Chapter 4: The Kneeling King
In the corner of the room, a young boy—Julian’s six-year-old nephew, who had been raised in the house—slipped through the crowd. He stopped, staring at the woman in the maid’s uniform. He had only known Elena from the portraits in the hallway, but he recognized the eyes.
The boy ran forward, his small feet pattering across the marble. He stopped, looking up at Elena, his face a mixture of relief and pure, childhood terror. "Auntie?"
Elena knelt on the floor, ignoring the stunned aristocrats. She pulled the boy into her arms, her composure breaking for the first time as she sobbed into his hair.
May you like
Julian approached them, dropping to one knee beside his wife. The billionaire, the man who owned half the city’s skyline, now looked like a beggar before the woman he had finally reclaimed. He reached out, touching the face he had memorized through a thousand nightmares.
"I’m here," Julian whispered, his voice cracking. "And I promise you, no one who hurt you will ever draw a breath in this city again."
