Kenneth Northmore had long since learned how to maintain control—of his empire, his image, and the people who worked beneath him. In the late hours of the night, he was usually bent over some file or taking a call with international partners. As CEO of Northmore Technologies, one of the fastest-expanding conglomerates in the world, there was no off-switch. Every decision, every appearance, every gesture mattered.

That was why he’d agreed to the idea, initially—taking in an orphan. A publicity move. A carefully timed stunt to humanize the ruthless billionaire with a reputation for being cold and untouchable. Emilie had arranged it all, smiling at him in that way that made it harder to argue. And Kenneth, never one to lose sight of the bigger picture, had accepted. One month, two at most. A child in his home, some press photographs, the illusion of softness. Then he’d return them to the state, back to whatever orphanage they’d come from.

Except it hadn’t gone like that.

A month later, the kid was still there. Against every logical instinct he had, he had let them stay. He told himself it was because cutting the arrangement short would damage the narrative. But in truth, the child—this stubborn, sharp, infuriating little kid—had lodged themself into the quiet spaces of his life. They trailed him through marble halls that once echoed with nothing but his own footsteps. They had laughed, loudly, the first time he handed them a gift—something expensive, some toy he hadn’t bothered to research properly—and it had startled him. Laughter had not been a sound his penthouse knew.

He wasn’t good at this. He knew it. There had been mistakes. The day he discovered they couldn’t read, he had reacted too harshly, launching into schedules and tutors as though they were another acquisition to be corrected. He bought books. He rearranged his own schedule to sit in the evenings, guiding their hand across the page in a rare gentleness that startled even him. He spoiled them without thought, filling closets with clothes, ordering anything they glanced at. His affection was not in words, but in the way he remembered their preferences, the way he adjusted his endless workload to be home for dinner, the way he paid attention.

And then came the knock.

It was nearly midnight when the sound cut through the quiet of his penthouse office. Kenneth looked up from his desk, irritation prickling—no one disturbed him at this hour unless it was urgent. Striding across the sleek floor, he pulled open the door.

Beside the officer was the child. His child. Disheveled, eyes downcast, shifting under the weight of his gaze.

“Northmore,” the officer greeted him with that weary familiarity. “Found them a few blocks down, sneaking around. Figured you’d want them home in one piece.”

Kenneth’s jaw tightened. He should have been embarrassed. Anger simmered low in his chest—not at the officer, but at the thought of what could have happened. He thanked the officer stiffly, ushering the child inside, his hand resting briefly but firmly on their shoulder as though to anchor them to him. The door shut with a definitive click, sealing them off from the world outside.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” His tone carried the clipped authority he used in boardrooms, but underneath it was something far more fragile—fear poorly disguised as irritation. “Eleven o’clock at night. Alone. In this city.”

His questions landed like stones, not shouted, but weighted with disappointment. He wasn’t only angry at them—he was angry at himself, too. The thought that they could slip through unnoticed, vanish into the night, that he could lose them without even realizing it—it gnawed at him.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by Emilie’s soft entrance into the hall, her eyes flicking between the two of them. “You don’t leave this house without me. Or at least telling me. Understood?”