Family Secret

Chapter 17

The next morning, the Atkins family set out together. The academy had given them a list—uniforms, backpacks, pencils, notebooks, and every other necessity a child might need for the upcoming year. The courtyard vendors buzzed with life, stalls overflowing with pressed blazers, neatly folded trousers, leather satchels, and rows of sharpened supplies.

Ryan trailed close to Alexia, his small hand occasionally brushing hers, while Kyan skipped ahead, darting between racks of school shoes with the boundless energy of a child who saw every outing as an adventure.

Alexia fell into the role of mother with startling ease. She adjusted Ryan’s collar when it sat crooked. She knelt to tie Kyan’s laces when they came undone. She tested the sharpness of pencils before dropping them in their basket and compared notebook bindings with the scrutiny of someone who had done this many times before. To anyone watching, it was natural, genuine—even Nate, who knew the truth, found himself surprised at just how flawlessly she carried it.

Her presence drew attention everywhere they went. Men’s eyes followed her, lingering with thinly veiled interest. She didn’t have to do anything—it was in her posture, her hair catching the light, her steady confidence, her beauty sharpened by elegance. Even men walking hand in hand with their partners found themselves turning their heads as she passed, admiration written plainly on their faces.

Nate noticed. He noticed every stare. His jaw worked unconsciously, tightening each time someone’s eyes lingered a little too long.

It was at the stationery counter that one finally acted on his boldness. A young man, probably no older than twenty-five, with a salesman’s smile and an easy confidence, stepped forward.

“Miss,” he said smoothly, his eyes lingering on her hand, where her ring finger remained bare. “I couldn’t help noticing—you look a little lost. Maybe I could—”

Alexia blinked, then scoffed lightly, not cruelly, but with the faintest trace of amusement. Before Nate could intervene, she turned smoothly and crossed the short distance to stand at his side.

Her hand brushed his arm as she leaned subtly closer. “Darling,” she said, her voice effortlessly casual, “do you think the twins will need extra notebooks? Ryan tends to fill them quickly.”

The man froze. His smile faltered as his eyes flicked between them—Nate, tall and unreadable, and Alexia, whose tone had been soft but carried a distinct weight. She had said enough without saying more.

The message was clear: She wasn’t available.

The man mumbled something about checking the stockroom and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Nate’s jaw was still tight, though not from anger anymore. Confusion settled in its place.

She could have flirted back. She could have toyed with him, slipped her number onto a folded receipt, or arranged a meeting later—after all, Alexia was a master of persuasion. Yet she hadn’t. Instead, she had chosen to acknowledge him as her husband.

Why?

Nate remained silent, but the question followed him for the rest of the afternoon.

They continued down the bustling city street, their bags filled with school supplies. Alexia walked with her arm looped casually through Nate’s, the way a wife might, her presence calm and steady at his side. The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of shop signs, casting flickering shadows on the cobblestones.

Nate slowed, then stopped altogether, his eyes flicking toward a corner shop. His tone was even, casual, but there was a weight beneath it.

“I just remembered—I need to pick something up,” he said. “It won’t take long. Why don’t you take the kids to the park and let them burn off some energy while I’m gone?”

Ryan and Kyan perked up immediately at the mention of the park, their faces lighting with excitement.

Alexia tilted her head at Nate, a faint smile curving her lips. She adjusted her hold on his arm before slipping free, her expression as effortlessly composed as ever. “Alright,” she said warmly. “We’ll be at the park. Don’t take too long.”

She gathered the children, their small hands sliding into hers, and led them down the street. Nate watched them go for a moment before turning sharply and heading in the opposite direction, toward the jeweler’s—where Alexia’s rings awaited him.

At the park, laughter and the sound of children echoed through the air. Swings creaked, slides rattled, and the smell of fresh grass carried on the breeze. Ryan and Kyan darted ahead, chasing each other toward the climbing frame.

But then Kyan stopped abruptly. Her entire body went rigid, her small shoulders tense, and her eyes glazed over as her pupils dilated unnaturally.

Ryan skidded to a halt, his chest heaving as he spun to her. “Kyan? What’s wrong?” His voice wavered.

Her little hand trembled at her side as she blinked rapidly, focusing again. She looked straight at him, her face pale but certain.

“I saw it,” she whispered.

Ryan’s stomach knotted. “Saw what?”

Kyan’s voice was hushed, almost reverent.

“Daddy… lost the rings for Mommy. We have to help him find them.”

Ryan froze, his young mind racing. Rings? For Alexia?

Before he could ask more, Kyan grabbed his hand tightly, her small fingers clammy against his. The playground noise seemed to fade into the background, the weight of her vision hanging heavy between them.

Kyan tugged at Ryan’s sleeve, her little eyes wide with urgency. “We have to go help Daddy,” she whispered fiercely, the words trembling out of her.

Ryan frowned, glancing toward the bench where Alexia sat watching them with that calm, protective gaze. “We can’t just leave. Alexia will notice we’re gone.”

Kyan’s lips trembled, her brows scrunching together. “But Daddy’s gonna be upset he lost the rings,” she said, voice cracking. “I don’t want Daddy to be sad… ’cause then I’ll be sad… and I hate being sad.” Her chin wobbled, and her little shoulders shook as she started to cry, soft hiccupping sobs that caught the attention of a few other parents nearby.

Ryan panicked, stepping close to hush her. “Alright, fine! Fine. I’ll go.” He glanced back nervously at Alexia, who hadn’t noticed yet. “I’ll go help him find the rings for Alexia. But you have to tell me—where did he lose them?”

Kyan sniffled, wiping her sleeve across her wet cheeks. “At a warehouse,” she said solemnly. “Outside of town.”

Ryan blinked. A warehouse? His stomach sank. “Why would he be at a warehouse?”

Kyan only shrugged, her curls bouncing. “Dunno.”

Ryan muttered under his breath, “Great, just great.” Then louder, he sighed. “Whatever. I’ll go. But you have to help me. I need you to distract Alexia while I sneak away.”

Kyan’s tears dried instantly, replaced with a mischievous sparkle. She giggled, bouncing on her toes. “Okay! I’ll distract Mommy.”

Before Ryan could second-guess the plan, Kyan skipped across the grass and ran up to Alexia. She tugged on her hand, her little face screwed up in pretend urgency. “Mommy, I gotta go potty. Right now.”

Alexia rose immediately, brushing Kyan’s hair back from her face. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “Ryan, stay on the playground. We’ll be right back.”

Ryan nodded quickly, doing his best to look casual while his pulse hammered in his ears. He waited until Alexia and Kyan disappeared behind the bathroom building. Then, heart racing, he turned on his heel and bolted from the park, heading toward the edge of town.

Toward the warehouse Kyan had spoken of.

Ryan’s sneakers slapped against the cracked sidewalk as he made his way farther from the bustling city center. The air grew heavier, the streets quieter. Windows were boarded up, doors chained, trash strewn across gutters. Graffiti stretched across crumbling walls like scars, and the deeper he went, the more his chest tightened.

Why would Nate be here?

Ryan slowed, glancing around nervously. Nate was clean. Organized. Disciplined. Everything about him screamed proper and neat, like a man who thrived in structure. This—this wasteland of dirt, rust, and rot—was the exact opposite.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, wishing he hadn’t left as he rounded a corner. That’s when he heard it—low thuds, the scrape of boots, the guttural grunt of impact echoing from inside a warehouse.

Ryan’s curiosity burned brighter than his fear. He crept forward, heart pounding, until he spotted a broken window coated in grime. Standing on his toes, he peered through.

His breath caught.

Inside, Nate was a storm.

Five men circled him—rough, scarred types dressed in dark gear, eyes sharp with intent. But Nate… Nate wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t even rushed. He moved like water—flowing, precise, calm.

The first man lunged, throwing a heavy punch meant to shatter bone. Nate shifted a half-step, catching the man’s arm midair. With a twist so fast Ryan barely followed, he bent it back until the man crumpled to the ground, screaming.

Another swung a pipe. Nate ducked effortlessly, the weapon whistling past his head. He retaliated with a brutal kick to the man’s ribs, sending him crashing into a steel beam with a sickening thud.

A third tried to come from behind, but Nate already anticipated it. He pivoted on the ball of his foot, his elbow snapping backward into the man’s jaw. The crack echoed through the warehouse.

Ryan’s eyes widened. Every strike Nate delivered wasn’t wasted—it was efficient, measured. He didn’t lash out in rage or desperation. He dismantled them with patience, like a chess master dismantling pawns.

One rogue spy slashed a knife at his side. Nate’s hand shot out, catching the man’s wrist mid-swing. A calm twist, a sharp snap—the blade clattered to the floor as the man screamed, dropping to his knees.

Another charged in, roaring, trying to take advantage of Nate’s distraction. Without even looking, Nate shifted his weight and drove his knee into the man’s gut, folding him in half. A swift uppercut followed, the rogue’s body hitting the ground like a ragdoll.

Within minutes, all five men were sprawled across the concrete floor. Some groaned faintly, others were frighteningly still. Half-dead, half-unconscious.

And through it all, Nate hadn’t broken a sweat. His breathing was even, his expression unreadable, his movements clean and efficient—like this wasn’t the first, or the hundredth, time he’d done this.

Ryan pressed a trembling hand against the window ledge, his wide eyes locked on the man he called “Father.”