Dominic was in his office when Aaron knocked.
"Come in," Dominic said without looking up.
Aaron stepped inside, his usual calm expression slightly restrained. In his hand was a small, neatly wrapped box—simple brown paper, tied with a thin ribbon.
"I think this belongs to Miss Mira," Aaron said.
Dominic looked up. His eyes narrowed slightly. "What is it?"
Aaron walked closer and placed the box on the desk carefully, as if it were fragile.
"The police released some personal items that were found on her father," he explained. "Her mother couldn't be reached at the time. Since Mr. Hale listed no close relatives… it was handed to us."
Dominic stared at the box.
"And?" he asked.
Aaron hesitated, then spoke gently. "It was in his coat pocket. Along with a receipt from a bakery."
Dominic's fingers stilled.
Aaron continued, his voice quieter now. "The receipt was dated the night of the accident. The label said—custom birthday cake."
The room went silent.
"It was her birthday," Aaron added. "She turned seventeen that day."
Dominic's chest tightened.
Aaron sighed softly. "According to the report, her father was on his way home. The cake box was crushed in the collision."
Dominic said nothing.
His gaze remained fixed on the small wrapped gift.
"What is it?" Dominic asked finally.
Aaron shook his head. "I didn't open it. But judging by the size… something personal."
A pause.
"She doesn't know?" Dominic asked.
"No," Aaron replied. "She was already moved here by the time the items were processed."
Dominic leaned back slowly.
For the first time, the image he had built of Mira cracked completely.
A gold digger's daughter wouldn't work weekends.
Wouldn't endure humiliation silently.
Wouldn't carry grief so quietly.
And wouldn't have a father who died trying to bring her a birthday cake.
Aaron watched Dominic carefully. "Sir… may I speak freely?"
Dominic nodded.
"She's not like her mother," Aaron said firmly. "And she never was."
Dominic exhaled slowly.
"Leave it," he said. "I'll give it to her."
Aaron hesitated. "Tonight?"
Dominic's jaw tightened. "No."
Some things required timing.
Some truths were heavy enough to break a person if delivered carelessly.
Aaron nodded. "Understood."
As he turned to leave, Dominic spoke again.
"Aaron."
"Yes, sir?"
"From now on," Dominic said quietly, "anything related to Mira—comes to me first."
Aaron paused, then smiled faintly. "Yes, sir."
---
Later that night, Dominic stood outside Mira's room.
The small wrapped gift rested in his hand.
Inside, Mira laughed softly at something on her phone—probably a coworker, Dominic assumed.
He raised his hand to knock.
Then stopped.
For the first time in years, Dominic Laurent hesitated.
Because behind that door wasn't a gold digger's daughter.
She was just a girl who never got her birthday cake.