CHAPTER 118: HER FIRST SCAR

At the office, sunlight poured in through the tall glass windows, casting a warm glow on Zeke’s face, which looked noticeably brighter than usual. His smile was impossible to hide, even as he sat quietly staring at his monitor.

Andrew steps into Zeke’s office, holding a tablet in one hand and a neatly stacked folder in the other.

"Sir, I have the report on the new drug formulation—" he starts, but pauses mid-sentence when he gets a good look at Zeke.

Zeke is seated behind his desk, scrolling through something on his screen, but there’s a glow on his face that’s impossible to miss. Not the cold, calculating stare he usually wears but something lighter. Almost warm.

Andrew narrows his eyes. "Wait a second. Did something happen?"

Zeke looks up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... you look suspiciously happy." Andrew squints, then smirks. "Is this about Cassidy? Don’t tell me you actually followed my advice?"

Zeke chuckles under his breath. "Well, I’m trying."

Andrew lifts the folder slightly, arching a brow. "Good. Because if this drug launch goes as planned, you’ll have even less time soon." He smirks. "Better get the emotional stuff sorted before that."

Zeke lets out a quiet laugh, but the calm smile on his lips doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens, softened by something that almost looks like hope.

Then, without missing a beat, he says, "Claire wants to go to an amusement park."

Andrew blinks. "You’re taking her to one?"

"I want to book the whole place this weekend," Zeke says simply. "It’s on Saturday. Set it up. And talk to Nolan, I want tight security. Make sure every staff member working that day gets properly screened."

There’s a pause before Andrew gives a short nod, clearly taking mental notes. "Got it. Anything else?"

Zeke glances at the clock. His voice lowers, more serious now. "I need to leave before 12 p.m. If anyone wants to submit a proposal or hand in reports, tell them to move fast."

"Understood. I’ll pass it on to the managers and directors."

Zeke nods once, then waves a hand toward the door. "You’re dismissed."

***

At 11:30 a.m., Zeke gets ready to leave the office. Before heading out, he calls Dr. Malcom to double-check everything.

Then, in his Rolls-Royce, driven by his chauffeur with Nolan sitting in the front passenger seat, they head straight to Cassidy’s apartment.

On the way, Zeke turns to Nolan. "Any updates on Baker’s case? Has Blake found anything?"

Nolan exhales quietly. "He’s still digging. Baker’s too clean, no traces, no mistakes. The guy covers his tracks well."

Zeke’s tone sharpens. "Blake’s too scared. Just because it involves legal matters, he’s holding back? Since when do we care about that?"

Nolan finally says, quietly, "Baker’s a detective. We can’t just take him down like we did with Claire’s shooter. It’s not that simple."

Zeke scoffs under his breath. "What about my enemies’ recent moves? Any updates? Anything off?"

Nolan shakes his head slightly. "Nothing stands out. They’re like you—powerful men who give orders, not get their hands dirty. If they want something done, they send someone else. And those people don’t talk."

He pauses before adding, "Figuring out which enemy is targeting Madam and the young miss... it won’t be that easy."

Zeke’s jaw clenches as he leans back against the seat, frustration bleeding into his voice. "It’s been almost a month," he says slowly, his tone sharp as a blade. "And we still have nothing? No leads, no names, not even a damn theory?"

He scoffs, eyes narrowing. "Useless. Maybe I should just fire all of you and bring in a team that actually gets things done."

Nolan stiffens in his seat, shoulders tightening. But he doesn’t say anything. He just stares straight ahead, jaw locked, taking the hit in silence because he knows this isn’t the time to talk back. Not when Zeke’s patience is wearing thin

The moment they arrive at Cassidy’s apartment building, Zeke adjusts his expression softening it. No longer cold or rigid like usual.

Nolan, still seated beside the driver, watches the sudden change. The corner of his mouth twitches, barely hiding his disbelief. How the hell does his boss switch moods that fast?

Inside the elevator on his way up, Zeke catches his reflection in the mirror. He pauses, then straightens his slightly crooked tie and smooths down his hair. The man who never cared about appearances now wants to look presentable for Cassidy, and for Claire.

When the apartment door opens, Claire is the first to greet him.

The second she sees him, her face lights up with pure joy. "Daddy!"

She dashes over, feet quick and unsteady, arms raised high. "Carry me!"

Zeke barely has a second to react before she throws herself into his legs. He picks her up without hesitation, holding her close like it’s the only thing that matters.

Ever since that first time he carried her, Claire’s made it her favorite way to greet him. And Zeke? He never turns her down.

"What were you doing before Daddy came, princess?" Zeke asks as he closes the door behind him.

Claire looks up at him proudly. "I was helping Grandma Clara cook in the kitchen."

"Oh yeah?" Zeke smiles, walking with her into the living room. "What did you cook?"

"Chicken. And vegetables," she says seriously, like it’s a secret family recipe.

Zeke lets out a soft chuckle. "Are you good at cooking?"

Claire nods with confidence. He sets her gently on the sofa before taking a seat beside her.

"I want to be a chef like Uncle Xavi," she adds, her voice full of certainty.

Zeke stiffens, caught off guard by a sudden pang of jealousy.

Claire adds, "Uncle Xavi is really good at cooking. His food tastes so yummy!"

Zeke pauses, trying not to let the comment bother him. He smiles coolly. "Hmm... Well, Daddy can cook too."

Claire’s eyes widen with excitement, and a big smile spreads across her face. "Really? You can cook too? Are you as good as Uncle Xavi, Daddy?" she asks, staring up at him with curious, hopeful eyes.

Zeke hesitates for a brief moment. Truthfully, his skills can’t compare to Xavier’s. But he straightens up, putting on his most confident tone. "Of course. You’ll have to try it and tell me what you think."

"Really?"

"Really," he nods, amused. "What would you like me to make for you?"

She gasps dramatically, clapping her hands together. "Ooh! Can you make pancakes and chocolate lava cake, Daddy? Please?"

Zeke freezes.

Dessert? That’s one thing he’s never actually made. But it can’t be that hard... right?

Worst case, he could always call his private chef or spend the night watching YouTube tutorials until he gets it right.

Still, he adjusts his posture and replies without missing a beat, "Absolutely. But you have to help me, princess."

Claire grins, eyes shining with excitement. "Okay! I’ll help you, Daddy."

Zeke gently strokes the top of Claire’s head. "You’re so sweet, princess."

Claire smiles in return, happy and proud.

Just then, Cassidy steps out from the kitchen and walks over to join them. She sits on the sofa near Zeke and Claire.

"Is Dr. Malcom on his way?" she asks.

"He should be here any minute now," Zeke replies.

Right as he finishes his sentence, the doorbell rings.

"That might be him," Cassidy says, getting up. She checks the video intercom, and once she confirms it’s really Dr. Malcom, she opens the door.

A man in his mid-forties greets her with a polite smile. "Hi, I’m Dr. Malcom—Zeke’s private doctor." He offers his hand.

Cassidy accepts the handshake with a nod. "Cassidy. Please, come in."

Dr. Malcom nods once and follows her into the living room.

Zeke greets Dr. Malcom with a small nod as soon as he sees him.

The doctor turns to Claire with a soft smile. "Hi there, brave girl," he says warmly. "Are you ready to take out your stitches, little warrior?"

Claire giggles at the compliment, her eyes shining with happiness. "I’m ready!" she says brightly, her voice full of confidence.

The stitches are out in no time. Dr. Malcom moves carefully but quick, and Claire doesn’t even blink. She stays calm the whole time, like it’s no big deal.

The same can’t be said for her parents.

Both Zeke and Cassidy sit nearby, unusually quiet. The moment they see the scar on Claire’s little belly, guilt washes over them like a wave. Especially Zeke. His chest tightens at the sight.

She’s just a kid. A little girl. And already, she has a scar like that.

Once Dr. Malcom finishes and packs up his tools, Zeke smooths down Claire’s hair with a soft touch, his voice low and careful. "Princess," he says gently, "if that scar ever bothers you... Daddy will find the best plastic surgeon in the country to help. Okay?"

Claire doesn’t really understand what a plastic surgeon is, but she nods with a bright smile anyway. "Okay, Daddy."

***