The grand ballroom reeked of money—perfume so strong it stung your nose, roasted meat, sweat under all that silk. Elara barely noticed. To her, this place was a cage. She kept her head low, eyes locked on the silver tray trembling in her hands, gliding through the crowd like a ghost in a white apron. If she could just get through this shift, she'd have enough for Maya's medicine. That was all she cared about. Her daughter was waiting for her in that freezing, cramped basement apartment.
Then she saw him.
A little boy, maybe five, stood near a massive ice swan. Tiny black suit, hair combed so carefully he looked like a doll someone had forgotten. He looked lost, even with a hundred people swirling around him. When he turned, Elara's heart stuttered. His eyes were this deep, impossible blue—Maya's blue.
Elara's chest burned. Five years ago, she'd given birth to a child for a man she never met. They told her the baby died. Grief was all she got. But now, staring at this boy, her mind screamed: He looks just like my daughter.
Suddenly, everything changed. The music died in a jarring crash. At the far end of the hall, the giant glass doors didn't just open—they exploded inward. Three men stormed in, faces hidden, big black jackets, moving fast and purposeful. They weren't after the jewelry or money. They went straight for the boy.
"Leo!" A man's voice thundered from the balcony, raw terror tearing through the noise.
Chaos erupted. Guests screamed, stumbling over silk skirts, shoving each other toward the exits. The boy didn't move. He stood there, too scared even to cry, little fists shaking at his sides. One of the masked men grabbed his shoulder, knife glinting in the other hand.
Elara didn't think. She didn't care about her own safety, or Maya waiting at home. There was just a child in danger.
She dropped the tray. Glass shattered behind her as she ran, feet flying across the marble. She slammed into the man, arms wrapped tight around his waist. They crashed into the ice swan, shards of frozen water raining down.
"Run!" she screamed, voice ragged. "Leo, run to the stairs!"
The boy bolted. The man Elara tackled was strong—he snarled, breath hot and sour in her face, pinning her down. He raised his fist, but Elara fought like hell. She bit him, scratched, kicked. She'd already lost one child. She wasn't going to let another disappear in front of her.
Bang!
A gunshot split the air, biting into the ceiling. Everyone froze.
The man over Elara let go. Not because he wanted to—because someone far more dangerous stood behind him.
Killian Thorne had arrived.
He didn't look like a businessman. He looked like someone who could break you in half without blinking. Broad shoulders, cold stone face, presence so big it sucked up all the oxygen. He grabbed the attacker by the throat and tossed him across the floor like he weighed nothing. His security team swarmed in, pinning the other two men fast.
The danger passed, but the fear stayed, thick and sticky in the air.
Elara staggered to her feet. Her knees shook. Her shoulder throbbed from where she'd slammed into the ice. She needed to disappear—now—before anyone noticed. If the people running the surrogate program recognized her, she was finished.
She turned to slip away, but a hand like iron locked around her wrist.
She jerked backward, nearly hitting the wall of Killian Thorne's chest. He smelled sharp and expensive, cedar and storm. His eyes weren't grateful—they burned with something darker.
"Where are you going?" His voice was low and dangerous, the kind that made your skin prickle.
"I... I have to work," Elara stammered, barely above a whisper. She tried to pull free, but his grip only grew tighter.
"Look at me."
She forced her eyes up. For a second, everything stopped. She saw pain behind his anger—a wound as deep as her own. Then his gaze dropped to her arm.
During the fight, her sleeve had torn. On the inside of her wrist, just visible, was a faded tattoo—a tiny bird in flight. The mark given to every woman in the Thorne Surrogate Program.
Killian's face lost all color, then flushed hot and angry. His grip on her arm tightened, fingers biting into her skin.
"You," he hissed. Just that one word, but it sounded like he spat it out.
"Sir, please, you're hurting me," Elara said, her voice shaky. People were staring. Cameras went off—media catching every second.
Killian didn't blink. He barked at his head of security, "Clear the room. Now. And get the boy to the car."
"But sir, the police—"
"Now!" Killian snapped, voice booming through the hall.
The ballroom emptied fast. In minutes, everyone was gone. Only broken glass, puddles of melting ice, and the two of them left behind. Killian dragged Elara toward a smaller office tucked away at the back. He shouldered the door open and shoved her inside.
She stumbled, caught herself on the edge of a heavy desk. Her heart hammered so hard it made her dizzy. She spun to face him. "Why are you doing this? I saved your son! I helped him!"
Killian came at her slow, almost stalking. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a pair of silver handcuffs—small, but they glinted hard in the light.
"You faked it," he said, voice raw and shaking. "Five years ago, you took my money. You took my heart. Then you told me my child died in your womb and disappeared."
"No! That's not true!" Elara sobbed, tears finally spilling over. "They told me he was gone. I woke up in the hospital and they said—"
"Lies!" He slammed his palm down on the desk, the crack of it loud and sharp. "I looked for you everywhere. Every city. Every damn port. I thought you were dead. And now you're here, scrubbing floors in my building, watching my son like some vulture."
"I didn't know he was alive. I swear I didn't."
He didn't care. Didn't even pause. He grabbed her wrists and snapped the cuffs shut before she could even scream. The click of metal was cold and final.
Then he stepped in, crowding her against the desk. His face was inches from hers, so close she could see flecks of gold in his dark eyes. He inhaled, slow, almost like he was trying to remember her scent.
Killian leaned down, his breath hot against her ear as the handcuffs clicked. "You saved my son, but you have the eyes of a thief. Who are you really, and why do you smell like my greatest regret?"