Eliora had always imagined telling her mother the truth in a quiet room just the two of them, words chosen carefully, fear tucked beneath courage.
But courage abandoned her.
Emilia's darkness had grown too bold. The lies too close. The danger too real.
So Alexander chose another way.
Two days later, beneath a wide Canadian sky washed in pale gold, he arranged a family picnic not as a display of wealth, but as an offering of honesty.
The park was alive with laughter and wind and the soft hum of life continuing, unaware of the truths about to be uncovered. White linen cloths were spread beneath tall maple trees. Baskets overflowed with carefully prepared dishes warm butter tarts, smoked salmon, fresh bread, fruit glazed with honey, dishes that smelled of home and comfort rather than excess.
Alexander had sent his drivers personally.
When Eliora's mother arrived with Mia, she froze at the sight before her.
The man who stepped forward to greet her did not rush. He stood tall, composed, eyes steady and when he bowed his head respectfully, something in his gaze softened completely.
"Ma'am," he said warmly. "Thank you for coming. I'm honored to finally meet you."
Her mother studied him carefully.
And in that moment before a single word of explanation she saw it.
Love.
Not flirtation.
Not fascination.
But something deep, protective, consuming.
Her eyes filled with tears before she even understood why.
Throughout the afternoon, Alexander made no attempt to dominate the space. He listened. He laughed with Mia. He served Eliora's mother food before touching his own. Every gesture spoke louder than words.
By dinner, the questions began.
"So," her mother said gently, folding her napkin, eyes sharp but curious. "Tell me about yourself. Who are you, really?"
Alexander didn't hesitate.
"My name is Alexander Mackenzie," he said calmly. "I was born here. I work in finance and development."
"And my daughter?" her mother asked quietly. "What does she mean to you?"
He turned to Eliora then—really looked at her.
"She is my life," he said simply. "Without her, nothing I own would matter. I could give up everything—my name, my work, my future if it meant keeping her safe."
The table went silent.
"I am terrified," he continued, voice low. "Terrified of a world where she isn't beside me."
Her mother inhaled sharply.
"And Mackenzie & Co?" she asked slowly.
"Yes," he answered. "I own it."
The realization struck like thunder.
Her mother's hand flew to her mouth.
"The Mackenzie family?" she whispered. "Alex Mackenzie's son?"
Everyone knew the name.
Global wealth.
Old power.
Influence written into history.
She turned to Eliora sharply.
"You didn't know?" she asked.
Eliora shook her head, stunned. "Mama… I only knew his name."
Alexander reached for her hand instantly, grounding her.
"I wanted her to know me," he said firmly. "Not my money."
The truth settled slowly but gently.
Later, when the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long, Eliora sat alone with her mother.
She told her everything.
The bar.
The food.
The almost.
Emilia.
Her mother listened silently, anger tightening her jaw.
"You must be careful," she said finally. "Not afraid but alert. Evil doesn't always shout."
Eliora nodded.
That night, after farewells and hugs and promises, Alexander and Eliora returned home alone.
The house felt different now.
He closed the door behind them slowly.
The air between them vibrated.
He didn't touch her immediately.
That night, the house felt too quiet.
The kind of quiet that presses against the skin, that sharpens every breath and makes every movement feel deliberate.
Alexander locked the door behind them slowly.
Eliora didn't turn around at first. She stood there, fingers twisting together, her heart beating far too fast for a calm evening. She could feel him behind her his presence heavy, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
He didn't touch her.
That was the torture.
"Look at me," he said softly.
When she turned, his gaze darkened.
The restraint in his eyes was frightening not because it was cruel, but because it was barely holding back something vast and consuming. He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his warmth, his breath brushing her cheek.
"You have no idea," he murmured, "what it did to me today… sitting across from your mother, knowing how close I came to losing you."
Her lips parted. She tried to speak, but the words dissolved.
His hand rose slowly giving her time to pull away if she wanted.
She didn't.
His fingers brushed her jaw, traced the curve of her cheek, lingered at her chin. The touch was light, reverent, but it sent a shiver through her entire body.
"I wanted to take you in my arms and remind myself you were real," he whispered. "That you were here. That no one else had the right to touch you."
Her breath caught.
His thumb grazed her lower lip not pressing, not claiming just enough to make her knees soften.
When he kissed her, it was slow.
Deep.
Unhurried.
Not the kind of kiss that stole breath, but the kind that invaded thought. His lips moved against hers with intention, drawing out the moment until her hands rose on their own, clutching his shirt as if anchoring herself.
The kiss deepened not rushed, but heavier, warmer, charged with everything he had been holding back.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers.
"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.
She didn't.
Instead, she whispered his name.
That was enough.
His lips traced from her mouth to her cheek, down the line of her jaw, lingering at her neck. Each kiss was deliberate, slow, almost worshipful sending heat blooming beneath her skin.
Eliora's breath trembled, a soft sound escaping her before she could stop it.
Alexander stilled instantly.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, voice tight with control.
"No," she whispered. "Please…"
The word shattered something in him.
His hands settled at her waist firm now, grounding, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and heavy, mirroring her own.
"I need you to understand," he said, voice low and raw, "that wanting you like this doesn't mean taking from you. I will never cross where you don't invite me."
Her fingers tightened in his shirt.
"I trust you," she said softly.
That trust undid him.
He kissed her again deeper, more consuming but still restrained, still controlled. The kind of kiss that promised everything without demanding it. His hands traced her back slowly, memorizing, claiming nothing but connection.
They stayed like that for a long time wrapped in each other, breaths tangled, desire simmering just beneath the surface, powerful enough to ache.
When they finally lay down together, it was not possession that filled the room.
It was closeness.
His arm around her.
Her head against his chest.
His fingers absently threading through her hair as if afraid she might vanish.
Outside, the night moved on.
Inside, two hearts burned quietly intensely waiting.