It had been ten hours since you left for your father's company, and Kenan already regretted bringing Nikolai to the headquarters. He had promised you everything would be fine. He had listened to every instruction, every warning you repeated until your voice lingered in his head like an anthem.

For the first time in his life, Kenan understood what it meant to struggle, not in war, not in blood, but in the simple weight of fatherhood. He swore he would manage, that he would care for Nikolai just as you wished. He had even watched you kiss your son goodbye, a picture of peace he thought he could carry through the day.

He had been wrong.

Barely an hour later, the world caved in on him. Phone calls, interruptions, a thousand demands clawing for his attention. He could command armies, move shipments across continents, negotiate with devils, but a baby? That was a battle he had never been prepared for. He had never known a father's love, never had one to learn from. Yet here he was, desperate to be the father Nikolai deserve.

So, he cheated. Just for one day. A quick hire, overpaid to show up fast. Davis delivered by ten with a woman named Joon. Her papers said she was older, experienced. In person? Heavy makeup, lips too full of filler, nanny uniform clinging in all the wrong places. Kenan muttered under his breath to his son, "Your mother would kill me if she saw this."

The woman was dressed like temptation, not responsibility. You must've thought he brought a prostitute and discover his cosplay kink if you saw this. He wanted to send her away on sight but time left him no choice.

From the start, she grated on him. Her voice dripped with flirtation, every word clawing for his attention. Kenan ignored her, but it disgusted him. Worse, Nikolai felt it too. A baby. The boy, usually bright and laughing, grew restless, uneasy in her arms. Even a child sensed the wrongness. Kenan nearly ripped his son away more than once.

The final straw came when duty called him to one of the Morozov warehouses. He took Joon along, unwilling to leave Nikolai behind with strangers. The boy was calm during the drive, tiny brows furrowed as if echoing his father's displeasure. Joon's chatter filled the silence, grating like sandpaper, but Kenan held his patience.

Work first, then home.

The warehouse was vast, crawling with guards. Safe, he thought. He secured Nikolai in a room with Joon while he handled business. Hours slipped away in negotiations and logistics, until night pressed against the bulletproof glass. When he returned, he opened the door expecting his son's gleeful cry of "Papa!".

Instead, silence wrapped around the room like a noose. His steps slowed. The air felt wrong, too still, too heavy. The couch sat untouched, the toys scattered exactly where he'd left them, but the crib... empty. His gray eyes swept the space once, twice, searching for a glimpse of his son.

Nothing.

Joon sat there, pale and rigid, her posture too stiff, lips trembling but no words leaving her mouth. Kenan's brows drew together, the sharpness in his chest growing colder by the second. The absence hit harder than a bullet. No gurgling laugh, no small body reaching for him. Just emptiness.

Kenan's voice was low, deadly:

"If my son isn't found in an hour, she dies."

No one needed to ask who she was. Joon trailed behind him, trembling, begging, dropping to her knees in pitiful displays when she realize her life flash before her eyes. Kenan didn't spare her a glance.

His voice thundered through the warehouse as he called Nikolai's name again and again. Minutes bled into half an hour. His control cracked. Breath heaved, veins pulsed, panic chewed at the edges of his composure. Half his men were already searching every corner, but still nothing.

Until, at last, a guard approached. Nikolai had been found.

Kenan nearly dropped to his knees in relief. He followed, every stride heavy, until he entered the safe chamber and saw his son.

"Papa!" Nikolai's little face lit up, flushed with joy, chubby arms reaching for him.

But Kenan's world stopped. Not at his son—safe, smiling—but at you, standing there, holding Nikolai in your arms, eyes fixed on him with a storm he could not withstand.

Joon. His men. His empire. None of it mattered. Only your judgment did.

"Angel..." Kenan's voice broke against the weight of your gaze. His chest tightened as he reached for words he didn't have. "I can explain."