Chapter 7 - A Father's Touch
For four-year-olds, the concept of a father was an abstract myth found in storybooks and cartoons.
Noah, the gentler of the twins, slowly reached out his small, sticky hand. His tiny fingers touched the heavy platinum watch on Julian’s wrist, fascinated by the ticking second hand.
"It ticks fast," Noah murmured.
Julian let out a wet, half-laugh, half-sob. He carefully unclasped the hundred-thousand-dollar Patek Philippe and placed it into Noah’s small palm. "You can hold it. It’s yours if you want it."
"Julian, don't give him that," Clara protested softly, wiping her tears. "He’ll drop it."
"Let him break it," Julian said, his eyes never leaving his sons. "I have a thousand watches. I only have two boys."
Leo remained skeptical. He walked up to Julian, standing mere inches away, crossing his small arms over his chest. "If you’re our dad, why didn't you come to my birthday?"
The innocent question was sharper than a dagger. Julian bowed his head, unable to hide the shame burning through him.
"Because I was lost, Leo," Julian answered honestly, looking into the boy's Vance-blue eyes. "I didn't know where you were. Bad people told me lies, and I was too stupid to see through them. But I swear to you, on everything I am, I will never miss another birthday. Not as long as I live."
Leo considered this with the solemn gravity of a four-year-old judge. Then, his eyes drifted to Julian’s polished leather shoes. "Can you carry two people at once? Mama gets tired when our legs hurt."
A genuine, radiant smile broke across Julian’s face for the first time in five years.
"Watch this," Julian whispered.
With effortless grace, Julian scooped Leo up in his left arm and Noah in his right, lifting them both high into the air. The boys gasped, then erupted into pure, bubbling giggles as Julian spun them gently in the small living room.
Clara watched from the couch, her hand pressed against her mouth.
For five years, her life had been defined by exhaustion, fear, and the relentless terror of the first of the month. She had carried the crushing weight of the world entirely alone. And now, watching this powerful, imposing man cradle their sons with the delicate reverence of someone holding spun glass, a sudden warmth unfurled in her chest.
He had never abandoned them.
The thought washed over her like cool water on a burn. He hadn't thrown her away. He had been a victim of Victoria’s monstrous cruelty just as much as she had.
Suddenly, Julian’s phone buzzed sharply against his belt.
He gently set the boys back onto the rug, kissing both of their foreheads—a gesture so natural it looked as if he had done it every day of their lives. He stepped toward the window and pulled out his phone.
His expression instantly hardened back into the ruthless titanium mask of Julian Vance, CEO.
"What is it, Arthur?" he answered quietly.
Arthur’s voice through the speaker was urgent, laced with panic. *"Julian, your mother just left the family residence. She hired a team of private investigators and contacted child protective services. She filed an emergency claim alleging that Clara Bennett is an unfit, mentally unstable guardian harboring kidnapped Vance heirs."*
Julian’s grip on the phone nearly cracked the glass screen.
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*"And Julian,"* Arthur continued, his voice dropping to a grim murmur, *"she just leaked the story to the Chicago Tribune. The media is on their way to Pilsen right now."*
***
