sweet children. A bit clingy with each other, but that's normal for twins." She checks her watch. "Oh! If you'd like, you could read to them now. I'm sure they'd love a special guest."
This is it. My chance to meet my children properly. To talk to them, hear their voices, maybe make them smile.
To start being their father.
"I'd be honored," I say.
Five minutes later, I'm sitting in a tiny chair in a classroom full of four-year-olds. Mrs. Patterson introduced me as "Mr. Thornwell, a very nice man who's going to read us a story."
The children stare at me with that brutal honesty only four-year-olds have. One kid picks his nose. Another asks loudly why I'm so tall. A little girl informs me my tie is ugly.
But I only see Lily and Lucas.
They're sitting in the back, pressed close together. Lucas's eyes are huge and uncertain. Lily has her arm around her brother protectively.
They recognize me from the airport. They know I'm the man who upset their daddy.
"Hello, everyone," I say, my voice not quite steady. "I'm going to read you a story about a wolf who got lost and had to find his way home."
I picked this book specifically. It's about family and second chances and learning from mistakes. Maybe I'm hoping four-year-olds will understand the metaphor better than their father does.
As I read, I can't help watching the twins. Lucas slowly relaxes, getting drawn into the story. Lily keeps glancing at her brother, making sure he's okay, before she finally pays attention too.
They're so much like Ezra it hurts. That protective instinct. That gentle kindness. That wariness of people who might hurt them.
I did this. I made them afraid to trust by hurting their father so badly.
"And the wolf learned that family isn't just about who you're born to," I read, my voice thick. "It's about who shows up. Who stays. Who loves you even when you make mistakes."
Lily's hand shoots up. "But what if the wolf made REALLY big mistakes? Like, super bad ones?"
The classroom goes quiet. Every kid is looking at her, then at me, waiting for an answer.
I put the book down and look directly at my daughter. "Then the wolf has to prove he's changed. He has to show up every single day and do better. And maybe, if he tries hard enough, his family will give him another chance."
"What if they don't want to?" she asks, and I know she's not talking about the story anymore.
"Then he keeps trying anyway. Because real love doesn't give up just because it's hard."
Lucas whispers something to Lily. She whispers back. They're having an entire conversation in four-year-old twin language I can't understand.
Finally, Lucas raises his hand. "Mr. Thornwell? Are you the man from the airport?"
Twenty little heads swivel between Lucas and me. Mrs. Patterson looks confused.
"Yes," I admit. "I am."
"The one who made our daddy smell scared?"
Oh god. The whole class heard that. Mrs. Patterson definitely heard that. This is about to become a problem.
But I can't lie to my son. "Yes. I did make your daddy upset. I made very big mistakes a long time ago, and now I'm trying to fix them."
"Are you going to make him cry again?" Lily demands, standing up now. Four years old and already fierce as a warrior. So much like Ezra when he's protecting the people he loves.
"No," I promise, my throat tight. "Never again. I swear."
"Pinky swear?" Lucas asks.
"Pinky swear."
The twins look at each other, having another silent conversation. Then Lily makes a decision.
"Okay. But we're watching you. And if you make Daddy sad, I'm going to tell Papa Kai, and he's really big and strong."
"Noted," I say seriously.
Mrs. Patterson clears her throat, clearly unsure what just happened. "Well! Let's finish the story, shall we?"
I read the last few pages, but my mind is racing. The twins know who I am. They're protective of Ezra. They have another father figure they trust more than me.
But they're willing to watch me. To give me a chance, maybe.
It's more than I deserve.
The story ends. The children clap politely. Mrs. Patterson thanks me and suggests I come back next week.
"I'd love to," I say, already planning to come back tomorrow.
As the kids are dismissed for snack time, Lucas walks up to me. He's so small, barely reaching my knee. He looks up with those silver eyes—my eyes—and asks:
"Mr. Thornwell? Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Are you our real daddy? The biological one?"
My heart stops. "Yes."
"Then why didn't you want us?"
The question destroys me. I drop to my knees so fast it hurts, putting myself at his eye level. "I did want you. I DO want you. I just didn't know about you until two days ago. But Lucas, if I had known, I would have been there for every single moment. I would have—"
"Lucas! Come on! Snack time!" Another kid calls.
Lucas studies my face for one more heartbeat. Then he says simply: "Okay. Bye, Mr. Thornwell."
And he walks away, leaving me kneeling on the classroom floor, completely shattered.
Lily appears beside me. "You made him sad."
"I didn't mean to—"
"You make everyone sad. Maybe you should stop doing that."
She walks away too, following her brother to snack time.
I stay on my knees in that empty classroom, my wolf howling with grief.
Mrs. Patterson touches my shoulder gently. "Mr. Thornwell? Are you alright?"
"No," I whisper. "I'm really not."
My phone buzzes. Text from Marcus:
"Ezra's on his way to the preschool. Running. You need to leave NOW."
I look up at the window. And there he is—Ezra, sprinting down the sidewalk toward the school, his face a mask of panic and fury.
He's coming for his children. Coming to protect them from me.
And I realize with horrible clarity that this wasn't bonding with my kids.
This was me proving I'm exactly what Ezra fears—the man who will do ANYTHING to get what he wants, even if it means traumatizing everyone involved.
I just ambushed my children at their school.
What the hell have I done?