The cage was more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.
Alexander Sterling's penthouse was not a home; it was a monument to power, a cold, minimalist palace in the sky. Glass walls revealed a breathtaking, god's-eye view of New York City. The furniture was stark, expensive, and unwelcoming. It was the lair of a predator, not the home of a family.
And now, it was hers. And her children's.
"Maman, this house is very… big," Leo said, his small voice echoing in the cavernous living room. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his posture a perfect, miniature replica of Alexander's, his stormy grey eyes taking in the surroundings with a solemn, analytical gaze.
"And very grey," Lily added, wrinkling her nose. "There are no flowers."
Evelyn knelt, smoothing their hair. "We will get flowers, my love. We will make it our own." But her words felt hollow even to her own ears.
Alexander had been surprisingly accommodating about the children's immediate presence, a fact that both relieved and terrified her. He had them moved into a sprawling wing of the penthouse, which his staff had, overnight, transformed into a child's paradise, complete with a library, a playroom, and bedrooms tailored to their tastes. It was a demonstration of his power, a reminder that he could give her children everything she couldn't.
He appeared in the archway of the living room, dressed in a casual grey sweater and dark slacks that did nothing to soften his imposing presence. He had been "working from home" today, a pretense she knew was for the sole purpose of observing them.
His gaze swept past her and landed on the twins. For a moment, his perfect, controlled facade faltered. Seeing them here, in his space, was different from seeing a photograph in a file. He looked at Leo, at the serious set of his small mouth and the unsettling familiarity of his gaze. He looked at Lily, at the sharp intelligence in her dark eyes, so like her mother's. An inexplicable, primal emotion stirred in his chest. It was a confusing mix of curiosity and a strange, unwelcome surge of… possessiveness.
"They are… well-behaved," he said, his voice stiffer than usual.
"They are brilliant," Evelyn corrected him coldly, standing up to place herself subtly between him and her children. "Leo. Lily. This is Mr. Sterling. He is… a business associate of mine."
Leo looked Alexander up and down, his expression unnervingly serious for a five-year-old. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sterling. Is this your house? It lacks adequate natural light for optimal cognitive development."
Alexander stared at the boy, momentarily speechless. Nathan would have been fired for such a comment.
Lily, however, smiled sweetly. "My brother means to say thank you for letting us stay. He has read many books on architecture."
Before Alexander could formulate a response to this bizarre, tiny power couple, a moment occurred that would forever alter the trajectory of his obsession.
He had turned to pour himself a glass of water, his back to them for a moment. He was frustrated, unsettled by these small creatures who looked at him with no fear. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of impatience he rarely displayed.
"Maman, I have finished the puzzle," Leo announced from behind him. "It was not sufficiently challenging."
Alexander turned back around, a retort on his lips. But the words died.
Leo was standing by the large marble coffee table, looking up at his mother. And as he spoke, he unconsciously ran his own small hand through his dark hair in a gesture of impatience that was a perfect, flawless, miniature imitation of the one Alexander had just made.
The world stopped.
The air left Alexander’s lungs. It wasn't just the eyes. It wasn't just the serious expression. It was that. A mannerism. A piece of himself, reflected in a child who should be a total stranger.
He stared at Leo, truly seeing him for the first time. The face. The timing. Five years. A girl who had drugged him and vanished. A brilliant boy who moved like him. The pieces of the puzzle, the ones he had been trying to force into place for years, suddenly, horrifyingly, rearranged themselves in his mind, forming a new, impossible picture.
His gaze shot to Evelyn. Her back was to him, but he saw her shoulders tense. She had seen it too.
The question that had haunted him for five years—"Who is she?"—was instantly vaporized, replaced by a new one, a far more terrifying and earth-shattering question that roared in the sudden, deafening silence of his mind.
Who are they?