Ares nearly stumbled when he heard that na.
How dare she!
Shay felt the sudden tension coil through her father’s body. Even at five, she recognized the anger simring beneath his calm façade, threatening to erupt.
Her lip trembled. She deployed her ultimate weapon—big, glistening eyes, tears spilling freely as she looked up at him with devastating innocence.
"Daddy, don’t get angry, please. I was the one who told her it was her na."
The little girl looked back at Lara with eyes full of longing.
The man sighed and took a step forward.
"But," Lara added softly, sadness threading her voice, "it doesn’t feel like my na."
She turned back to the doctor, panic creeping in.
"You know my na, right? Where’s my family? How long was I unconscious?"
The doctor sighed, sympathy etched into his eyes.
"The na on your record is Larissa Reyes," he said gently. "You and your family were involved in a car accident... a year ago."
"A year?" Lara whispered, shock hollowing her expression. "I was asleep the whole ti?"
"Yes," the doctor replied. "I’ll notify the family who brought you here—"
The man, already at the door, relaxed.
So, it was a misunderstanding.
He glanced back once, his gaze lingering briefly on the woman in the bed before turning away and heading toward the suite at the far end of the corridor.
Later that day, when Shay had finally fallen asleep, Ares stepped into the adjoining room and made a call.
"Xander," he said coolly, "check the hospital surveillance. I want to know exactly when Shay started sneaking out of her room—and how she found the private room near the stairwell."
"On it, Boss," Xander replied eagerly. "Give twenty minutes."
The line went dead.
Earlier that day, Ares had been in the middle of a eting with his technical team when the nanny reported Shay missing. He’d cut the discussion short and rushed to the hospital. By the ti he arrived, the CCTV footage had already been requested—and he knew exactly where to look.
He replayed the clip on his phone.
He watched Shay climbed down from her bed, slipped out the door, and jogged down the corridor with surprising agility. Too agile for a child who had been fighting leukemia for a year. She was here for a maintenance checkup after chemotherapy.
The sight tightened his chest.
His phone rang.
"Boss," Xander reported, "the first ti Shay entered that room was six months ago—right after her chemo. She told her nanny she was bored and wandered off. The private room door was left open. The resident doctor had just checked on the patient."
A pause.
"She peeked inside," Xander continued, voice lowering. "And then she smiled."
"Send everything," Ares said sharply. "I’ll review it myself."
Monts later, his phone chid. Xander sent him a curated version of the clips.
Ares watched clip after clip.
Before every chemotherapy session, Shay would sneak into that room.
She always moved carefully, as if afraid the woman on the bed might startle if she walked too loudly. She would pull a chair close, climb onto it with effort, and lean forward until her small face hovered just inches from the pale, unmoving one.
"Mommy," Shay would whisper, her voice soft and hopeful, almost inaudible from the CCTV. "Are you awake yet?"
There was never an answer.
Still, Shay talked.
She told her secrets.
She told her how she pretended to be brave so Daddy wouldn’t worry—how the needles actually hurt, how she was scared.
She spoke about school, about the drawings she made for Daddy that he barely glanced at because he was always busy.
She talked about the nanny, about the hospital slls she hated, about how everyone kept saying she was so brave.
"I am brave," Shay said once, nodding as if convincing herself. "I don’t cry in front of Daddy."
The cara caught her tiny hands twisting together in her lap.
"But the needles hurt," she admitted in a whisper. "They hurt a lot. And sotis I’m really, really scared."
Ares’s chest constricted.
He had been proud of her—of her strength, her composure, her maturity. He had told himself she was resilient, that she adapted, that she was fine.
He saw now how wrong he’d been.
She hadn’t been brave.
She had been alone.
The screen showed Shay leaning forward, resting her forehead against the woman’s hand.
"I don’t want Daddy to worry," she murmured. "He already looks tired all the ti."
Ares clenched his fists, his jaw tightening until it ached.
How many tis had he reassured himself that providing the best doctors, the best treatnts, the best money could buy was enough?
How many nights had he left the hospital early because there were deals to close, wars to fight, empires to protect—telling himself Shay was asleep anyway?
She hadn’t needed his power.
She had needed his presence.
The footage continued.
Shay smiled suddenly, a small, hopeful thing that hurt to see. "When you wake up," she told the woman on the bed, "I’ll let you hold my hand during chemo. Then I won’t be scared anymore."
Ares shut his eyes and clenched his fists.
Six months ago, that was when Shay had started calling her Mommy—begging her to wake up. Not just because of the chemotherapy, not just because of the pain she pretended didn’t exist, but because the other children whispered and pointed. Because when school ended, it was always the nanny waiting at the gate.
Never him. Never a mother.
Ares, with reddened eyes, entered Shay’s room. He stayed there and just watched her.
His vision burned.
Ares walked into Shay’s room and stopped beside her bed. He didn’t touch her at first. He simply stood there, watching her sleep—so small beneath the covers, lashes damp, face too pale for a child her age.
"Even if I could bring your mommy back... she wouldn’t co back."
Shay stirred, a faint frown forming as she shifted in her sleep. Ares leaned down quickly, his large hand patting her side with unpracticed gentleness, afraid even his touch might wake her.
Her lips parted.
"Mommy... please wake up," she murmured.
The words sliced through him.
His voice broke.
Ares looked at the photo in the investigation report.
The woman Shay had chosen. The woman she had poured her fears into. The woman she had called Mommy.
Not because he told her to.
But because Shay had needed one.
And sohow—without his knowledge, without his permission—his daughter had found her.
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