Killian stared at the monitor on his desk. The office around him was silent, save for the ticking of a minimalist wall clock and the occasional flicker of light from passing traffic.
On screen: a paused frame.
Security footage from the gala.
In it—blurry but unmistakable—was the little girl.
She'd slipped past the cameras, tucked behind a staff-only velvet curtain for a brief second. Her profile caught in motion.
Curly hair.
A pale blue dress.
And eyes that ached familiarity.
Killian zoomed in. The footage was grainy, but it was enough.
He had the image exported and sent to his encrypted drive.
He'd requested silent surveillance—only facial pattern matching. No names. No traceable metadata.
But still, it made him feel like a traitor.
Is she mine?
That question hadn't left him since Ava said the name.
Chloe.
A name full of light. But what haunted him was how fiercely Ava had protected it.
He was good at reading people. And Ava's voice had changed the moment he said it—clipped, sharp, terrified.
Killian clenched his jaw.
He'd spent three years believing Ava had simply left.
Now he realized… she had escaped.
But from what?
And why Chloe?
That same morning, Ava sat in her private lounge at Calla Luxe HQ, reviewing launch details for their winter collection.
Naomi entered with her usual tablet in hand. "Your 11:00 AM meeting with Vogue has been confirmed. And… Killian Blake's assistant just reached out. Again."
Ava didn't look up. "Ignore it."
Naomi hesitated. "He's requested access to last week's event photos. Said it was for security review."
Ava's breath caught for half a second—but she masked it well.
"Has he mentioned anything about…?"
"No," Naomi replied carefully. "Not a word."
Ava nodded. "Good. Make sure none of Chloe's photos are tagged. Or uploaded."
"Yes, ma'am."
Naomi left.
Ava closed her eyes.
The walls were closing in.
She had guarded Chloe's existence for so long. No press. No public records. Even her birth certificate listed only Ava's name.
She'd taken every precaution.
But Killian wasn't stupid.
And worse—he wasn't done.
Later that afternoon, Killian stood outside a small private elementary tucked discreetly in the Upper East Side.
No logos.
No playground.
Just a limestone facade and armed, smiling security.
It had taken one quiet call to an old family acquaintance on the city education board to gain access to enrollment data.
He felt like a criminal.
But something inside him needed to know.
Chloe.
She wasn't listed under the Blake name. Or Callahan. But when he requested a staff-admin tour—under the pretense of philanthropy—he saw her.
Down the hallway, past the painted sea mural, a small group of children exited a classroom.
And there she was.
Hair in loose, dark curls. A band-aid on one knee. Holding a watercolor painting in both hands.
Her laugh was light and bright and devastating.
Killian didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
She looked like… him.But softer. Like Ava.Her nose. Her smile.His eyes.
The guide beside him kept speaking, oblivious.
He couldn't hear a word.
The little girl turned—looked toward him—and smiled.
Just for a moment.
And then walked away.
Killian felt the world narrow around him.
Oh God.
Back at her apartment, Ava sat at the piano. Chloe was curled beside her, tiny fingers pressing random keys, giggling at the discordant sounds.
"Mama, did you know my teacher has a cat named Button?"
"Button?" Ava smiled faintly. "What kind of name is that?"
"It's small. And round. She said it sleeps on her books."
Ava laughed gently. "That sounds like a very smart cat."
Chloe beamed. Then paused.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Did you ever have a daddy?"
Ava froze.
She looked down at her daughter, heart thundering.
"I mean," Chloe continued innocently, "my friends have daddies. They said daddies tell bad jokes and pick them up high in the air."
Ava's throat tightened. "You… you had one, once."
"Where is he now?"
Ava took a slow breath. "Far away."
"Is he coming back?"
"I don't know."
Chloe was quiet for a while.
Then, almost sleepily: "Would he like me?"
Ava leaned down and pulled her close, burying her face in her daughter's curls.
"More than anything in this world."
That night, Killian stood in his penthouse again.
This time, he didn't touch the scotch.
Didn't touch anything.
Just stared at the night sky and felt the weight of a truth that hadn't even been confirmed yet—but somehow already lived in his blood.
Chloe was his daughter.
He didn't need a DNA test to know.
He had seen it.
Felt it.
In her laugh. In her eyes.
In the way something deep inside him had snapped back into place.
But what shattered him… was realizing she had grown up without him.
No lullabies.No midnight feedings.No first words.
All of it stolen.
Not by fate.
By silence.
By his own failure.
And Ava—Ava had raised her alone. Brilliantly. Fiercely. He could see it in the way Chloe smiled.
But Killian had missed it all.
And now… he didn't know if he deserved a second chance.
***
Later That Night – Killian's Penthouse
The rain hit the windows like an echo.
Killian sat on the edge of his couch, not touching the files spread across the coffee table—photos, notes, an incomplete family tree. Half of it built by guilt. The other half, by desperation.
He stared at the blurry screenshot from the gala again. The little girl in soft blue.
Chloe.
The name was etched into him now.
But names weren't enough.
He wanted to hear her voice again.
He wanted to know if she liked stories. If she hated broccoli. If she talked too much or too little. If she still had nightmares.
And most of all—he wanted to earn her smile, not steal it.
He reached for his phone and typed a message to someone he'd never thought he'd contact again:
To: Dr. Marla Sterling"Can we talk? I need your help with something… personal."
He hesitated.
Then hit send.
If he was going to do this—approach Chloe—he couldn't afford to mess it up. Not this time.
Meanwhile – Ava's Apartment
Ava was sitting by her window when she noticed the security alert ping on her phone.
She frowned.
Motion detected—school perimeter. Flagged image.
She opened it, expecting a delivery or staff error.
But what she saw…
Was Killian.
In a long coat. Standing outside Chloe's school.
Face unreadable.
Watching.
Ava's lungs seized.
She rose from the chair like lightning struck her spine. She nearly dropped her phone.
He saw her.
She knew that look. That stillness.
She had seen it once before—years ago—when Killian had first seen her perfume prototype.
That sharp, quiet awe.
She tapped her phone rapidly. Cross-referenced timestamps.
Chloe had been dismissed early that day. She hadn't seen him directly. Had she?
No confirmation.
Ava backed away from the screen, heart racing.
Her sanctuary—the perfectly controlled walls around her life—were no longer bulletproof.
She locked the phone. Her thoughts spun like storm clouds.
Does he know? Will he tell anyone? Will Vivienne find out?
She couldn't risk it.
The next morning, she filed a security request for Chloe's school: face recognition tightened, drop-off window shortened, Ava-only pickup protocol reinstated.
No exceptions.
Then she canceled her own lunch meeting, turned her phone off, and went straight to the only person she still trusted:
Harrison Dane — Calla Luxe's silent partner, Ava's personal attorney, and the man who once helped extract her from the psychiatric facility.
He was already waiting when she arrived at his penthouse office.
"I saw him at the school," she said without preamble. "He knows."
Harrison raised a brow. "How much?"
"He looked at her like he knew. Like something inside him just… snapped."
Harrison folded his hands. "He could test her DNA without your consent. You know that."
"I know."
"If he does and the results are positive—"
"It won't matter." Her voice dropped. "If he tells his family, she's in danger."
"You're still afraid of Vivienne?"
"I'm not afraid of her." Ava's eyes sharpened. "I remember her."
Silence stretched.
Then Ava whispered, "I fought for my sanity once, Harrison. I won't let them take Chloe's."
He nodded.
"I'll prepare the injunction paperwork. If he moves toward custody or claims, we strike fast."
Ava stared at the skyline beyond the windows.
"I never wanted to erase him," she murmured. "I just… wanted to protect what was left."
Back at School – The Next Day
Chloe was painting again—this time with more purple than usual.
Her teacher, Miss Ellery, crouched beside her.
"Purple today?" she asked gently.
Chloe nodded. "It feels safe."
"Oh? Not gold?"
"Gold's too loud," she said, frowning thoughtfully. "Like thunder. And perfume. And gala lights."
Miss Ellery chuckled. "You're a poet, you know."
Chloe smiled shyly. "Mommy said words are little magic stones. If I keep enough of them, I can build a castle."
"Well, I think you're halfway there."
Behind them, Killian watched from the narrow window of the visiting hallway. He wasn't allowed inside, of course. But he didn't try to force it.
He only watched.
Just for a second.
A security guard behind him cleared his throat.
"Mr. Blake," he said softly. "You've reached your access limit for this week. Unless there's authorization…"
Killian nodded once.
He left.
Quiet. Polite.
But the image of Chloe surrounded by purple paint lingered in his mind long after he stepped out into the sun.
He didn't deserve her.
But he wasn't walking away again.