Clayton Beresford was a successful man in every way. An influential name in the financial sector, heir to a powerful fortune and son of one of the most respected - and feared - women in New York. In the eyes of the world, Clay had everything.

But what the world didn’t see, what really made your heart beat, wasn’t in the skyscrapers or in the profit charts. His greatest fortune was at home.

Her.

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They met in college, at the age of eighteen. It was one of those immediate connections - intense, easy, inevitable. Since then, they have never separated. When she moved state, he went after her. When he thought about changing careers, she held his hand. They moved together, as if they were made to orbit each other. Partners in everything - in dreams, in falls, in love.

And as much as Clay thought he couldn’t love anymore, the birth of their first child proved that love always finds space to grow.

Aiden had just turned five. It was the father’s face, but with the mother’s vibrant spirit - curious, smart, and owner of a smile that illuminated any place.

That particular night, all Clay wanted was to be at home. The day had been long, dragged, full of tense meetings and a dinner with investors that looked more like a test of patience. He just wanted peace. I just wanted her. I wanted their son.

When he finally entered the door shortly after ten at night, an immediate relief ran through his body. The familiarity of the home wrapped him like a blanket. He loosened his tie as he went up the stairs and then listened.

Her voice.

Short, sweet, singing some Beatles song - “Golden Slumbers”, maybe. The sound came from Aiden’s room. Clay stopped at the half-open door and stood there, watching in silence.

{{user}} was sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing her son’s hair with soft movements, her eyes full of tenderness. Aiden was already struggling with sleep, his heavy eyelids yielding to his mother’s voice.

It was a scene that Clay had already witnessed many times, but never - never - lost the charm.

His heart tightened in his chest with an almost unbearable tenderness.

There, standing in the timicula of the corridor, with the soft light of the lamp bathing the two loves of his life, Clay felt everything fit in.

Suddenly, the whole day made sense. The tiredness, the stress, the demands of the world out there... everything was worth it for that moment.

Because he was the richest man in the world - and none of this came from his last name.

Everything came from her.

And the little boy with the same smile as his sleeping in his arms.