POV Zayden

Silence inside the penthouse buzzed louder than a fucking crowd.

I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, unmoving, watching the city drown beneath layers of rain that matched my mood perfectly.

Each drop hitting the glass felt like a countdown I couldn’t stop—to what, I wasn’t sure. Mia’s next treatment? My complete professional annihilation? The moment Jocelyn finally realized she was betting on the wrong horse?

Two days. That’s how long I’d been gone.

Hadn’t told Landon where I was going. Hadn’t told Jocelyn.

Hadn’t even checked my phone, which was probably exploding with urgent messages from people who suddenly gave a shit about my opinion now that I’d torched my entire legacy for a six-year-old girl.

I just needed time—time to think, to rage, to grieve the death of everything I thought I wanted.

And now, standing here with rain streaming down glass that cost more than most people’s cars, none of it mattered.

Behind me, the front door clicked open like a gunshot in the silence. Jocelyn’s voice followed, soft but frayed around the edges.

“She barely ate today.”

I turned, and Christ, she looked like hell. Hair tied up in that messy way that meant she’d been running her hands through it all day.

Eyes hollow with the kind of exhaustion that sleep can’t fix. She looked like a woman being pulled in seventeen different directions, all of them painful.

She wasn’t crying—but she looked close to it, and something in my chest cracked watching her hold it together through sheer willpower.

I didn’t speak. Just crossed the room and dropped the thick folder onto the marble table between us.

It hit with a thud that made her flinch, and I immediately felt like an asshole for being so dramatic about it.

She stared at the folder, then at me. “What’s that?”

“Zurich,” I said, voice clipped because if I let any emotion through, I might start explaining exactly how many favors I’d called in and laws I’d bent to make this happen. “Private clinic. Specialized pediatric trials. Full genome access. Top researchers in Europe.”

Her brows pinched together in that way they do when she’s trying not to hope too hard. “You’re saying they’ll take her?”

“I’m saying I bought them.”

Jocelyn blinked, and for a second she looked like I’d just told her I’d purchased the moon. “You what?”

“I own a controlling stake now,” I said, because apparently my life had become so fucking surreal that buying European medical facilities was just Tuesday. “Effective this morning.”

She opened the folder with trembling fingers, scanned the first page, then the second.

The clinic logo, sealed acquisition approval, expedited trial preparation sheets—everything Mia needed, wrapped up in enough legal documentation to choke a lawyer.

“No waiting list,” I added, watching her face. “No red tape. No Wolfe Foundation oversight. She’s in. If we want her to be.”

Jocelyn sat down hard, still holding the papers like they might evaporate. “Zayden, this… this is insane.”

“It’s necessary.”

She set the folder down slowly, like it was made of explosives. “What did you give up for this?”

The question I’d been dreading. I met her gaze head-on because she deserved honesty, even if it was going to destroy whatever trust we’d been building. “Shares.”

“Whose shares?” But she already knew. I could see it in her eyes.

“My own,” I confirmed. “Twenty-five percent. Enough to give Harrison leverage again. Enough to put him back in the power seat.”

She stood up fast, frustration blooming behind the panic. “You just gave him everything he wanted!”

I didn’t flinch, even though her fury hit like a physical blow. “He wanted control. He has it. Let him play with his stocks and board meetings. Let him win his petty fucking war.”

“But what about Wolfe Enterprises? What about your position, your work, your entire life?”

I stepped closer, close enough to smell her shampoo and see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “This is my life.”

Jocelyn’s throat worked around words she couldn’t seem to form. “I could’ve found another way.”

“No,” I said, voice suddenly rough with every emotion I’d been shoving down for forty-eight hours. “You would’ve tried. You would’ve fought until your body gave out and your spirit broke. And Mia would’ve suffered while you tried to play hero with a system designed to crush people like us.”

She turned away, tears threatening, and I wanted to pull her against my chest and promise her everything would be okay.

But I’d made enough promises I wasn’t sure I could keep.

“You’re not alone anymore,” I said instead. “Stop acting like you have to be.”

Her hands shook as she folded the papers again. “You shouldn’t have had to choose.”

“I didn’t.”

She looked up sharply. “Yes, you did. You chose us.”

I exhaled long and quiet, feeling lighter than I had in years.

“I’ve made mistakes, Jocelyn. Let other people decide what mattered. Let Vivienne speak louder than my instincts. Let my grandfather hold my spine hostage for decades.”

“And now?” she asked.

I moved past her, poured water with hands that shook despite my best efforts. “Now I’ll fix what I can.”

“And what if Harrison uses this against you? What if he tears you apart in court, in the press, in every industry publication that matters?”

I took a sip, set the glass down, looked at her with something feral burning in my chest. “Then let him.”

Jocelyn stepped forward, voice low. “She’ll know. One day. That you did this.”

“She doesn’t need to,” I said. “She just needs to live.”

The room filled with air conditioning hum and Mia’s faint cough from the hallway—reminders of normal life existing alongside this insanity.

Neither of us moved. Neither blinked.

“You’ll lose everything,” she whispered.

I stepped closer. “Then I’ll build something else. A new legacy. One that doesn’t depend on his last name or his approval.”

Jocelyn’s lip trembled. “I’m scared.”

“I’m not.”

She looked at me sharply. “You’re lying.”

My mouth twisted between pain and resolve. “Terrified.”

Long silence stretched between us. Then she walked forward and pressed her hand to my chest. My heartbeat thundered against her palm like it was trying to escape.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said, barely above a whisper. “But I’m starting to believe you love her.”

“I do,” I said instantly. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

Her hand dropped. “Then prove it. Not with money. Not with threats. But with consistency. With being there.”

“I’m not leaving,” I said. “Not again.”

She picked up the folder and tucked it under her arm like precious cargo. “Then let’s get her to Zurich.”

I nodded once. Not as a CEO. Not as a Wolfe. But as a father who had finally made his choice.

“There’s just Mia.”