Chapter 1: The Awakening
A steady beeping filled the sterile hospital room, breaking through the heavy fog of unconsciousness. It was faint at first, distant and meaningless, but with each repetition, it pulled Noah Lancaster closer to the surface.
His fingers twitched. His breath hitched.
Then, like a dam breaking, sensation flooded back.
Pain. Stiffness. The overwhelming weight of a body that had been still for far too long.
Noah's eyelids fluttered, then finally, with immense effort, he forced them open. The bright, artificial lights stung his vision, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at the blank white ceiling. His throat was dry, raw, as if it had been scraped with sandpaper.
He tried to move, but his limbs were sluggish, foreign.
Where…?
A groan escaped his lips, rough and barely audible, but it was enough to trigger movement in the room. A gasp. The rustling of fabric. Then a voice—soft, trembling.
"Mr. Lancaster? Oh my God—Doctor! He's awake!"
Footsteps rushed away, the sound fading down the hallway.
Noah swallowed, wincing at the sharp pain in his throat. His gaze drifted across the room—machines, monitors, a window with thick blinds blocking out the outside world. The scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air.
A hospital.
Why was he here?
The door burst open before he could piece together his fragmented thoughts. A doctor and two nurses swept in, their movements brisk, efficient. The doctor—a middle-aged man with sharp features and graying hair—leaned over him, shining a light into his eyes.
"Mr. Lancaster, can you hear me?"
Noah tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
"Easy," the doctor said, nodding to a nurse, who quickly poured a glass of water and brought it to his lips. Noah drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat.
"Wh…what happened?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse before clearing his throat. "Mr. Lancaster, you were in an accident. A severe one. You've been in a coma for… quite some time."
Something cold settled in Noah's stomach. He wet his lips, dread curling in his chest.
"How long?"
The doctor hesitated, then answered, "Five years."
A sharp ringing filled his ears, drowning out everything else.
Five years?
His breath came in short, shallow bursts. His mind reeled, grasping for memories that refused to surface. The accident—what accident? His last clear memory was… was…
Lilian.
His wife's face flashed in his mind—soft brown curls, warm hazel eyes, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. They had been together, hadn't they? He had been driving…
His stomach twisted.
"Where is she?" His voice, though weak, carried a sharp edge.
Silence.
The doctor sighed, stepping back. "Mr. Lancaster, there's… a lot you need to know. But for now, you should rest. Your body has been through—"
"Where is my wife?" Noah snapped, forcing strength into his voice.
This time, the silence stretched uncomfortably long. The doctor averted his gaze, while the nurse suddenly busied herself with the IV drip.
Noah's chest tightened.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
And he was going to find out what.
Noah's pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the machines around him. The silence that followed his question only made his unease grow sharper, more suffocating.
The doctor glanced at the nurse again, then exhaled. "Mr. Lancaster, there's something you need to understand before we continue."
Noah's fingers curled weakly against the sheets. His body was sluggish, muscles atrophied from years of disuse, but his mind—his instincts—were sharp.
Something wasn't right.
"I don't need to understand anything," he bit out, voice rough. "I need answers."
The doctor hesitated, then nodded to the nurse, who quickly left the room. The air felt heavier now, the tension thick enough to choke on.
"Your wife…" The doctor paused, choosing his words carefully. "She was here, Mr. Lancaster. In the beginning."
Noah's jaw tightened. "And now?"
The doctor sighed. "She moved on."
Noah's breath stalled.
The words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else's reality. Like he was listening to a stranger's nightmare.
"Moved on?" he repeated, each syllable sharp, slow.
The doctor hesitated again, but Noah had no patience left.
"Where. Is. Lilian?"
The doctor's expression shifted—pitying, cautious. "She divorced you."
Something inside Noah went cold.
The world around him seemed to tilt, his breath catching in his throat.
Divorced.
Lilian.
The woman he had loved. The woman he had nearly died protecting.
Gone.
The word clawed through his mind, leaving behind a raw, open wound.
He forced his hands to grip the blanket, grounding himself against the dizzying rush of emotions. "Why?"
The doctor shifted uncomfortably. "After your accident, there were… complications. Financial burdens. A long recovery process with no guarantees. She stayed for a while, but after two years… she filed for divorce."
Noah barely heard the rest.
Two years.
She had lasted two years before walking away. Before abandoning him in this cold, sterile prison.
His heart pounded, each beat a dull ache against his ribs.
"She took everything," the doctor added, his voice cautious. "Your assets. Your properties. The estate."
Noah's breath came in sharp, shallow bursts.
Everything.
She had taken everything.
His stomach twisted, rage coiling deep in his chest. But before he could process the weight of it all, the doctor spoke again.
"And, Mr. Lancaster…" The man hesitated, shifting on his feet.
Noah's blood ran ice cold.
There was more.
Something worse.
The doctor met his gaze, his voice softer now. "She had children."
Noah's head snapped up. The room seemed to shrink around him.
"Children?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
The doctor nodded slowly. "Triplets. Five years old."
Noah's breath left him in a harsh exhale. His vision blurred at the edges.
Five years.
His mind worked through the impossible math.
Five years.
The realization slammed into him with the force of a wrecking ball.
They were his.
He had children.
And she had never told him.
His grip tightened on the thin sheets, the fabric bunching under his fingers. His chest burned with something raw, something unbearable.
He had been robbed.
Of time. Of memories. Of them.
He inhaled sharply, the weight of betrayal settling deep into his bones.
Lilian had taken his life. His home. His family.
A slow, simmering fury unfurled inside him, spreading through his veins like wildfire.
He wasn't just waking up to a new world.
He was waking up to war.
Noah sat frozen, his mind refusing to process the words echoing in his skull. Triplets. Five years old. His children.
Lilian had not only abandoned him—she had stolen five years of his life. Five years of his children's lives.
A violent tremor racked his fingers as he forced his hands to unclench. His throat felt raw, like he had swallowed broken glass. The machines around him beeped steadily, a cruel reminder that time had not stopped for him. Only for his body.
His children had been born, had taken their first breaths, had learned to walk, talk, and laugh—without him. And Lilian… she had chosen to keep it from him.
His voice came out as a rasp, barely controlled. "Where are they?"
The doctor shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't have that information, Mr. Lancaster."
Noah's eyes darkened. "Find out."
The doctor hesitated before nodding. "I'll do what I can."
Noah barely heard him. His mind was already racing, pulling apart the lies, the betrayal, the cold reality that he had woken up into.
Lilian hadn't just left him—she had erased him.
A sharp knock at the door yanked him from his thoughts. The nurse from earlier stepped in, a wary look in her eyes.
"Mr. Lancaster," she began cautiously, "there's someone here to see you."
Noah's pulse jumped.
For a split second, his mind whispered a foolish hope—Lilian. Maybe she had come to explain. Maybe—
But then the nurse stepped aside, and a man in a sharp gray suit strode in, carrying an expensive leather briefcase.
Not Lilian.
The man exuded authority, his every step precise and measured. His dark eyes assessed Noah with cool calculation, as though measuring the worth of a man who had just clawed his way back from death.
"Noah Lancaster," the man said smoothly, setting his briefcase down on the side table. "I'm Thomas Greaves, your attorney."
Noah's muscles tensed. His attorney?
Thomas adjusted his cuffs. "I handle the Lancaster estate. Or rather… what's left of it."
A slow, sick feeling settled in Noah's gut. He had a bad feeling about this.
The lawyer flipped open the briefcase and withdrew a stack of papers. "You need to be brought up to speed, Mr. Lancaster. A lot has changed since your accident."
Noah leaned back against the pillows, his jaw tightening. "Then start talking."
Thomas slid a document in front of him. "Your wife took control of your assets through a power of attorney while you were in a coma. Two years later, she divorced you. And in the last five years, she liquidated nearly all of your holdings."
Noah's fingers twitched. "Define nearly all."
The lawyer didn't even blink. "Your real estate empire? Sold. Your offshore accounts? Emptied. The Lancaster family estate? Gone. She even sold your private jet."
Noah's breath came slow and measured, though his knuckles turned white against the sheets.
"She took everything," he said flatly.
Thomas nodded. "Every last cent."
Rage burned through Noah's veins, cold and lethal. But it was the next words that sent ice through his chest.
"She's set to remarry in a month."
The hospital room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating.
Lilian. Remarrying.
He had been replaced. Forgotten.
His ex-wife was living a new life while he had been left to rot in a hospital bed. And worst of all—his children had likely never even known his name.
Noah inhaled sharply, forcing down the storm building inside him. He would not break.
Not now.
Not ever.
He had lost everything.
But he wasn't going to stay down.
Noah Lancaster was awake now. And he was going to take back what was his.
Every last piece of it.
Silence stretched between Noah and Thomas, thick with the weight of betrayal. The numbers, the assets, the stolen years—it all swirled in his mind like a violent storm.
But beneath the fury, beneath the raw ache of knowing Lilian had erased him, one thought burned the brightest.
His children.
He had to find them.
Noah forced his hands to relax, though every muscle in his body screamed for action. "My children," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Where are they?"
Thomas sighed, flipping through the file in front of him. "That," he admitted, "is where things get… complicated."
Noah's patience snapped. "Try me."
The lawyer didn't flinch at the sharp edge in Noah's tone. He simply slid another document across the tray table.
"She never officially listed you as their father."
Noah's breath stalled. His heart pounded against his ribs.
"What?" His voice was low, deadly.
Thomas tapped the paper. "On their birth certificates, the father's name is blank. Legally, you don't exist to them."
A slow, chilling rage settled into Noah's bones.
Lilian had gone beyond stealing his fortune—she had stolen his very identity as a father.
His hands curled into fists. "So, what you're telling me," he said, voice eerily calm, "is that my own children don't even know I exist?"
Thomas met his gaze with a measured look. "It's highly likely they've never heard your name."
Something inside Noah cracked.
Five years. Five years of first words, first steps, birthdays, scraped knees, bedtime stories—all stolen.
He had been robbed of the chance to be their father.
His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the raw, unrelenting need to fix this.
"What about Lilian?" he asked, voice like steel. "Where is she now?"
Thomas exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "She's engaged to a man named Damian Caldwell. CEO of Caldwell Enterprises."
Noah's jaw clenched.
Damian Caldwell.
He knew the name well—one of his former business rivals. A man who had tried, and failed, to buy out Lancaster Holdings years ago.
Now, that same man had his family?
Noah's blood ran ice-cold.
Thomas continued, unaware of the storm brewing in Noah's gaze. "They're set to be married in a month. She's been living under the radar, avoiding the press, but I can get you her current address."
Noah didn't hesitate. "Do it."
Thomas hesitated for the first time. "Noah… this isn't just about money anymore. She's moved on. She's built a new life. You need to be careful."
Noah's expression darkened.
"Careful?" He let out a slow, humorless chuckle. "I've lost everything. My fortune, my name, my children." His voice hardened. "Tell me, Thomas. What exactly do I have left to lose?"
The lawyer met his gaze, searching for something. He must have found it—the sheer, unwavering determination in Noah's eyes—because he gave a slow nod.
"I'll get the information to you by morning."
Noah leaned back against the hospital bed, his mind already working.
Five years had been stolen from him.
But that ended now.
He was awake.
And he was coming for everything that was his.
The sterile scent of the hospital lingered, but Noah barely noticed. His mind was already moving forward, calculating, strategizing. He had spent years building an empire, making ruthless decisions that turned Lancaster Holdings into an untouchable force. That man—the one who never backed down, who never lost—was still inside him.
And now, that man had a new purpose.
His children.
Thomas stood, gathering his papers into his briefcase. "You need rest," he said, but there was no expectation that Noah would listen.
Noah smirked. "Five years was enough rest for a lifetime."
Thomas shook his head, but there was the barest hint of admiration in his eyes. "I'll call you when I have her location."
Noah gave a curt nod, and Thomas left, closing the door behind him. Silence settled over the room again, but it wasn't peaceful. It was the quiet before a storm.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing his strength. His body was stiff, weaker than it had ever been, but he would recover. He had to.
Standing, he crossed to the small mirror on the wall.
The man staring back at him was a stranger. His once-powerful frame had thinned, his sharp jawline was shadowed with an unkempt beard, and his piercing blue eyes—once cold and calculating in boardrooms—now held something even more dangerous.
Rage.
Loss.
Determination.
He wouldn't let this be his end.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. A nurse peeked inside, her face kind but cautious. "Mr. Lancaster, are you sure you should be up?"
Noah turned to face her. "I need a phone."
She hesitated. "I'm not sure—"
He reached for the IV line still attached to his arm and pulled it out with a sharp motion. A small sting, a drop of blood—but nothing compared to the pain burning inside him.
The nurse gasped. "You can't just—"
He met her gaze, his expression leaving no room for argument. "Phone."
She swallowed, nodded, and hurried out of the room.
Minutes later, she returned, placing a hospital-issued phone in his hand. "Doctor Patel won't be happy about this," she muttered, but Noah barely heard her.
He dialed the only number that mattered right now.
The line rang twice before a gruff, familiar voice answered. "Who the hell is this?"
Noah's grip on the phone tightened. "Did you miss me, Carter?"
A beat of silence. Then—
"Noah?" Carter Steele, his former head of security, let out a low curse. "Tell me this isn't some sick joke."
"I'm back," Noah said. "And I need you."
Another pause. Then, Carter's voice sharpened, all business. "Where are you?"
Noah glanced around the hospital room, the place that had been his prison for five years. "Not for long."
Carter exhaled. "Tell me what you need."
Noah's jaw clenched. "I need to find my children."
And just like that, the storm had begun.