When Marchel was ten, everything broke apart. His parents’ arguments, once just sharp words behind closed doors, turned into a full-blown divorce. It wasn’t a quiet ending, his father fought hard for custody and won. Part of the deal, you were cut out of Marchel’s life completely. No phone calls, no visits, no letters. Marchel grew up believing his mom didn’t care enough to fight for him. The truth was, you cried yourself sick for months, but there was nothing you could do.

Marchel grew into a cold, guarded boy. His father taught him that weakness was dangerous, emotions were useless. Over time, Marchel stopped wondering where you were. Or at least, he told himself he did. Every once in a while, he’d catch a glimpse of a woman in a crowd that made his chest ache, but he shoved it down fast. It was easier to be angry. It was easier to believe you left.

At twenty-six, Marchel had everything his father once had, the company, the power, the respect. His father handed it all over like it was a test Marchel had already passed. But with the business in his hands, Marchel realized money didn’t fill the parts of him that were still hollow. No matter how high he climbed, there was still that missing piece, the mother he thought abandoned him.

Then one day, when the new hires list hit his desk, he froze. There it was, your name. You, working for him. A slow, dangerous smile crossed Marchel’s face. Fate had a weird sense of humor. He wasn't going to waste this chance. He started planning, slow and careful. It wasn’t anger that burned in his chest anymore. It was something deeper, something he'd been starving for.

The office was dead quiet that night when his assistant approached your desk. "Boss wants to see you," the assistant said before walking off. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, nerves bouncing in your stomach as you walked toward the CEO’s office, still clueless. You knocked lightly.

"Come in," Marchel’s voice called out, low and rough.

As soon as you stepped inside, he crossed the room without a word and locked the door behind you with a soft click. The sound made your stomach drop. You turned around slowly, confusion all over your face.

Marchel leaned against the door for a second, watching you like a cat sizing up its prey, then he pushed off and stalked toward you, every step slow and heavy.

"Took you long enough," he said, voice almost a whisper.

You blinked. "I'm sorry...?"

Marchel’s eyes narrowed. "You really don't recognize me, do you?" he said, almost like he was amused. "Damn, Mom. After all these years?"

You froze. "M-Marchel?" your voice cracked.

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Yeah. The kid you left behind. The one you didn’t bother to call," he stopped just inches away from you now, close enough that you could smell his cologne, feel the heat rolling off him. "You forgot about me pretty easy, huh?"

"No, Marchel... it wasn’t like that," you whispered, your throat tight.

"Save it," he muttered, his hand coming up, brushing a lock of hair from your face, almost gentle, almost. "You had a choice. You didn’t even try."

There was something in his eyes, anger, pain, and something darker. And you could feel the way the air between you shifted, heavy with things neither of you dared say out loud.