Chapter 4 4

"Let's go home son," Killian finally broke the thick, awkward silence, his deep voice low but firm.

Zaya stood by, arms folded, watching the tension bounce back and forth like a tennis ball.

But Tristan wasn't moving. He stood by the couch, arms crossed now, chin lifted in a quiet little protest. "I said I'm not going without her," he mumbled, kicking at the rug with his socked foot.

Killian exhaled slowly, jaw tightening.

He wasn't used to this-being challenged by a five-year-old. Especially not his own. Normally, Tristan listened and obeyed. But now? Now he was glued to this woman like his life depended on it.

Killian looked around the tiny apartment-dim lighting, old furniture, a mismatched throw on the couch. No security. No cameras. No backup. His skin itched just being here.

He had to get his son out. Now.

"Tristan, that's enough," he said, walking over and reaching out. "Let's go. I need to get you home. Your doctor's waiting-"

"I don't wanna go with you," Tristan said, his voice suddenly shaking. "You always say you'll play with me and you never do. She did. She even got me fries and juice and told me a story!"

Zaya tried to speak-"Tristan, sweetheart, it's okay-"

"No!" Tristan shouted, stepping back. "I don't wanna go back to the big cold house. I want her!"

Killian's hand froze mid-air. His own son was backing away from him like he was the villain in the story. That stung more than he'd admit.

He dragged a hand down his face, trying to stay calm. His eyes flicked to Zaya.

"I'm not leaving him here," Killian said under his breath, the words coated in steel. "He's coming with me. No arguments."

Zaya nodded slowly, hands up in surrender, but her eyes stayed on Tristan, gentle. "Tris... come on, honey. He's your dad. He just wants you safe."

Tristan's face scrunched. "He forgot my birthday."

Zaya looked over at Killian.

Killian closed his eyes for half a second. D*mn.

"Fine!" Killian snapped, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. "You win. She's coming with us."

"Yaaay!! I got a mommy!" Tristan shouted, running in circles, arms in the air like he'd just won the lottery.

Killian closed his eyes. For a man who handled billion-dollar deals before breakfast, this-this was the moment he felt completely defeated. He seriously wanted the floor to crack open and drag him down into hell.

He marched toward Zaya, grabbed her wrist gently but firmly, and pulled her aside-just out of Tristan's view.

"Excuse us, buddy," he called over his shoulder with forced calm.

When he turned back to her, his eyes had gone stone cold. The warmth from earlier? Gone. His voice dropped, low and sharp like a blade.

"Just for tonight," he said, barely above a whisper. "I don't care what you want. I'll pay you-any amount. You come. You smile. You nod. That's it."

Zaya blinked, taken aback, lips parting to speak.

He held up a finger. "Don't. Not now."

She stared at him. Was this man for real? Did he really think she'd be bought that easily ? Her jaw tightened.

"Your account number?" Killian asked, his tone dry, like he was ordering coffee. "I think a million dollars is enough for the act?"

Zaya blinked hard.

Did he just say a million dollars? Like it was pocket change?

Her heart pounded but not in a romantic way. More like, is this man insane?

She forced a breath, standing straighter. But inside, her mind was a storm.

You could pay off your rent for years... fix that d*mn fridge... quit that job where your manager acts like he owns you... heck, help Mom finally fix her roof.

But then another voice crept in-louder and bitter.

He thinks you're for sale, Zaya. He thinks every woman has a price. A million dollars to play mommy?

You're not one of his escorts. You're not desperate... are you?

She swallowed, fists clenched. She wasn't sure if she wanted to slap him or cry-or both.

Her eyes met his.

"I'm not giving you my account number," she said flatly.

What the heck.

Killian ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight, watching Zaya stand there-unbothered, mouth sharp, eyes honest.

He didn't like it.

Not one bit.

She was supposed to take the money, nod, smile, say "Yes, sir." Like they all did. Easy. No strings. No complications.

But this?

This woman standing in front of him didn't flinch. She wasn't scared of him. She didn't want his money.

God, why is it always the stubborn ones?

He wasn't used to this kind of chaos. Not in his personal life. Not with Tristan.

Hell, especially not with Tristan.

He kept his life off-limits for a reason. Women flirted with him to get closer to his power, his name and his money-not to him. No one ever got to see him.

And now here she was. Zaya. A girl from nowhere, in wrinkled pajamas, calling him out like he wasn't Killian Wolfe.

He hated it.

He hated how she looked at him like he wasn't untouchable. Like he was just a man who nearly lost his son.

He clenched his fists. D*mn it.

This was supposed to be simple. Find Tristan. Pay the girl and leave.

But nothing about this night was simple. And neither was she.

"Can we go already?" Tristan cut in, tugging Killian's hand, his small voice slicing through the thick tension.

Killian sighed, collecting himself. He gave a tight nod, placing a hand on Tristan's back and guiding him to the car.

Zaya followed behind, silently, her arms crossed over her chest.

Just for the night, she reminded herself. Only tonight.

Suddenly a luxurious Rolls -Royce came into view.

Sleek. Dark and expensive without even trying.

For a moment ,she was transported back to memories of Fred.

That was his dream car. He used to talk about it every time they passed a luxury showroom. He even had it as his phone wallpaper once. Said he'd save until his last breath to get it.

She blinked hard, pushing the memory back down.