The city never slept.
From the highest floor of Sterling Tower, the view stretched endlessly Ashford City buzzed with life even as darkness settled over its streets like a heavy blanket. The bright signs blinked in the same pattern as the sound of car headlights made long lines of light on the roads in the downtown area, and somewhere far below, people moved through their lives completely unaware of the man watching from above.
Dylan Carson stood motionless in the darkness of his office.
He hadn't turned on the lights when he had entered an hour ago, two hours ago he'd lost track of time. The only light came from the city itself, lightening through the floor to ceiling windows and painting everything in shades of silver and black. His reflection stared back at him from the glass table tall and perfectly built, like a statue carved from stone.
His dark hair fell across his forehead in carefully arranged disorder, the kind that looked effortless but required quality maintenance. His eyes darker than the night pressing against the windows reflected nothing of what moved behind them. They were the kind of eyes that made people tremble in fear,but also very attractive. Those eyes carried secrets too heavy for casual .His face was the kind artists tried to capture and failed all sharp angles were perfectly sculptured, with a jawline that could have been cut from marble and lips that rarely curved into anything resembling warmth. Beautiful, yes. But beauty that came with a warning attached.
Cold.
That's what they called him. Cold and ruthless and impossible to read.
Dylan pressed his palm against the cool glass, feeling the city's heartbeat vibrate through the building beneath his feet. Thirty-two floors below, people went about their evening heading home to families, to lovers, to lives that made sense. Up here, in this tower of steel and glass that bore his name, Dylan existed in a different world entirely.
His phone buzzed on the desk behind him. He ignored it.
His assistant had left hours ago, reminding him gently that he had no more appointments, that he should go home, that working until midnight every night wasn't healthy. He'd smiled at her that small, polite smile that never reached his eyes and told her he had things to finish.
But he hadn't finished anything. He'd just stood here in the dark, watching and thinking and remembering.
The memory came back the way it always did uninvited and unwelcome. That very night Rain. Mud. A little girl with hazel eyes.
Dylan's jaw tightened. His reflection in the window did the same.He'd been ten years old.Old enough to understand what he was witnessing, young enough to be powerless to stop it. His father had dragged them all to the door that night his mother in her expensive dress, his two younger brothers confused and sleepy. They'd stood there like a portrait of family perfection while down in the driveway, a man knelt in the mud and begged.
Dylan had watched the rain soak through the man's suit. Had watched the woman beside him pregnant and crying try to pull him up. And then there was the little girl. Small and shivering, her blonde hair plastered to her face, her hazel eyes wide with fear and something else... something that had looked like hatred being born.
His father had kicked them out. Literally kicked the man, sending him stumbling backward into deeper mud. Dylan had flinched, had taken a step forward, but his mother's hand had held down on his shoulder with surprising strength.
"Don't," she'd whispered. "Your father knows what he's doing."
But Dylan hadn't been sure. Even then, at ten years old, he'd known something was wrong. The way his father's face had twisted with satisfaction. The way he'd smiled as the family drove away, broken and desperate.
Dylan had never forgotten that little girl's face. Those eyes that had looked up at him from the mud as if begging him to do something, meeting his through the rain, holding his gaze with an intensity that shouldn't have existed in a child so young.
She had promised him something in that moment. He had seen it as clearly as if she'd spoken the words aloud.
I'll come back.
And he had believed her.
"Still brooding in the dark like some kind of vampire?"
Dylan didn't turn. He'd heard the private elevator open, the doors slide open, heard the footsteps cross his office floor. He didn't need to turn back because he knew those footsteps very well; they belonged to people who owned here.
"The door is locked," Dylan said, his voice smooth and controlled, carrying a hint of irritation.
"You gave us the codes years ago." That was Marcus, his middle brother. Twenty-eight years old playful and amused by everything. Though honestly, watching you stare out the windows is getting old. You know that, right?
The lights suddenly came to life, flooding the office with harsh brightness. Dylan closed his eyes briefly against the assault, then turned to face his brothers.
Marcus stood by the light switch, grinning widely. He had their mother's features softer than Dylan's, more approachable, with warm brown eyes and hair that curled slightly at the ends looking like he'd just walked off a magazine cover advertising expensive motorcycles.
Beside him stood Evan, the youngest at twenty-five. Where Marcus was all easy charm, Evan was quiet and observing. He had Dylan's dark eyes and their father's sharp jawline, but there was a gentleness to him that neither of them possessed. He carried a tablet in one hand, which meant he'd come straight from whatever project currently consumed his time. Evan designed buildings beautiful and managed the construction site in their father's business.You two always come at the wrong time, Dylan said, moving away from the window and toward his desk. He pressed a button and the lights dimmed to something more bearable. "I have work to finish."
"Liar." Marcus dropped into one of the leather chairs facing Dylan's desk, throwing his legs over the armrest like he owned the place. "Your assistant told us you've been standing in the dark for two hours. That's not work. That's being dramatic."
Maybe I was meditating.
You don't meditate. You brood. There's a difference. Marcus pulled out his phone, scrolling through something with half his attention. Besides, we're here to save you from yourself. You're welcome.
Evan remained standing, studying Dylan with those too perceptive eyes. You're thinking about it again.
It wasn't a question.
Dylan straightened the papers on his desk that didn't need straightening, bought himself a few seconds to arrange his expression into something neutral. I don't know what you mean.
That night. The family that came to the house. Evan set his tablet down carefully, deliberately. "You always get like this when you're thinking about it. Distant. Locked away somewhere we can't reach."
"I'm not locked away. I'm right here."
"Physically, sure." Marcus sat up, his playful expression sliding into something more serious. But mentally? You're somewhere else entirely. You've been somewhere else for weeks now we couldn't even reach you if not for your assistant who told us you went on a short break
Dylan leaned against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. The position was defensive and he knew it, but he didn't change it. "I'm fine."
You're a terrible liar when it comes to family. Marcus exchanged a glance with Evan. "Look, we know you carry stuff. Guilt or whatever about things that weren't even your fault. You were a kid that night. We all were. Whatever Dad did
"Whatever Dad did destroyed them." Dylan's voice came out sharper than he'd intended. He took a breath, forced the emotion back down where it belonged. "I watched him destroy them. And I did nothing."
"You were ten years old," Evan said quietly. What exactly were you supposed to do? Something. Anything. Dylan pushed off from the desk, pacing toward the window again before stopping himself. This office was starting to feel like a cage. "I should have said something. I should have... I don't know. Asked questions. Demanded answers.
From Dad? Marcus laughed, but there was no humor in it. You know how that would have gone. He barely tolerates questions now, and we're all adults. Back then when he was still building the empire? He would have shut you down before you finished the sentence.
Dylan knew Marcus was right. Their father Richard Carson was many things, but patient with questions from his children was not one of them. He ruled his family the way he ruled his company with absolute authority and zero tolerance for anyone
It was why Dylan had left.
At thirteen, he'd packed a bag and gone to live with his grandparents on the other side of the city. His grandmother had welcomed him with open arms, asking no questions, making no judgments. His grandfather had simply set up a room for him and taught him to play chess in the evenings.
Dylan had built his entire life around not being his father. Had started his own company at twenty-three with money he'd earned himself, refusing to touch the Carson fortune. Had created something separate and clean and untainted by whatever darkness lived in Richard Carson's heart.
But you couldn't outrun blood. No matter how far you went or how high you climbed, it followed you like a shadow.
Anyway... Evan picked up his tablet again, swiping through screens. We didn't come here just to watch you sulk. There's a family meeting.
Dylan's entire body tensed. When?
Tomorrow night. Grandma's house Evan looked up, meeting Dylan's eyes. "Everyone's expected. No exceptions."
I have meetings cancel them,Marcus said flatly. It's not optional. Dad made that very clear.
Dylan's hands clenched at his sides. Family meetings were rare and they were never good. His father only called them when he wanted something or needed to make an announcement that required the full weight of the Carson name behind it.
I'm not going.
Yes, you are Marcus stood walking over to stand beside Evan. United front. They'd clearly planned this. Because Grandma specifically asked for you. And Grandpa wants to see you. You haven't visited in weeks and Grandma's starting to take it personally.Guilt twisted in Dylan's chest. His grandparents. The only two people in the world he would drop everything for. The only two people whose love came without conditions or expectations or demands for perfection.
That's playing dirty, Dylan said.
That's playing smart Marcus grinned, but it faded quickly. Look, we know you and Dad... we know it's complicated. But it's a few hours. You show up, you smile for Grandma, you eat her food, you let Grandpa beat you at chess again, and then you leave. Simple.
Nothing involving Richard Carson was ever simple.
But Dylan found himself nodding anyway, because Marcus was right. His grandparents deserved better than his absence. Whatever issues existed between him and his father, they shouldn't punish two people who'd done nothing but love him unconditionally.
"Fine. I'll be there."
Thank God. Evan finally breathed a sigh of relief. I really didn't want to have to tell Grandma you weren't coming she has ways of making you feel guilty that should be illegal.
It's a gift, Marcus agreed. He checked his watch. Alright, it's almost ten. You going home or are you planning to sleep in your office again?
I don't sleep in my office.
Your assistant says otherwise she says she finds you here sometimes when she arrives in the morning, wearing the same clothes from the day before pretending you just got in early. Marcus raised an eyebrow. So either you're lying or she is, and I'm pretty sure she has no reason to lie.
Dylan said nothing. Arguing would only confirm it but he would have to confront his assistant tomorrow.
Right. Marcus headed for the elevator Evan following. We'll see you tomorrow night. Seven o'clock. Don't be late or Grandma will start the lecture about punctuality and responsibility and how our generation has no respect for time.
She's only done that lecture twice,Evan pointed out.
Twice was enough.
The elevator doors opened. Marcus stepped inside, but Evan paused, turning back to look at Dylan with an expression that was almost concerned.
Are you really okay? he asked quietly. Because you seem... I don't know. Like you're waiting for something or someone
Dylan forced his expression into something resembling reassurance. I'm fine. Just tired.
Evan didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway. Okay. But if you need to talk
you know where to find me.
The elevator doors closed, leaving Dylan alone again in his office that suddenly felt too large and too empty.
He stood there for a long moment, listening to the silence, feeling the weight of memory pressing down on his shoulders like a physical thing. Then he moved back to the window, back to his vigil over the city that held too many secrets.
Somewhere out there, that little girl with hazel eyes had grown up. Was she still here in Ashford City? Had she moved on, built a life somewhere far away where the rain didn't carry the taste of humiliation and loss?
Or had she kept her promise?
Dylan's reflection stared back at him from the glass, dark eyes holding questions he couldn't answer.
Tomorrow night he'd sit in his grandmother's dining room and pretend to be part of a family that had never really functioned as one. He'd watch his father hold court, his mother show off whatever new designer outfit she'd acquired, his brothers try to keep the peace. He'd smile and nod and play his role perfectly, the way he'd learned to do years ago.
And maybe, if he was lucky, he'd learn something. Some small piece of the puzzle that had haunted him for eighteen years.
Some answer to the question that woke him in the middle of the night, sweating and guilty.
What had his father done? What had driven a man to his knees in the rain? What betrayal had been so complete, so devastating, that it had destroyed an entire family?
Dylan pressed his forehead against the cool glass, closing his eyes.
I should have asked sooner. I should have demanded answers.
But he'd been too afraid. Afraid of his father's rage. Afraid of the truth. Afraid of what it would mean to know for certain that his last name was built on someone else's ruins.
The city lights shunned brightly behind his closed eyelids.Tomorrow night family meeting. Maybe this time he'd find the courage to ask the questions that had been burning in his chest for eighteen years.
Or maybe he'd sit silent like always, playing the role of dutiful grandson, distant son, responsible older brother.
Maybe some truths were better left buried.
But even as Dylan thought it, he knew it was a lie. Truth had a way of rising to the surface eventually, no matter how deep you tried to bury it. And when it did, it came with teeth.
He opened his eyes, staring out at the city that never slept, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a little girl's face stared back at him from the rain.
Hazel eyes full of promise.
Hazel eyes that looked like they'd learned to hate.
Dylan straightened, pulling himself away from the window and the memories it held. He had seventeen hours until the family meeting. Seventeen hours to prepare himself for an evening in the Carson mansion, surrounded by people who shared his blood but not his values enough that nothing could penetrate them.
He gathered his things, jacket, phone, keys and headed for the private elevator. The office lights dimmed automatically as he left, plunging the space back into the darkness he preferred.
Outside, the city waited.
And somewhere in that city, invisible threads were beginning to pull tight, connecting past to present, revenge to redemption, truth to consequence.
But Dylan didn't know that yet.
He wouldn't know until it was far too late to stop what had already been set in motion.
The elevator descended, carrying him down from his tower of glass and steel, down toward the streets where normal people lived normal lives.
By the time he reached the ground floor, Dylan had locked everything away again the guilt, the questions, the memory of rain and mud and hazel eyes that promised vengeance.
He stepped out into the night wearing his usual expression cold, controlled, unreadable.
The mask fit perfectly after so many years of practice.
And tomorrow night, he'd wear it to his grandmother's house and pretend everything was fine.
Just like always