The city never truly slept; it only learned how to breathe in the dark.
Rain slid down glass towers in silver rivulets, distorting the neon glow of streetlights and billboards into something softer, more dangerous. The streets below shimmered like polished obsidian, reflecting a world that thrived on secrets, ambition, and quiet desperation. It was a city that rewarded control and punished weakness.
Zachery Allister knew that lesson well.
He stood by the narrow window of his apartment, one hand braced against the cool glass, the other loosely holding a small blue toy car. Outside, the rain intensified, tapping against the window in a steady rhythm that mirrored the unease in his chest. Inside, the apartment was warm, dimly lit by a single floor lamp, the faint scent of chamomile tea lingering in the air. A sanctuary carved out of necessity rather than luxury.
Behind him, the soft rise and fall of a child's breathing grounded him.
Zane was asleep on the couch, curled on his side beneath a fleece blanket patterned with faded cartoon dinosaurs. One small hand clutched the corner of the blanket as though even in sleep, he feared losing it. Zachery watched him for a long moment, the familiar ache tightening his chest.
Four years old and already too perceptive for his own good.
Zane Allister had inherited his mother's curls and Zachery's eyes, though softened by an innocence the world had not yet touched. He was clever, emotionally attuned, and far too observant. Sometimes, Zachery worried that his son understood more than he ever let on that he sensed the fractures beneath the surface of Zachery's carefully ordered life.
That fear was why Zachery lived the way he did.
Careful. Controlled. Predictable.
A high school teacher by profession, a single father by necessity, Zachery's life revolved around lesson plans, grocery lists, bedtime stories, and quiet evenings. Stability was not a luxury; it was a responsibility. He had learned the cost of emotional recklessness once before, and he refused to pay it again, especially not with his son's safety at stake.
The phone on the kitchen counter vibrated.
Zachery stiffened.
He glanced toward Zane, ensuring the child remained asleep, before setting the toy car down and crossing the room. The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number. No name. No context.
His first instinct was to ignore it.
Instead, against his better judgment, he answered.
"Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end, measured and deliberate. Then a voice came through the speaker, smooth and commanding, carrying a quiet authority that seemed to cut through the noise of the city itself.
"Mr. Allister."
Zachery's fingers tightened around the phone.
"Yes?"
"This is Ethan Voss."
The name landed like a blow.
Even before his mind caught up, his body reacted, heart rate quickening, shoulders tensing. Ethan Voss was not a name spoken lightly. He was a presence, a force, a man whose influence extended far beyond the glass-and-steel tower that bore his company's name.
Voss Industry & Holdings.
Zachery had seen his face before on magazine covers, business journals, and late-night news segments. Always impeccably dressed. Always composed. Always untouchable. A man who owned boardrooms and bent markets to his will.
A man who did not make unsolicited calls.
"I wasn't aware I'd given you my number," Zachery said carefully.
A faint sound, almost a chuckle, filtered through the line.
"You didn't."
That single word sent a ripple of unease through him.
"I hope this isn't inappropriate," Ethan continued, his tone calm, assured. "But I prefer directness. You came highly recommended."
"For what, exactly?" Zachery asked.
"Tutoring."
Zachery frowned. "I don't tutor privately."
"You do," Ethan replied smoothly, "when it involves academic intervention for children with… unique circumstances."
Zachery's jaw tightened.
He did do that occasionally. Pro bono, discreetly. He worked with students who had fallen through the cracks of the system, often due to family instability or emotional distress. It was personal for him. It mattered.
Still, something about this conversation felt off.
"And whose child would this be?" he asked.
There was another pause, longer this time.
"Mine," Ethan said.
The word echoed.
Zachery opened his mouth, then closed it again. That revelation alone contradicted everything he thought he knew about Ethan Voss. The media had never mentioned a child. No scandals. No custody battles. No whispered rumors.
"You're mistaken," Zachery said finally. "I think you have the wrong person."
"I don't," Ethan replied. "And I don't make mistakes lightly."
The confidence in his voice was unmistakable, not arrogance, but certainty. It unsettled Zachery more than he liked to admit.
"Mr. Voss"
"Ethan," he corrected. "If we're going to discuss my son's education, I prefer less distance."
Zachery hesitated.
"I need more information," he said. "And I don't discuss work matters over the phone with strangers."
A beat.
"Fair," Ethan conceded. "Then let's meet."
"No."
The refusal came quicker than Zachery expected, sharpened by instinct.
Ethan did not sound offended. If anything, he sounded… intrigued.
"Tomorrow evening," Ethan said. "Voss Tower. My office."
"I said no."
"You said you need more information," Ethan countered calmly. "I'm offering it."
Zachery glanced again at Zane, at the quiet warmth of the apartment, the fragile balance he had built. This man represented disruption, power, control, and unpredictability. Everything Zachery avoided.
"I'll think about it," he said tightly.
"That's all I ask."
The call ended before Zachery could respond.
He stared at the dark screen of his phone, pulse racing.
Across the city, high above the rain-soaked streets, Ethan Voss stood in his penthouse office, one hand resting against the glass wall that overlooked the skyline. The city stretched endlessly beneath him, obedient and illuminated, a testament to everything he had built.
Behind him, the office was immaculate, sleek black surfaces, steel accents, minimal decor. Control manifested in architecture. Nothing was out of place.
Xavier leaned against the conference table, arms crossed. "You're certain about him?"
Ethan's reflection stared back from the glass, sharp features, copper-blond hair neatly styled, eyes a cool blend of gray and brown. His expression was unreadable.
"Yes."
"Because," Xavier continued carefully, "this doesn't seem like your usual approach."
Ethan turned slowly.
"That's because this isn't business."
Xavier raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Ethan's thoughts drifted back to the first time he'd seen Zachery Allister, not in person, but in a file. A teacher's profile is attached to a recommendation report. Clean record. Consistent employment. No scandals. Single father.
And yet… something about him lingered.
The way he spoke. The way he resisted. The way he put his child first.
Ethan wasn't used to resistance.
He was even less accustomed to wanting what pushed back.
"Prepare the office," Ethan said quietly. "And make sure Vanessa de Veldt doesn't hear about this."
Xavier hesitated. "That might be difficult."
Ethan's eyes darkened.
"Then make it impossible."
Back in his apartment, Zachery sat on the edge of the couch, watching Zane sleep. His mind replayed the call over and over, dissecting every word, every pause.
Ethan Voss was not a man who entered lives gently.
Zachery knew, with unsettling clarity, that if he agreed to that meeting, if he stepped into that glass tower, nothing would remain untouched.
He brushed a curl from Zane's forehead and exhaled slowly.
"I won't let anyone hurt you," he whispered.
Outside, the rain fell harder.
And somewhere in the city, two lives carefully guarded, dangerously lonely, were already on a collision course.