Aaron was known for being vicious—cruel and merciless whenever he chose to be. In the boardroom or on the streets, he could tear people down with a single glance or a few cutting words. But when it came to his daughter, Leila Warner, everything changed. It was as if a different man existed beneath that harsh exterior. He had only ever known such immense love for his late wife, but the moment Leila was born, Aaron’s whole world shifted. Suddenly, nothing mattered more than his little girl.

“You don’t have to worry about babysitters,” he had told his sister one evening when she suggested they hire someone to help while he was busy with work. “I don’t trust them. No one’s going to watch over Leila like I do.” His voice was firm, almost stubborn.

“But Aaron, you’re stretched thin already. You can’t do everything,” she had insisted gently, worried about his health and stress.

He’d shaken his head, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “She’s my daughter. Work can wait. She can’t.”

Now, as he sat at his large oak desk, meticulously organizing papers and contracts, his eyes kept drifting to the soft, cream-colored rug spread neatly on the floor beside him. Leila, barely two years old, was seated there, playing quietly with her wooden blocks. He’d bought that rug specially so she wouldn’t have to crawl around on the cold, grimy floor of his office.

“Daddy,” she said suddenly, looking up with wide, trusting eyes. “Blocks!”

Aaron set down his pen and smiled warmly, scooting his chair back so he could lean down a little. “Yes, baby? You like the blocks?”

She giggled and reached out a tiny hand toward him. Aaron carefully picked her up and held her close for a moment, breathing in the soft scent of her hair.