The dining room was filled with the faint fragrance of warm porridge and honey, the morning sunlight pouring in through tall glass windows like spilled gold. Isidore sat at the end of the long table, his posture straight, his pale hair tied loosely over one shoulder, his eyes softened in the glow. On his lap sat Julian—his small sun, his unrelenting joy—whose spoon clattered against the polished surface with rhythmic taps, each sound echoing through the penthouse like impatient little drumbeats.
The boy laughed as he tapped, sending bits of porridge sliding to the edge of the bowl without ever bringing them to his mouth.
"Eat, Julian," Isidore coaxed, his voice low, restrained, yet tender beneath its evenness. He smoothed a hand over the boy's downy hair. "Mama promised you a teddy bear, didn't he? The biggest one in the shop. But you must eat your porridge first."
Julian froze only for a heartbeat, then squealed with delight, kicking his legs as he clapped his sticky hands. "Big teddy! Mama, big teddy!"
Isidore's lips twitched—an almost-smile—but before he could reply, his phone vibrated against the table. He slid it into his hand with a sigh, lifting it to his ear without checking the name.
"Yes. What is it this time?"
Zayn's voice erupted through the line, bright and boisterous, his words spilling like champagne bubbles. "Come on, Davenant, don't sound so grim. I'm on my way to your house."
Isidore pinched the bridge of his nose, already bracing for chaos. "What is the matter?"
"Huh? The matter is we just sealed the contract! Do you not understand what this means?" Zayn's laughter crackled over the line, vibrant, reckless. "We're about to be more famous than ever, darling cousin. You should be smiling—oh wait, do you even remember how to smile?"
Isidore exhaled slowly, adjusting Julian on his lap as the boy reached for his phone.
"And this concerns me somehow?"
"Because we are going to celebrate tonight. At your place. I'll bring champagne, confetti, and—"
"No. You can't." Isidore's tone sharpened, final.
"What? Why not?"
"I am taking Julian to Imagine Station. I promise him to buy him large teddy."
For a moment there was silence, then a wounded gasp. "Really? You'd rather shop for fluff than celebrate our triumph?"
"You wanted a celebration. Go celebrate."
"I'll come with you," Zayn retorted at once. "We'll buy a fleet of teddies. I'll bankrupt the shop."
Isidore closed his eyes, patience thinning. "Didn't you say you wanted to celebrate your night?"
"Ohhh." Zayn's voice melted into mock resignation. "Well, fine. Skip today, but tomorrow you owe me, Davenant. Promise me that."
"Where are you right now?"
"Near your gates."
The line clicked dead before Zayn could add another flourish. Isidore set the phone down with deliberate calm, then gathered Julian into his arms. The boy squealed happily, clinging around his mama's neck.
"Mama! Teddy! Big teddy!"
Isidore pressed a kiss into his son's curly hair, murmuring, "Yes, my darling. A big teddy."
The front doors opened with a theatrical sweep, announcing Zayn Maverick in all his untamed radiance. His periwinkle hair shimmered under the chandelier light, his tailored coat flaring behind him. Behind him, trailed Leon—silent shadow, cigarette extinguished between fingers before he stepped in.
"Ohhh, my puppy-chumpy-lovey!" Zayn exclaimed, his voice carrying like a stage actor. He rushed forward with arms outstretched, his lilac eyes shimmering as though Julian were a priceless jewel. "How have you been without your uncle?"
Julian's head snapped up at once, his little body wriggling with excitement. "Uncle Zayn!" he squealed, reaching his arms out.
Isidore hesitated, his grip instinctively tightening. His beige eyes narrowed, their expression unreadable. Yet, after a weighted pause, he relinquished Julian into Zayn's waiting arms.
Zayn spun the child upward with a delighted laugh, tossing him just enough to earn a cascade of laughter in return. Julian's giggles rang through the penthouse like bells, his small hands grabbing fistfuls of Zayn's gleaming hair.
"Ow! Ow! My precious tyrant, that hurts!" Zayn cried with exaggerated dramatics, his free hand flailing. "You'll make me bald before thirty!"
Julian only squealed louder, dragging at Zayn's cheeks until they stretched comically.
Leon leaned against the doorframe, his gaze unreadable as he watched the spectacle. He slid his lighter back into his pocket, arms crossed, his silence louder than Zayn's theatrical fussing.
Isidore, meanwhile, stood apart, his arms folded, his mouth a thin line. He watched Julian nestled into Zayn's embrace, watched the child's bright face tilt upward in adoration, and something inside him twisted.
He hated it—how naturally Julian fit into Zayn's arms, how the boy's laughter came louder and freer in his presence. Yet, at the same time, he could not deny the truth etched across memory: Zayn had been there. When the world closed its jaws on him, when his own family condemned, when whispers and stares sought to devour—Zayn had stood between them, unyielding.
It was Zayn who shielded him from his Father' venom. Zayn who silenced the company's board. Zayn who fought with bloodied knuckles to keep vultures away when his belly swelled with life. Zayn who signed documents, who bore the burden of secrecy, who carved space in a ruthless world for Julian's first breath.
And now here they were: Julian squealing, his small hands tugging gleefully at Zayn's hair; Zayn laughing until tears pricked his eyes, swearing he would endure a thousand pinches for a single smile.
Isidore's mouth twitched, a rare betrayal of his stoicism. He looked away, exhaling softly, his chest tight with something unnameable.
Perhaps relief. Perhaps gratitude. Perhaps the sharp sting of dependence.
He finally sighed, long and quiet, as if surrendering to the truth he despised admitting: Zayn Maverick, infuriating and flamboyant, was the reason his son was alive.
And for that—no glare, no silence, no distance—could ever erase him from their lives.
Zayn pinched Julian's rosy cheeks with theatrical tenderness, his lilac eyes glimmering as though he'd discovered treasure. "So, little Julie," he drawled, voice rich with mischief, "shall we go fetch a teddy bear so enormous it won't even fit through your door?"
Julian gasped in delight, his curls bouncing as he clapped his tiny hands. "Big teddy! Big, big teddy!" His laughter filled the air like wind chimes, sweet and unrestrained.
"Then it's settled," Zayn declared grandly, sweeping toward the entrance as if leading a parade. "Come on, Isidore. Don't lag behind and ruin my dramatic exit." His periwinkle hair shimmered as he turned, sunlight catching the strands with flamboyant brilliance.
Julian wriggled in his arms, equally impatient. "Mama, hurry!" he blabbered, his small fingers tugging toward the door.
Isidore adjusted his coat, his beige eyes narrowing at Zayn's antics, though the faintest curl touched the edge of his lips. He followed with deliberate steps, Julian's excitement tugging at his heart in ways no boardroom ever could.
Outside, Zayn's sleek black car awaited like a prowling beast. The driver—stoic, efficient—sprang forward to open the door with a polished bow. Zayn swept inside first, still carrying Julian, who immediately claimed his lap with the authority of a king upon his throne.
Isidore slid in beside them, his pale hair spilling like silk over his shoulder, his expression schooled into practiced composure. Still, he leaned closer to brush a crumb from Julian's cheek, his every gesture quietly protective.
Turning briefly, he addressed the shadow at the door. "Leon. Guard the house until we return."
Leon's dark eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. "Just as you said, Master," he replied, voice steady as stone. He extinguished another cigarette with deliberate calm, his presence a silent fortress at the threshold.
The car door shut with a solid click. The engine roared to life, a low growl that thrummed beneath the leather seats. Through tinted glass, the city unfolded—streets thrumming with life, sunlight flashing across mirrored towers.
Zayn leaned back, one arm curled protectively around Julian, the other gesturing toward the skyline. "Next stop—Imagine Station," he announced with theatrical flourish, as though unveiling a kingdom.
Julian squealed, clapping harder. "Teddy! Mama, teddy!"
Beside him, Isidore exhaled softly, his gaze shifting between his child's laughter and Zayn's irrepressible grin. For this fleeting moment, the storm of the world seemed far away.
The car surged forward, carrying them toward the promise of a teddy bear—and, unbeknownst to them, toward the waiting shadows of destiny.
The streets hummed with the usual din of the city, yet in the midst of the ordinary, something quietly sinister lingered—an invisible presence coiled in shadow. Zayn's black car glided smoothly to a halt in front of the grand entrance of Imagine Station, its sleek frame catching the shimmer of the afternoon sun. The driver leapt from his seat, quick and precise, opening the door with the etiquette of long practice.
From within emerged Zayn, his figure sharp and commanding, carrying Julian tenderly in his arms. The boy giggled, his tiny hands clapping in delight, unaware of the subtle tension that curled like smoke in the air. Beside them, Isidore stepped gracefully onto the pavement, his pale features calm, though his eyes carried their familiar undertone of weary caution.
To any passerby, it looked like a wealthy family arriving for a pleasant outing. But unbeknownst to them, other eyes—cold, disciplined, mercilessly attentive—were already tracking their every move.
High above, on the rooftop of an abandoned building, two men lingered in silence. Their dark coats rippled in the wind, their binoculars pressed firmly against their faces. They were not the same figures who had prowled the shadows of the Davenant estate the night before. No—these were different. Sharper. Cleaner. Far too practiced. These were men bred not for curiosity but for precision.
"Target has arrived," one murmured, his voice little more than the scrape of gravel. His partner gave no reply, only adjusted the focus of his binoculars as the glass lenses caught the reflection of Zayn handing Julian to Isidore before moving toward the station's arched doors.
Every movement was cataloged, studied, memorized. The tilt of Zayn's shoulders. The way Isidore placed a protective hand on Julian's back. The carefree sparkle in the child's eyes. All of it etched into the minds of men who never forgot their orders.
But then—something unexpected.
A second car rolled to a stop across the street, its arrival quiet yet deliberate. Two other figures stepped out, their presence equally sharp, equally purposeful. Their eyes too lingered on Zayn, Isidore, and the boy. They, too, were watching.
The first spy frowned beneath the shadow of his hood. His grip tightened around the binoculars until the leather creaked. "Strange," he muttered. "Did Master Tristan… assign another team without informing us?"
The second lowered his binoculars at last, his gaze cutting to his companion. "What are you saying?"
Wordlessly, the first thrust the binoculars into his partner's hands. "Look for yourself."
Through the glass, the newcomer spies came into sharp focus—two men with measured strides, their expressions unreadable. They weren't ordinary passersby. Their stillness, their precision, the way they followed with neither hesitation nor curiosity—this was the mark of professionals.
The second spy scratched at his chin, a faint smirk ghosting across his lips. "Well… that is strange indeed. If they are master Tristan's men, why did we receive no notice?"
"Exactly."
"And what if they are not…" His words trailed off into the silence of the rooftop, leaving the implication heavy in the air.
The city noise below carried on as if nothing unusual stirred, yet to those men above, the world felt tighter, narrower. Their mission had shifted without warning.
The first spy's eyes narrowed. "We need to confirm who they are before we move further. If we strike blindly, we risk exposure."
A long silence stretched between them, filled only with the faint hiss of the wind curling past the building's edge.
Then, with the smoothness of smoke dispersing into the air, the pair vanished from the rooftop. One moment their silhouettes darkened the ledge, the next the space was empty, as if the wind itself had carried them away.
Below, Zayn, Isidore, and Julian continued forward, utterly unaware of the shadow-play unfolding around them. The little boy laughed again, his voice echoing like a bell, bright and oblivious. Zayn shifted him securely in his arms, Isidore at his side, the three stepping through the grand doors of Imagine Station.
And above, in corners unseen, watchers continued to circle like wolves in the dusk—wolves who now realized they were not the only hunters on the trail.