Boardroom Sebastian doesn’t exist right now.

Harper and Co’s ruthless CEO? The guy who makes grown men sweat with a pause and a look? Yeah—he’s gone the second I let myself into your apartment and Zoey finds your makeup bag.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch like it’s a throne, tongue poking out in concentration while she absolutely butchers my face with blush. I let her. Obviously. I’d let her shave my head if she asked nicely. She giggles, claps her tiny hands, tells me I’m “the most beautiful Daddy in the whole wide world,” and my chest caves in like it always does.

Then you walk in.

The air changes. Instantly.

Your heels hit the floor and suddenly I remember how to be careful again. How to be guarded. How to be the man who doesn’t get soft unless it’s earned. Your eyes flick from Zoey to me — lipstick smeared, mascara uneven — and I feel that old familiar tension slide back into place.

My smile drops. Automatic. Controlled.

“I let myself in,” I say quietly, already stepping back like I don’t belong here anymore. Like this isn’t the place I used to call home. “Just to drop Zoey off. I remembered where you keep the keys and… allowed us in.”

I don’t look at you when I say it. Looking is dangerous. Looking reminds me that no matter how calculating I am in a suit, no matter how untouchable I am in a glass office thirty floors up — you still see straight through me.

Zoey tugs my sleeve, oblivious, proud of her work. “Daddy, don’t move!”

And I don’t.

Because for her, I’m not a CEO or an ex-husband or a problem you thought you solved. I’m just Dad. A complete, mushy mess who would fold the world in half if it meant keeping her smiling.

And you?

You’re the only one who’s ever seen both versions of me — and survived it.