2 | Zayne

I am still searching for the enemy I battle-my past, lurking in the shadows, or my future, daring me forward? My emotions, wild and untamed, or my thoughts, relentless and unyielding? The war rages within me, but the battlefield remains unknown.

Perfection. That's what my life was. When I first laid eyes on her, when I loved her with a devotion that consumed me, when I held her in my arms and believed nothing could break us. When I stood beside her, slipping a ring onto her finger, promising forever. When she carried our child, the very essence of our love, and I thought the universe had gifted me its most precious treasure. My existence was seamless, unshaken-a man who had everything, a life sculpted by ambition, love, and purpose.

Phoenix Prime Inc. stood as an empire beneath my feet. I was its ruler, the master of an empire built with ruthless precision. My father sat upon his throne as the Chairman, my elder brother as the Vice Chairman, and the rest-mere players in a game they barely understood. Investors, shareholders, partners. Names that didn't matter, faces that blurred together, voices that I ignored unless they spoke of progress. I didn't care for them. I never did. I only cared for the empire, for expansion, for dominance.

My brother, the perfectionist, orchestrated our overseas dealings, ensuring Phoenix Prime stretched its wings across every corner of the world.

And I wanted it all.

Industries bowed before us-medicine, technology, construction, media, fashion, shipping, logistics, education. Our name was imprinted on everything. A multi-sector corporation that moved the world like an unseen force, whispering in the ears of giants.

Yet for all the power, for all the wealth, for all the worlds I conquered-one thing eluded me.

My wife.

Or, as the world insists, my ex-wife. But what do words matter? What does ink on fragile paper dictate? Who decided that love could be severed with a signature? What a cruel joke.

Fuck the laws that dared to claim she was no longer mine.

And Asher-my son, my heart, my reason. My bundle of energy, of unstoppable, untamed fire. He reminded me so much of my father, the man who refused to be still, who crossed oceans and built empires even when his firstborn was capable of carrying his legacy.

My family cherished me. They always had. Just as I cherished the two souls I had lost-my wife and my son.

Evangeline Laurent. The woman who once carried my name. Evangeline Lancaster. The woman who, two years ago, tore it from her identity as though it held no weight. As though it didn't bind us together, through every whispered promise and every shattered vow.

My Little Tigress.

Fierce. Untamed. Defiant. Short Tempered. Possessive little creature.

Her anger only ever made me smile. She could roar, she could snarl, she could try to sever herself from me with all the force she could muster-

But she would always be mine.

God, she was beautiful. Breathtaking. A vision that stole the air from my lungs.

The goddess of temptation.

The very definition of elegance.

The epitome of beauty.

The queen of possessiveness.

The mother of short-tempers.

-one whose fire could burn, whose touch could ruin, whose love could consume.

I could have given her a hundred more titles, and she would have deserved every single one. Not just from me, but from our family, from the world itself. She carried them effortlessly, like a crown only she was worthy to wear. And above all, I loved it when she was jealous-when her possessiveness burned like wildfire, scorching anyone who dared to overstep, when that fierce possessiveness wrapped around me like chains of silk and fire.

Memories of her came to me like waves against the shore, relentless and unyielding, each one more vivid than the last. They found me in my weakest moments, refusing to fade, refusing to let me forget.

And then there was the courtroom. The day we signed away our marriage, the day the law declared us strangers. The memory was still fresh, carved into the walls of my mind like an unhealed wound.

I could still see her, seated across from me, poised and unshaken-until my secretary made the mistake of looking at me for a little too long.

That glare.

That lethal, unforgiving glare Eva shot at her-sharp enough to turn the courtroom into a war zone.

And me-I was the only man who ever laughed like a maniac right after signing his own divorce.

But if there was one thing about her that could bring even gods to their knees, it was her self-respect. A hell of a thing-unyielding, unshakable. I could have worshiped her for it.

My Eva.

She refused alimony without a second thought, her voice ringing with that quiet defiance I both loved and loathed. "I can work. I can take care of myself and my child." And she could-I never doubted that. She had always been strong, always capable. But something inside me twisted at the thought. I should have forced her to take something, anything, just to ease the weight on her shoulders. Just to make sure she never had to worry, never had to struggle.

Instead, I gave her full custody of Asher. Not because I didn't want to fight for him. Not because I wanted to let go. But because I wanted her to breathe, to not carry another burden on top of the wreckage we had become.

But I was still his father.

So I found myself in Manhattan more often than I should have, using my son as an excuse. A reason. A justification for why I still needed to see her, even when she wanted nothing to do with me.

Her family had pleaded with her to stay, to let them shelter her, but Eva, Stubborn as ever. She refused outright. Sold her jewels, every shimmering piece I had once draped around her, and bought a home-for Asher, for herself. And I could only stand from a distance, watching her build a life without me.

My family adored her. She wasn't just my wife-she was my father's favorite, the daughter he never had. Their bond remained unbroken, their conversations untouched by the wreckage of our marriage. They still spoke.

But not me.

My life had become a cruel joke.

"Zayne, I want to see my grandson. Now." My father's voice carried the weight of finality.

How? How could I bring him here when she barely let me take him across the street, let alone out of town? Los Angeles? She would have my head for even suggesting it.

"You can come with me," I muttered, already dressed, already set to leave. I didn't want to argue, not today. Jesus Christ.

"You can bring her here. With Asher."

I almost laughed. Did he have any idea what he was asking? Would he be the one to face her fury?

No. That was my cross to bear.

"I'll talk to her, Dad." The words were short, clipped, a dismissal more than a promise.

And then I left. No more explanations. No more arguments. Just the endless stretch of distance between where I stood-and the woman I still called mine.

But when I arrived, a surprise awaited me.

Eva-my Eva-was outside, working on the lawn, her hands gripping the mower, her body moving with effortless grace. And then there was her ass-perfect, sinful, demanding my full attention like the golden light of dawn breaking through the darkest night.

I could have stayed silent, let my eyes drink her in, let the moment stretch into infinity while I watched her work-or rather, watched that mesmerizing sway. But my mouth, reckless as ever, refused to obey.

What could I possibly do when that thing was practically begging for my attention? So I spanked her ass.

And then, as if the universe itself wanted to remind me of what truly mattered, a small blur of energy shot toward me. My son. My baby boy.

Asher.

Two long months had passed since I last held him, since I last felt his tiny arms wrap around me, since I last breathed in the scent of innocence and warmth that only a child could carry. And now, with his arms clinging to me, his laughter echoing in my ears, I was in heaven. My Asher-my piece of heaven.

Every time I came here, I stayed in Manhattan for at least a week, just so I could be close to him. And... to her. But mostly to Asher, because Eva was always busy with work. So, I picked Ash up from preschool, let him choose where he wanted to eat, what he wanted to do, what he wanted to buy.

And, of course, Eva had a few choice words for me every time he returned home with his arms full of toys and his little heart full of mischief. She scolded me in every colorful way she could muster, frustration spilling from her lips like a beautiful storm. But I didn't care.

Asher was my son. My pride. My joy.

And if he wanted the world, I would give him the sky. If he wanted the sky, I would give him the universe.

Because he deserved every single inch of it.

"Daddy, Daddy! Will you buy me a bike? Jake said he has the coolest bike ever and his dad bought that for him."

Asher's voice, bubbling with excitement, broke through the silence, his big brown eyes gleaming with more enthusiasm than usual-like tiny suns bursting with endless energy.

I settled onto the couch, pulling him into my arms, feeling the warmth of my little universe pressed against me. "Anything you want and will buy the best bike ever." I murmured, my lips brushing against his soft hair.

His entire face lit up, his eyes shimmering with uncontained joy. It was the kind of look that could break apart galaxies, the kind of happiness that was pure, untouched, and irreplaceable. I leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before my gaze wandered outside.

Eva was still in the yard, not yet finished with the lawn.

I turned back to my son, brushing a hand over his hair. "You've been behaving, right? You're not giving Mommy extra work, hmm?"

He shook his head, grinning up at me. "I've been a good boy for Daddy."

I smiled, my fingers ruffling his already messy hair. "Mommy works so hard, Ash. You, be a man and behave, alright? Promise Daddy." I held out my pinky.

Without hesitation, his tiny finger curled around mine, locking us into an unbreakable bond. "I will be a good boy. And a man, Daddy." His giggles rang out, light and sweet, the kind of sound that made the world feel softer.

I had no doubt about that.

Asher might be full of energy, always moving, always curious, but he was perceptive. He read situations better than most children his age. He didn't throw tantrums or demand things the way some kids did when they didn't get their way.

Eva was firm, giving him only what was necessary, never more, never less. I, on the other hand, spoiled him endlessly. Yet, despite that, he never acted out when he was with her. He never cried over things he didn't get.

Too mature for a four-year-old.

"Daddy, what is an intepeter?" His small voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"A what?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Intepeter," he repeated, looking up at me with pure curiosity. "Mommy talked about that on the phone."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Interpreter, Ash."

"Intepeter," he tried again, stubborn in his innocence.

I laughed, my chest filling with something indescribable. God, this kid was adorable.

I talked and played with Ash for a few more minutes before she walked in.

My eyes locked onto her, drawn in like a tide surrendering to the pull of the moon. But she didn't even spare me a glance. Not a flicker of acknowledgment. Nothing. Ash took my phone from my pocket.

"You know... you could wear tank tops instead of hiding behind those full-sleeve T-shirts," I mused, stretching my arms over the back of the couch, my gaze shamelessly trailing after her.

Ash, oblivious to the charged silence, tapped away at my phone, his little fingers moving with unbothered ease.

She didn't hesitate. "First of all, who said you could walk in?"

"My son," I shrugged, the corners of my lips curving up.

"Yes, Mommy!" Asher chimed in enthusiastically, bouncing on my lap. "Daddy said he was tired. And Daddy told me to be a man. A man helps another man, right, Mommy?" Said with his flawless logic and innocence.

I raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. The innocence, the absolute conviction in his voice-he truly believed he was standing on solid ground.

Eva's steps faltered in the hallway. She turned, looking at Asher first, then shifting her glare onto me. I lifted my hands in mock surrender, a silent What did I do? expression playing on my face. She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line before she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Can I get a coffee?" I called out, my voice carrying an edge of feigned helplessness. "I haven't eaten yet,"

A pause. A flicker of hope.

Then, a flat and unforgiving voice floated out from the kitchen. "There's a restaurant two blocks away. Go there."

Asher giggled, his small body shaking against mine. He cupped his hands around his mouth like he was about to reveal the world's greatest secret. "Mommy is mad at you," he whispered.

I leaned down, mirroring his hushed tone. "Why?"

His little face scrunched up in exaggerated thought before he nodded sagely. "Because you didn't come home for a looooooong time." He stretched the word out like it held the weight of eternity.

I narrowed my eyes playfully. "Did your mother say that?"

He shook his head. "No. But I know Mommy." His voice softened, the playful edge slipping away. "She missed you." He paused, meeting my gaze. "Like I missed you."

My heart plummeted.

The smile I had worn so carelessly vanished in an instant. My mind short-circuited, words dissolving on my tongue, leaving behind nothing but the weight of his quiet confession.

I pulled him into a tight embrace, holding onto him as if I could rewind time, as if I could erase the nights he had missed me. "I'm sorry, Ash," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His tiny fingers clung to my shirt, his breath warm against my neck. "I know you have work, Daddy," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken longing. "But I still miss you so much."

That was it. That was my undoing.

This little man was my weakness.

"Don't cry, Ash. Daddy's here, right?" I stroked his back, the gentle rhythm meant to soothe him as much as it was to steady myself. He nodded slightly, but I could still feel his small body pressed against mine, as if he was afraid I would slip away again.

I took a deep breath, forcing a smile back onto my face. "Okay, your grandpa said he wanted to see you. When are we going?"

His sorrow evaporated instantly. He pulled back, his eyes wide with excitement. "Grandpa?" His voice lifted, filled with newfound energy. "I want to see him too!"

I held his little hands as he stood up on my lap, his weight barely noticeable. My phone slipped from his grasp, landing on the floor with a dull thud, forgotten in seconds.

Nothing could hold his attention for more than five minutes. I chuckled under my breath.

"Daddy, Your suit is awesome!" He cupped his cheeks and looked at my suit up and down.

I arched a brow. "Let's get you one. Anything else, sir?"

"You're spoiling him."

Eva's voice drifted through the room as she walked out of the kitchen, her gaze landing on us with that familiar mix of exasperation and quiet amusement.

"No," I corrected smoothly, meeting her eyes. "I'm giving him what he wants." My voice dropped just a fraction. "Because he deserves it."

And then, I did what I always did. I let my gaze sweep over her, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she looked standing there-beautiful, defiant, mine.

With a smirk, I covered Ash's ears and murmured, "I can buy you some lingerie too. If you're up for it."

That did the magic.

A delicate blush crept up her neck, blooming like the petals of a forbidden flower.

God, she was stunning.

"Why's Mommy red?"

Ash tilted his head, scrutinizing her with curious eyes.

That was it.

I lost it. A burst of laughter escaped me, rich and unrestrained. I threw my head back against the couch, the sound rolling through the room like a melody I had forgotten how to play. It had been a long time since I laughed this hard-too long.

"It's called bl-"

Eva cut me off before I could finish. "Just cold, Muffin," she rushed out, her hands flying up to shield her neck like it would somehow erase the evidence.

Ash blinked, accepting her answer with a simple "Oh," before turning his fascination to my cufflink, rolling it between his tiny fingers. That was how he worked-always finding something new to latch onto, to keep his restless hands busy.

I leaned back, watching her. "Can I have a coffee? I'm really hungry."

She didn't respond. Just leveled me with a look sharp enough to slice through bone.

I grinned. "Of course, you could always shoo my hunger away in another way, too. I wouldn't mind."

Her lips parted, eyes narrowing. There it is.

"Asshole," she mouthed silently.

I chuckled, mouthing back, "Please?"

A roll of her eyes. A sharp turn on her heels. And just like that, she disappeared into the kitchen.

I exhaled, my gaze drifting down to the boy on my lap. He was watching me, eyes wide, hesitant, like he had been holding onto a thought too big for his little mind.

"Daddy, can I ask you something?" His voice was soft, uncertain. "You won't get mad, right?"

I frowned. When have I ever gotten mad at my son?

"Not in this lifetime, buddy. Go on."

He hesitated for just a second before whispering, "Can you change my mattress? It went flat." His voice was hopeful, his hands gripping mine like the request was heavier than it should be.

A simple thing. But to him, it wasn't.

"We can change your whole bed," I murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair.

A wide grin stretched across his little face, his arms flinging around my neck. "You're the best dad ever!"

Eva emerged from the kitchen, placing a cup of coffee on the table with a quiet clink. "He can use the same mattress," she stated, her tone edged with finality.

"I'm doing this for my son." My voice was calm, but firm. "It's your choice if you don't want anything, but you can't stop me from doing what I need to do for him. He's my son too, Eva. Don't act like this just because you have the cust-"

I caught myself just in time. The words nearly slipped past my lips.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temple. Frustration seeped through every fiber of my vein. I wouldn't do this in front of Ash. Not like this.

"Ash," I said, voice softer now, controlled. "Go to your room, buddy."

"Okayyy!" His little feet hit the ground, and he bolted toward the stairs, squealing, "NEW BED!!!" as he walked on the hall.

I watched him go, my jaw tightening.

This family should've been whole. Should've been perfect.

Instead, we were this.

Half-shattered. Half-holding on.

And I didn't know how much longer I could hold it without breaking anything.

I watched him disappear into his room, his small footsteps fading into the silence.

"You can't talk like that in front of my son," Eva snapped.

I lifted my gaze to her, amusement curling at the edges of my lips. "Your son? Just yours? Tell me, Eva, did he miraculously appear in your womb like the second coming of Christ?" My brow arched as I took a slow step forward. "No. But because I buried my cock inside you five years ago without protection, and that's how he came to be. So let's not rewrite our history -he's my son too."

I crossed my arms, watching her, waiting.

Her lips curled in defiance. "I could've had him without you. I could've had him with anyone else instead of you."

A slow, humorless chuckle rumbled in my chest.

"Yes, you could have birthed a child." I stood up from the couch. "But not him. Not my Asher. You would've had a brat, not this angel."

I closed the space between us in a single, deliberate step. "And don't ever talk like that in front of me. Ever. In this lifetime, Eva, there is only me. If you so much as mention another man in my place, I will tear him apart. Limb by limb. I don't care who he is. Understand?"

Our breaths tangled in the charged air, the heat of my presence making her swallow hard. Because she knew-I never made empty threats.

Lifting my hand, I brushed my thumb over her cheek, slow and deliberate, a caress laced with warning. "Understand?" I repeated.

She nodded, her defiance wavering for a fraction of a second.

"Good girl." I Murmured and stepped back, just enough to break the magnetic pull between us. "I'll be back after four. I'm taking Asher to the theme park."

She only stared, her silence louder than any words.

Adjusting my tie, I grabbed my phone from the floor and walked out, the air thick with everything left unsaid.

How dare she? How dare she talk about another man as if he could stand where I stood?

Asher was mine. My son.

And Eva.

She was mine too. Always had been. Always would be.

Nothing could change that. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

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