THE NANNY'S PROMISE

The hunt

Kaelen POV

My finger taps the mahogany table. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound echoes through the boardroom like a warning. Twenty men sit around me. No one speaks. No one moves. They hold their breath.

The publicist reads my statement. His voice shakes. His hands tremble. I do not hear a single word.

My mind is somewhere else. With her.

My wife took my son. Elara packed a bag in the dark and ran. She took Alex. My heir. My blood. My only soft spot in a world of stone.

I remember his face from this morning. He was eating cereal at the kitchen table, his small feet swinging, his wolf tucked under his arm. He looked up at me with those gray eyes and said, "Papa, will you read to me tonight?"

I said maybe. I was busy. There was always time later.

Now later might never come.

No one crosses me.

I am a billionaire by day. I own buildings. I own politicians. I own futures. By night, I rule the underworld. The Russians fear me. The cartels fear me. The families fear me.

But not my wife. She chose to run. She chose to take my son.

My finger taps faster. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The publicist stops reading. He looks at me with wide eyes. "Mr. Aaron, is something wrong?"

I do not answer. I just stare at the window. Outside, Washington D.C. spreads below me. Monuments. Office buildings. Streets full of people who have no idea what happens in the dark.

My phone buzzes against the table. I let it buzz twice. Three times. The room goes silent. No one breathes.

I pick it up. Henderson.

I answer. "Yes."

"Boss." His voice is steady. He never trembles. "We found her. Georgetown. A townhouse on Thirty-First Street. The boy is safe."

My chest loosens. Just a little. Air fills my lungs again. "Send the address."

"Already did. Boss—" He hesitates. Henderson never hesitates. "There is a man with her."

A man.

My fingers tighten on the phone. The plastic creaks. My vision blurs. Red. All I see is red. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.

"A man," I repeat. My voice is quiet. Too quiet.

"We are running his face now. Boss, let me send a team. You do not need to—"

"No." I cut him off. "I am coming. I go alone."

"Boss, that is not—"

I hang up.

I rise from my chair. Six feet two inches of cold fury. My suit is black. My tie is charcoal. My face is stone. My hands are fists at my sides.

Twenty men flinch. Chairs scrape back. Papers shuffle. No one meets my eyes.

"The meeting is over," I say. My voice is quiet. That is when they know to be afraid.

I walk to the door. My footsteps echo on the marble floor. I do not look back.

I step into the hallway. Behind me, I hear twenty men exhale. They did not know they were holding their breath.

My assistant, Clara, jumps up from her desk. "Mr. Aaron, your two o'clock—"

"Cancel it."

She opens her mouth. I look at her. She closes it and sits down.

I walk to the elevator. The doors close. For a moment, I am alone. I lean against the wall and close my eyes.

Alex.

I see his face. His small hand reaching for mine. His voice asking why the sky is blue. His wolf, worn thin from years of holding.

I will get him back. And then I will find the man who helped take him.

The elevator opens. My car waits. Black. Armored. Bulletproof glass. The driver opens the door. I slide into the back seat.

"Georgetown. Thirty-First Street."

He nods. The engine starts.

I pull out my phone. A text from Henderson. The address. A photo of the townhouse. A note: North side entrance. Two guards. She does not know we are watching.

I type back: Stay back. I go alone.

Henderson replies: Boss, that is not smart.

I turn off the phone.

The city blurs past the window. The sun is rising. Pink and gold light spills across the buildings. A woman walks her dog. A man jogs past in shorts. Normal people living normal lives.

None of it matters.

My son is out there. Scared. Waiting for me.

---

The car stops. I step out.

The townhouse has a blue door. White shutters. An iron gate. It looks peaceful. Quiet. A place to hide.

But I can smell the fear underneath. It leaks through the cracks. I feel it in my bones.

I walk to the door. I do not knock. I do not ring the bell.

I pound my fist against the wood. Once. Twice. Three times.

Footsteps inside. A woman's voice. Elara.

"I'm coming. I'm coming. Hold your—"

She opens the door. Her face goes white. Her hands fly to her mouth.

"Kaelen."

I look past her. The hallway is small. Cluttered. A suitcase lies open on the floor. Toys spill from a box. A man's jacket hangs on a chair. Still warm, maybe. He was here recently.

And at the top of the stairs, a small shadow.

Alex. In his pajamas. Holding his wolf. His gray eyes are wide. His lip trembles. His hair is messy from sleep.

"Papa?" His voice is small. Scared.

My heart cracks. I do not show it. I cannot show it.

"Where is the man?" I ask Elara. My voice is flat. Cold.

"I don't—"

"Do not lie to me."

She cries. Tears pour down her face. She says she was scared. She says she had no choice. She begs. She pleads.

I step past her. She flinches and presses herself against the wall. I ignore her.

I climb the stairs. Each step is slow. Heavy. Alex watches me come. His grip tightens on his wolf.

"We are going home," I say.

He looks at his mother. Then at me. Tears fill his eyes. But he does not argue. He knows better.

I walk into his room. His clothes are on the floor. A small pile. I grab them. A shirt. Pants. His extra pajamas. I shove them into a bag.

He is only six. He cannot pack his own things. He does not know how.

I pick him up. He is light. Too light. He wraps his arms around my neck. His small body shakes against my chest. I feel his heart beat fast, like a bird in a cage.

I carry him down the stairs. Elara reaches for him.

He turns his face away and buries it in my shoulder.

I walk to the car. I buckle Alex into the back seat. He holds his wolf and stares out the window.

He does not look back at the blue door.

Neither do I.

The car pulls away. Elara stands on the sidewalk, crying. I do not look at her. She is nothing now.

I look at my son. His gray eyes are wet. His lip still trembles. He hugs his wolf like it is the only thing keeping him together.

"Papa," he whispers. "The man said he would come back for me."

My blood turns cold. Ice runs through my veins. My hands curl into fists. My jaw tightens.

"What man?" I ask. My voice is barely a whisper.

But Alex curls against the seat. He closes his eyes. His breathing slows. His small hand goes limp. He is already asleep.

I stare out the window. The city blurs past. Streetlights. Trees. Houses. Somewhere in these streets, a man is waiting. A man who touched my son. A man who threatened my family.

He just made the biggest mistake of his life.

No one crosses Kaelen Aaron.

No one.