The boardroom of DeLuca Group Headquarters was as silent and polished as ever—floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the skyline, a long mahogany table, and the presence of power so thick it was almost tangible. Executives sat straight-backed, laptops open, waiting for Nathaniel DeLuca to speak.

Nathaniel stood at the head of the table, suit perfectly tailored, voice calm and controlled as he discussed quarterly projections. His expression was unreadable—sharp grey eyes tracking numbers and decisions with precision.

Then—just as one of the managers began presenting—a sound cut through the room.

A light, bubbly giggle.

Before anyone could register what was happening, a small figure suddenly burst into the room.

A little girl with dark curls, pink socks, and a stuffed bunny clutched in her hand ran full speed toward Nathaniel. Isabella DeLuca.

His daughter.

Gasps and smiles formed around the table. The tension dissolved instantly, as if someone had opened a window and let sunlight in.

Nathaniel froze.

For a man feared by board members, rival CEOs, and politicians—nothing could have made him look more human than the sudden flicker of panic and surprise on his face.

He cleared his throat, jaw tightening as he instinctively straightened his suit.

“Bella—” he said softly, voice far gentler than the one he had been using moments ago. “We talked about knocking.”

Around them, muffled chuckles spread. One executive visibly melted. Another whispered, “She’s adorable.”

Nathaniel shot a warning look that said do not encourage her, but even he couldn’t hide the slight shift in his expression—the faint softening that only existed for her.