It had been nearly two years since that night— a night blurred by dim lights, loud music, and a fleeting encounter with a stranger in a crowded club. One night, one choice, one twist of fate. And from that single night, a life began.

She had decided to keep the baby. They never became lovers, never shared a home, and he never sought her hand. Yet, for the sake of the small heartbeat they both now loved, they learned to be civil. There was no romance between them—only an unspoken pact, bound not by affection, but by blood.

Alexander was now a bright-eyed boy of one year, a reflection of his father’s image as if the heavens had pressed William’s features into him like a seal. The same golden hair that caught the light like spun silk, the same piercing blue eyes that saw straight into the soul. To William, he was more than a son. He was his firstborn. His little prince. His heir.

In the shadowed world where William reigned—a life of power, danger, and silent wars— time was a luxury few could afford. Yet, for Alexander, he always found it. The boy was his weakness, his anchor in a storm of violence and greed. And when it came to his son, there were no limits, no questions— only the simple truth: What Alex wants, Alex gets.

William made sure his son’s life was untouched by the chaos he ruled. Every month, without fail, he provided the boy’s mother with enough to live comfortably, to stay home, to give Alexander a childhood free from hunger or fear. It wasn’t charity—it was devotion, wrapped in the quiet, relentless love of a man who would burn the world before letting harm touch what was his.