CELESTE
The elevator ride to the Cross penthouse was the most suffocating sixty seconds of my life. Gabriel was whimpering into my shoulder, his small hands clutching my blouse. Surrounding us were the titans of two empires: the Lawsons, smelling of desperation and old-money perfume, and the Crosses, radiating cold, calculated power.
When the doors opened, we were ushered into a living room that felt more like a courtroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a New York City that looked like a toy set, but inside, the air was thick enough to choke on.
"Sit," Doncan Cross commanded. It wasn't an invitation.
I didn't sit. I walked to the far end of the room, keeping Gabriel in my arms. "I want to leave. Maya is waiting for us downstairs."
"Maya Vance can wait in the lobby," Allen said, his voice low. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, but his eyes were sharper than ever. He stood between me and the rest of the room—a shield I wasn't sure I could trust.
"Now, let's be civil," Margot Lawson said, smoothing her skirt as she sat on a velvet armchair. The disgust she had shown Gabriel at the park had vanished, replaced by a terrifying, predatory gleam. "We were clearly misinformed about the paternity. If we had known the child was a Cross, we would never have... distanced ourselves from Celeste."
"Distanced?" I let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "You threw me out in the rain! You froze my bank accounts! You told me my son was a 'bastard thing'!"
Doncan's head snapped toward Margot. "You said that? To a child of my blood?"
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Doncan Cross might be a ruthless businessman, but to him, family legacy was a religion.
"It was a misunderstanding of the highest order," Laurel Lawson stammered, his face sweating. "We were protecting the family name. We didn't realize Celeste had been involved with someone of Allen's... caliber."
"He's not a 'caliber'!" I shouted. "He's a person! And Gabriel is not a bargaining chip for your failing tech firm!"
"Enough!" Allen's voice rang out, silencing the room. He turned to the Lawsons. "You have no claim to this child. You disowned the mother, you forfeited the son. You will leave this penthouse, and you will never contact Celeste or Gabriel again. If I see your names in the same sentence as theirs in a headline, I will short your stock until Lawson Tech is a footnote in a bankruptcy textbook."
Margot stood up, her face contorting. "You can't do that. We are his grandparents!"
"You are strangers," Allen countered. "Security is waiting at the door. Get out."
I watched, stunned, as my parents—the people who had ruled my life with fear for twenty years—were escorted out like common trespassers. Chris lingered for a moment, looking at me with a pathetic sort of regret, before the doors slid shut.
But the relief was short-lived. I turned to find Doncan Cross staring at Gabriel with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
"He needs a trust fund," Doncan said, already reaching for his phone. "And a security detail. He can't live in a brownstone in Brooklyn. It's a kidnapping risk. We'll move them into the Upper East Side townhouse. I'll have the lawyers draw up the recognition of paternity by morning."
"No," I said, my voice trembling but loud.
Doncan blinked, as if he'd never heard the word before. "Excuse me?"
"No trust funds. No townhouses. And no lawyers," I said, stepping toward him. "You don't get to just 'claim' him because you like his eyes. He is a person, not a merger. You didn't care about him when he was a 'bastard' in Brooklyn, and you don't get to own him now."
"Celeste, be reasonable," Doncan said, his voice dipping into that patronizing tone men use when they think a woman is being emotional. "He is the future of Apex."
"He is the future of himself," I fired back.
"Father, leave us," Allen intervened. He walked over to Doncan, his hand on the older man's shoulder. "I'll handle this. You're scaring the boy."
Doncan grumbled, looking at Gabriel one last time—a look of pure, possessive pride—before retreating to his study.
Finally, it was just us. Allen, me, and a sleepy Gabriel.
Allen walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. The silence stretched between us, heavy and complicated.
"He's right about one thing," Allen said quietly, not looking at me. "The world knows now. The Lawsons will try to use him. The press will hunt you. You can't go back to that brownstone tonight."
"I have to," I whispered. "It's the only home he knows."
Allen turned. The moonlight hit his face, making him look less like a billionaire and more like the man I'd met three years ago—haunted and lonely.
"Stay here," he said.
"Allen—"
"Not as my 'analyst.' Not as a 'scandal,'" he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a raw, honest register. "Stay here because I can protect you. Stay here because I want to know him. And because..." He paused, his gaze dropping to my lips before snapping back to my eyes. "Because I realize I've spent three years building a kingdom for a ghost. I don't want to be alone in it anymore."
I looked around the cold, magnificent penthouse. It was a palace, but it was also a cage. Yet, looking at Allen, I saw the truth.
He was just as trapped as I was.
"One night," I said, my heart racing. "Until I can talk to Maya and find a plan."
"One night," he agreed.
He reached out, his fingers brushing Gabriel's soft cheek. Gabriel stirred in his sleep, reaching out instinctively to grab Allen's thumb.
Allen froze. A look of such pure, naked vulnerability crossed his face that I felt my own walls begin to crumble. He looked down at the tiny hand curled around his finger, and for the first time, the "Ice King" looked like he was finally starting to melt.
"He's perfect, Celeste," he whispered.
"I know," I replied.
But as I watched them, I knew this wasn't the end of the war. With Yona Vance and Anastasia Thorne out there, and my parents backed into a corner, the scandal wasn't over.
It was just getting started.