The soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Elara tapped away at her keyboard, her mind only half-focused on the report in front of her. The familiar scent of coffee and printer ink filled the air, a routine comfort in her otherwise chaotic life. Outside the tall glass windows of her office, the city bustled—people rushing, cars honking, the world moving at a relentless pace.

Her phone vibrated beside her. A message from the daycare.

[Daycare: The twins are doing great today! Mason ate all his lunch, and Theo only threw his carrots once. Progress!]

Elara exhaled a quiet laugh. They're not twins, she wanted to correct—again—but she let it go. Explaining the intricacies of her pregnancy, her rare condition, and how her boys had different fathers was exhausting. Most people wouldn't understand, and she'd stopped trying long ago.

Still, as she glanced at the framed photo on her desk—Mason grinning mischievously while Theo clung to her with his usual quiet stubbornness—her heart swelled. They were hers. Both of them.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Elara, meeting in five," her coworker called before disappearing down the hall.

Right. Work. She could think about the complexities of her life later. For now, there was a job to do.

But as she gathered her things, a strange sense of unease settled in her chest. A mother's instinct—one she had learned never to ignore.

Something wasn't right.

And she had a feeling it had to do with her boys.

Elara's phone buzzed again, the screen flashing Daycare. Her heart clenched.

Something was wrong.

She snatched the phone off her desk and pressed it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Miss Elara?" The voice on the other end belonged to Mrs. Carter, the daycare supervisor. She sounded hesitant, which was never a good sign. "I'm calling about Mason. There was… an incident."

Elara's stomach dropped. "What happened? Are they okay?"

"They're not hurt, but Mason got into a fight with another child. It was about Theo."

Elara's grip on the phone tightened. "Go on."

The teacher hesitated. "A boy was picking on Theo… calling him fatherless, saying some rather cruel things about your family situation. Mason defended his brother, but—"

Elara exhaled sharply, already knowing where this was going. "But what?"

"He hit the other boy. With a wooden block. The child has a small cut on his forehead. It's not serious, but his mother… well, she's very upset and demanding to speak with you immediately."

Elara closed her eyes. Of course. A Karen.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," she said, grabbing her coat.

"Thank you," Mrs. Carter replied. "I think it would be best if we resolve this in person."

Elara ended the call, shoving her phone into her pocket.

Mason had lashed out—not ideal. But he'd been defending Theo, and that part made her chest tighten with pride and frustration. He was only 5 years old, still learning how to handle emotions. Meanwhile, some entitled brat was parroting words he had no business knowing.

And now she had to deal with his mother.

Elara grabbed her keys, her jaw set.

No one can mess with her boys.

Here's the next part of your novel:

Elara pulled into the daycare parking lot, barely remembering to shut off the engine before she rushed inside. The moment she stepped through the doors, two tiny figures ran toward her.

"Mommy!" Mason's little fists clutched her coat as he buried his face against her. Theo followed right behind, clinging to her leg with teary eyes.

Elara knelt, wrapping her arms around both of them. "I'm here, babies. It's okay." She kissed the tops of their heads, feeling Mason tremble slightly.

"Mason, are you alright?" she asked gently.

He nodded, but his little hands stayed clenched. "He was mean to Theo," he muttered, his voice shaking with suppressed anger. "He said bad things about you, Mommy."

Her heart ached. No child should have to defend their mother's honor at such a young age.

"I know," she whispered, smoothing down his curls. "But hurting someone isn't the answer, sweetheart."

Before she could say more, a loud huff interrupted them.

"Elara, I presume?"

She looked up to see a woman with overly styled blonde hair, designer sunglasses perched atop her head, and an unmistakable look of self-righteous fury.

Here we go.

The conversation was exhausting. The woman, predictably, played the victim, claiming her son was "just speaking the truth" and demanding Mason be "properly disciplined." Elara bit back her retorts, keeping her responses polite yet firm. She apologized for Mason's actions but made it clear that words could wound just as deeply as physical harm.

Still, it was obvious this environment wasn't going to change.

By the time she left, she had already made up her mind—her boys deserved better.

It took days of searching, but eventually, she found the perfect place.

A small, homey daycare on the quieter side of town. The building was warm and inviting, run by an elderly woman who reminded Elara of a kind grandmother. There weren't many kids—just a handful—which meant fewer chances for Mason and Theo to be targeted again.

As she toured the daycare, a soft male voice called out, "You must be Mason and Theo's mom."

Elara turned to find a young man, maybe in his early thirties, standing near a shelf of books. He had an easy smile, warm brown eyes, and a gentle presence that immediately put her at ease.

"I'm Nathan," he introduced himself. "I'll be looking after them while you're at work."

Something about him—his quiet confidence, the way he spoke—made her believe he would take good care of her boys.

"Nice to meet you, Nathan," she said, extending her hand.

For the first time in a while, she felt like she was making the right choice.

The dim glow of the city lights barely reached the penthouse's vast, open space. A crystal glass of whiskey rested in his hand, the amber liquid swirling lazily as he leaned back in his leather chair. The air smelled of expensive liquor, but to him, it was nothing but a bitter aftertaste.

Elara.

Her name echoed in his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. No matter how much time passed, she remained a ghost that refused to fade.

He exhaled, tilting his head back, staring at the ceiling as memories rushed in—soft, delicate, painful.

She had always been there. With her unwavering loyalty, her quiet strength, her ridiculous habit of worrying over him more than herself.

He remembered the way she had confessed—nervous yet determined—her cheeks dusted with pink, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I love you."

Back then, he had scoffed at her words, too consumed by his ambitions to care. Yet, she had stayed. She had bandaged his wounds when he got into fights, covered for his mistakes, shielded him when no one else would.

And then, that night—

The night he had taken what she so freely gave.

Her warmth, her love, her everything.

For the first time, he had let himself sink into her touch, into the sweet whispers of love she breathed against his skin.

And then, he had ruined her.

He could still see her—kneeling on the floor, eyes filled with devastation as he turned his back on her.

"It was a mistake." His own voice came back to haunt him. "You were nothing but a moment of weakness."

He clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the glass. A cruel lie. A coward's excuse.

She had loved him. And he had shattered her.

Now, she was gone—completely out of his reach.

And yet, as he stared into the empty darkness, his grip trembled.

Because, despite everything—despite the power, the success, the emptiness he had buried himself in—one truth remained.

She had been the only thing that was ever truly his.

And he had let her go.

The ice in his glass clinked as he downed the last of his whiskey, the burn doing nothing to numb the fire raging inside him. His fingers tapped against the crystal, a restless, dangerous rhythm.

Elara.

The name alone was enough to drive him mad.

His mind was consumed by the memory of her—her warmth, her soft sighs, the way she had once looked at him as if he were her entire world. He had convinced himself he didn't need her, that power was the only thing worth chasing.

But the truth was merciless.

He craved her.

And now, no matter what it took—he would have her back.

He reached for the intercom and pressed the button.

"Find her." His voice was steady, commanding. "No matter what it takes."

There was a brief pause before his secretary responded. "Understood, sir."

As the call ended, he leaned back in his chair, fingers pressing against his temple.

She thought she could disappear from him. That she could build a new life, far away from his shadow.

His lips curled into a slow, dark smirk.

"Elara… you're mine," he whispered to himself, his voice low and possessive.

"And I'm coming for you."