Elise Scott stood frozen in the doorway.

Her eyes were locked on the scene before her.

John Levine was sitting on the edge of the bed.

His head was bowed, shoulders slumped.

The usual commanding presence was gone.

He looked utterly defeated.

Elise’s heart clenched painfully.

She had never seen him like this.

Not even during the most intense corporate battles.

She took a hesitant step into the room.

The floorboards creaked under her weight.

John’s head snapped up.

His eyes, usually so sharp and perceptive, were clouded with a deep, raw pain.

He looked at her, but for a moment, it seemed he didn’t truly see her.

“John?” Her voice was a soft whisper.

It seemed to break the spell.

Recognition flickered in his gaze.

A mask of composure started to fall into place, but it was too late.

She had already seen the cracks.

“Elise.” His voice was hoarse, rough with emotion he was trying to suppress. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

She moved closer, her steps slow and deliberate.

She stopped a few feet from him, not wanting to crowd him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, though she feared she already knew.

His gaze dropped to the floor.

A long, heavy silence stretched between them.

It was thick with unspoken words.

“James,” he finally said, the name sounding like a confession. “He… he asked about his mother.”

Elise felt a fresh wave of sympathy wash over her.

She had known this day would come.

A child’s curiosity about their origins was natural, inevitable.

But knowing it was coming didn’t make it any less painful to witness.

“What did he ask?” she prompted gently.

John let out a shaky breath.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair.

“He asked why he doesn’t have a mommy like the other children at his school. He asked if she was coming back.”

Elise’s breath caught in her throat.

She could picture the little boy’s confused, hopeful face.

It was a heartbreaking image.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him…” John’s voice broke. He cleared his throat, trying again. “I told him that his mother lives very far away. That she… couldn’t be with us.”

It was a simplified version of a cruel truth.

A truth a young child could never fully grasp.

“He started crying,” John continued, the words laced with a father’s helpless agony. “He said he wanted a mommy. He asked if you could be his mommy.”

Elise felt as if all the air had been punched from her lungs.

The simple, innocent request was a dagger to her heart.

It was everything she wanted.

And everything that was so terribly complicated.

She closed the distance between them and knelt before him.

She placed her hands on his knees, looking up into his tormented face.

“Oh, John.”

There were no other words.

What could she possibly say?

He looked at her, his guard completely down now.

The vulnerability in his eyes was staggering.

“I didn’t know what to say to him, Elise. How do you explain something like that to a four-year-old? How do you make him understand that the woman who gave birth to him chose a life of glamour and freedom over him? Over us?”

The raw pain in his voice was almost too much to bear.

She could feel his knees trembling beneath her hands.

“You did the best you could,” she said, her voice firm despite the emotion clogging her throat. “You gave him an answer he can understand for now. That’s what matters.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” he whispered. “It never feels like enough. I can give him the world, but I can’t give him the one thing he truly wants.”

“He has you,” Elise insisted, squeezing his knees. “He has a father who loves him more than anything. That is a gift beyond measure, John. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He searched her face, his gaze intense, desperate for the absolution she was offering.

“And he has you,” John said, his voice gaining a little strength. “He has you, Elise. You are more of a mother to him than Zoe York ever was or ever will be.”

Tears welled in Elise’s eyes.

She quickly blinked them away.

This wasn’t about her.

This was about him and his son.

“I love him, John. You know I do. I love him as if he were my own.”

It was the truest thing she had ever said.

John reached out and cupped her cheek.

His thumb stroked her skin gently.

The touch was a balm on both their wounded spirits.

“I know,” he said softly. “And he loves you. So much. That’s why he asked. In his mind, it’s the simplest solution. The person who loves him and cares for him should be his mother.”

Elise leaned into his touch, drawing strength from him even as she tried to give it back.

“It’s not that simple, though, is it?” she murmured.

The shadow of his legal entanglement with Zoe loomed large in the room.

The pre-nup, the custody clauses, the threat she still posed.

“No,” John agreed, his hand dropping from her face. “It’s not. But hearing him say it… it made me want to make it that simple. It made me want to tear up every legal document that stands in our way.”

The ferocity in his voice was a testament to his love for his son.

It was also a reminder of the powerful, formidable man he was.

“We will figure this out,” Elise said, her voice filled with a conviction she desperately needed to feel. “Together. We will find a way to give James the family he deserves.”

John looked at her for a long moment.

The storm in his eyes began to slowly recede, replaced by a weary determination.

He took her hands in his, lacing their fingers together.

His grip was firm, almost desperate.

“You are my family, Elise,” he said, his voice low and fervent. “You and James. You are my entire world. I won’t let anyone threaten that. Not Zoe. Not anyone.”

It was a vow.

A promise forged in the fires of a child’s tears and a father’s love.

Elise believed him.

She had to.

Because the alternative was too bleak to contemplate.

She rose from her knees and sat beside him on the bed.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.

They sat there in silence for a long time.

Two people, bound together by love and circumstance.

Drawing strength from each other.

Preparing for the battles yet to come.

The battle for their future.

The battle for their family.

Elise completed the visitation forms with practiced efficiency.

She felt no sympathy for Samuel Mitchell.

Not even a flicker.

But she was certain he should have learned some hard truths by now.

The most important one being that while Elise never sought to harm others, she would never allow herself to be victimized.

If someone crossed her, the retaliation would be swift and absolute.

Only twenty-four hours had passed since his arrest.

Yet Samuel looked utterly broken.

He had always been so vain about his appearance.

That was part of what had drawn her to him years ago abroad.

He’d always worn crisp, white button-downs or simple tees.

Paired with his boyish, innocent smile, he’d projected an image of effortless charm.

Now, that charming youth was gone.

Replaced by a sullen, disheveled man.

Any lingering sentiment Elise might have felt had evaporated.

His current state of pity left her completely cold.

"What are you doing here?!"

Samuel's voice was a low, venomous snarl.

His pride was clearly wounded, a stubborn refusal to appear humiliated before her.

He would not tolerate her mockery.

"I came to see your disgrace for myself," Elise stated, her tone flat and unfeeling.

She wouldn't soften just because he'd fallen so far.

"Shut up!" he roared, lurching to his feet as if electrocuted.

"Meeting you was the worst mistake of my life!"

"Sit down! Now!"

The guard behind him barked the command, raising his baton before Elise could even respond.

A flash of pure fear crossed Samuel's face at the sight of the weapon.

It was obvious his last day had been… educational.

William would have ensured his stay was anything but comfortable.

Instantly cowed, Samuel sank back into his chair, falling silent.

The guard glanced at Elise, a silent question in his eyes.

He was being unusually accommodating.

She knew William's influence was at work, anticipating her moves as always.

She gave the guard a slight nod.

He retreated respectfully to his corner.

Elise turned her attention back to Samuel.

He sat quietly now, but the hatred burning in his bloodshot eyes was palpable.

The cuts and bruises marring his face and body made for a grim picture.

"You still don't understand, do you?" Elise asked, her voice cool and detached.

"Who is truly responsible for this?"

Samuel glared at her with pure malice.

But he didn't dare speak another word.