Chapter 4
1534words
His gaze swept past her into the apartment.
What eyes they were—no longer storming with rage or deathly quiet as in the hospital, but hungry, almost predatory as they cataloged every detail. He was examining her home—the life she and Leo had built without him.
"May I come in?" His voice was terrifyingly calm.
Ilara's lips formed refusal, but no sound emerged. She stepped back wordlessly, yielding passage.
Killian entered.
His presence instantly shattered the apartment's warmth. He was too tall, too commanding, making the cozy space feel suffocating. Everything—Leo's crayon art, the stuffed animals, the modest vase of flowers—seemed to defy his sterile world.
His gaze swept the room before settling on Leo's half-open bedroom door.
He moved toward it.
"Don't!" Ilara's protest burst out instinctively.
Killian merely turned, fixing her with a look that brooked no argument.
Ilara's feet turned to lead. She could only watch helplessly as he invaded the most sacred, vulnerable part of her world.
Killian stopped at Leo's bedside.
He gazed down at the sleeping child.
For the first time, in silence and proximity, he truly studied his son.
Asleep, Leo's cheeks were flushed, his long lashes casting delicate shadows. His small brows furrowed slightly, as if his dreams still held echoes of the day's distress.
Killian's hand rose slowly, hovering millimeters from Leo's cheek, trembling visibly.
In the end, he didn't touch him.
He stood frozen for what seemed like eternity.
Finally, he straightened, took one last lingering look at the sleeping child, turned, and quietly closed the door behind him.
He returned to face Ilara.
"I see it now," he said, his voice rough as gravel. "He is my son."
Ilara trembled, closing her eyes against the pain.
"Now, let's discuss his future," Killian spoke as if outlining a business transaction. "Starting tomorrow, you and Leo will move into my apartment."
Ilara's eyes flew open. "You're insane!"
"I'm not insane. I'm correcting a mistake." His eyes were glacial. "I've missed four years. I won't miss another day."
"Impossible!" Ilara exploded. "This is our home! Leo's home! We're not going anywhere with you!"
"Are you trying to negotiate?" Killian's smile was razor-sharp. "Ilara, you're not in a position to negotiate. Not anymore."
He stepped closer, delivering his ultimatum with arctic precision.
"Two options. First: you and my son move into my penthouse. You'll want for nothing. He'll have the best education, healthcare, opportunities—everything."
His gaze locked onto her like a predator.
"Second: you refuse. Then tomorrow morning, my legal team will demonstrate exactly how foolish that decision would be."
Ilara felt as if she were drowning, pressure crushing her from all sides. She stared at the merciless stranger before her, trembling uncontrollably.
"You can't do this," she choked out. "He's my son! I carried him, birthed him! You can't take him from me!"
"He's your son, but also mine." Killian's voice held unwavering conviction and raw possessiveness. "Five years ago, you took what was mine. I'm simply reclaiming it."
He leaned close to her ear, his whisper for her alone, each word precisely measured.
"You will be his mother. I will be his father."
"Together."
He straightened and gave her one final look—the look of a man regarding something already his.
Then he turned and left without a backward glance.
The door clicked shut, sealing out the world.
Ilara collapsed, sliding down the wall to the floor. She buried her face in her knees as desperate sobs tore from her throat.
It was over.
The peaceful life she'd built over five years had shattered in a single night.
That man had forced his way back into her world with brutal efficiency, claiming her and her son as his newest possessions.
Eventually, Ilara raised her head and wiped her tears. Her eyes, first wild with despair, gradually emptied to resigned numbness.
She rose and moved like an automaton to the closet, pulling out a dusty suitcase.
Five years ago, she'd fled his world with this same case.
Five years later, she would drag it back to the gilded cage she'd sworn never to enter again.
* * *
Their belongings were pathetically few—one suitcase and several cardboard boxes, dumped in the guest room by Killian's assistant. Seeing these familiar items—vessels of their simple life—carelessly piled in a corner of this vast, sterile space triggered a profound sense of violation.
Leo remained oblivious to his mother's turmoil.
Childish curiosity temporarily overrode anxiety. On bare feet, he cautiously explored the mirror-polished floors, tilting his head back in wonder at the massive windows dominating an entire wall.
"Mom, are we living in the clouds?" He pointed at wisps of white drifting past the window, eyes sparkling with wonder.
Ilara's heart twisted. She knelt behind him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on his head. "Yes, buddy. Just for a while."
How could she explain this situation to a four-year-old? Coercion? Power plays? Legal threats? She could only offer vague half-truths that convinced neither of them.
Killian was absent. In the vast penthouse, only mother and son remained. A kindly butler showed them around, explaining that Mr. Davenport was at the office but had instructed they should make themselves at home.
"Make yourselves at home." What bitter irony.
Ilara felt like a songbird in a golden cage—more luxurious than her old home, but a prison all the same.
That evening, Killian returned.
He shrugged off his jacket, handed it to the waiting butler, and loosened his tie as he walked. When he spotted the two figures in the living room, his steps faltered.
Leo sat on the plush carpet, absorbed in his worn wooden blocks from home. At the sound of footsteps, he looked up curiously at the tall stranger.
When Killian's eyes met Leo's, something complex flickered in their depths.
Nervousness. Uncertainty. Awkwardness.
He cleared his throat. "Martha."
"Sir," the butler responded promptly.
"The items I requested?"
"Ready in the children's room, sir."
Killian nodded toward a hallway, silently commanding Ilara to follow.
The "children's room" was larger than Ilara's entire bedroom. What lay inside left her speechless.
The space overflowed with toys—a life-sized teddy bear, elaborate race car tracks, the entire LEGO Star Wars collection, animatronic dinosaurs that looked eerily real... This wasn't a bedroom but a showroom, a toy store emptied of its inventory.
Every toy a child might dream of, in quantities that defied reason.
Killian Davenport, master of a billion-dollar empire, had approached fatherhood the only way he knew how—by throwing money at it, creating what he imagined a child would want.
His gesture was clumsy yet carried a heartbreaking innocence.
He clearly expected Leo's face to light up with joy. Instead, the boy stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide with confusion rather than delight. Rather than rushing forward as expected, Leo stepped back, clutching Ilara's clothes.
A flicker of disappointment and confusion crossed Killian's face.
Awkward silence filled the room.
Ilara sighed inwardly. She crouched to Leo's level. "What's wrong, buddy? Don't you like the toys?"
Leo shook his head. "It's too much..."
Ilara stroked his hair, then stood to face Killian. For the first time since arriving, she addressed him directly. "It's okay. We can explore it all gradually."
Leo hesitated, then nodded.
.
Despite the room full of new toys, that night Leo played with his old blocks beside his mother.
He hadn't finished his castle yet, and wanted to complete it before exploring anything new.
Killian stood in the doorway, watching mother and son.
After a long moment, he finally approached.
He stopped nearby, then with stiff, unnatural movements, lowered himself to the carpet. His bespoke trousers—probably worth more than Ilara's monthly rent—pressed against the floor without protection.
He sat awkwardly, his tall frame looking absurdly out of place. He didn't speak, just watched.
Ilara's hands faltered briefly before she continued, ignoring him.
Leo noticed the newcomer. He glanced between Killian and his blocks, then after a moment's hesitation, selected a blue cube and held it out.
A pure, simple invitation.
Killian went rigid.
After several seconds, he awkwardly accepted the block.
"What's this... for?" His voice held a roughness and uncertainty he seemed unaware of.
"The moat," Leo explained seriously, pointing to the castle's base.
Killian studied the crude structure, then the block in his hand, and after a moment's consideration, placed it carefully beside the castle.
* * *
That night, sleep eluded Ilara.
Despite the luxurious bed and silken sheets, restlessness consumed her. Everything in this room bore his unmistakable stamp. She wasn't lying in a bed but in a predator's lair.
After hours of tossing and turning, she surrendered. She slipped from bed, heading to the kitchen for water.
The penthouse lay silent and dark, city lights casting shifting patterns across the floor.
As she passed the study, she froze.
The heavy door stood slightly ajar, a thin ribbon of warm light spilling through—the only warmth in the cold darkness.
As if drawn by an invisible force, she moved toward it.
