Chapter six
1215 Words
The Test
The city stretched out beneath Alexander’s office, a mosaic of glass towers and restless traffic. From this height, London seemed manageable. Containable. Every deal, every risk, every empire he touched could be calculated and controlled. From the fortress of his penthouse office in Knight Industries’ headquarters, he could almost believe that nothing could touch him.
Almost.
He leaned back in his leather chair, Aria’s words replaying like a stubborn refrain: You’re Alexander Knight. You can find anything.
Anything but a mother.
The admission lingered like an ache he couldn’t shake. His daughter’s wish had unsettled him more than he cared to admit, stirring parts of him he had long since locked away. Alexander was a man who moved through life with ruthless efficiency; promises were kept, contracts honored, enemies crushed. But this—this request—wasn’t a contract he could negotiate, or an acquisition he could dominate. It was a plea from the one soul he would do anything to protect.
He set his jaw, pressing the intercom. “Clara.”
His assistant’s crisp voice crackled through the speaker. “Yes, sir?”
“Background check. Emilia Hayes. Teacher at St. Augustine’s. I want employment history, financial records, family ties. Everything.”
There was a pause—a rare hesitation from his otherwise unflappable assistant. “May I ask why?”
Alexander’s tone sharpened like a blade. “Because I asked.”
“Of course, sir.”
He ended the call and turned his gaze back toward the skyline. The evening sun was sinking, painting the glass towers in molten gold. A city of millions stretched out below him, yet his world narrowed to a single problem: a five-year-old’s wish and the woman who might—just might—hold the key to fulfilling it.
This wasn’t about romance or companionship. That was a luxury he neither needed nor trusted. This was about Aria. If Emilia Hayes was to enter his daughter’s orbit, even tangentially, Alexander needed to know every detail. Vulnerability wasn’t permitted in his world—not for his company, not for his family, and certainly not for his daughter.
---
Later that afternoon, Alexander found himself once more at St. Augustine’s—not in the classroom, but standing discreetly at the far end of the playground. The glass of the administration wing gave him a perfect vantage point, affording him the anonymity he preferred.
Children spilled across the grass, their laughter carried by the crisp autumn breeze. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and chalk, a scent that stirred long-forgotten memories of his own schooldays—memories he quickly banished.
And there she was. Emilia Hayes.
She knelt to tie a shoelace for a small boy, her expression patient, her laughter unforced. A cluster of girls tugged at her sleeves, each vying for attention, and she gave it freely—listening, smiling, treating every childish story as though it were worth its weight in gold.
Her hair had slipped loose from the tidy knot she wore that morning, strands brushing against her cheek in the breeze. She didn’t seem to care. She wasn’t watching the clock, nor performing for parents or administrators. She simply… belonged.
Alexander’s gaze darkened when Aria ran into Emilia’s arms, clutching a crumpled picture she had drawn. Emilia bent low, praising every messy stroke as if it were a masterpiece. Aria’s face glowed with joy, a joy Alexander had spent fortunes to secure through tutors, therapists, and grand gestures. Emilia had summoned it with nothing more than presence.
His hand curled into a fist against the glass.
“Sir?” Clara’s voice broke his focus. She had arrived quietly, a slim folder tucked under her arm.
Alexander straightened, his mask of composure sliding into place. “What do you have?”
She handed him the dossier. “Miss Hayes. Twenty-eight. British-born, raised in Sussex. Father deceased, mother retired in Kent. No criminal record. No debts. Income is modest but steady. Taught in state schools before being hired at St. Augustine’s three years ago. Lives alone in a modest flat near Kensington.
He flipped through the pages, absorbing the details. Employment records, bank statements, personal references. All routine. A simple life. Uncomplicated.
Too ordinary. Almost suspiciously so.
“No relationships?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
“None recorded,” Clara confirmed. “No notable associations." She appears… genuine. Quiet. Private.”
Alexander closed the folder with a snap, his voice low. “Everyone has a weakness". Find it.”
Clara hesitated, her hands tightening on her clipboard. “Sir, if I may—Miss Hayes seems… genuine. Unremarkable, but in a way that’s rare. Perhaps—”
“Perhaps this is not a strategy,” Alexander cut in, his tone hard. “I don’t rely on appearances." I rely on facts.
Clara’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course, sir.”
But she didn’t move immediately. Her eyes lingered on him, searching his expression as though she recognized something he refused to admit. Alexander felt the weight of her unspoken thoughts, but he turned away, unwilling to entertain them.
His gaze drifted once more toward the playground. Emilia’s laugh carried faintly through the glass, rich and warm. For the briefest of moments, Alexander felt something stir in places he had left frozen for years. He crushed it ruthlessly.
“Continue the investigation,” he ordered, his voice clipped. “I won’t have unknowns around my daughter.”
Clara inclined her head and left.
Alexander remained where he was, watching Emilia Hayes until the last of the children were called inside.
---
That evening, the penthouse was filled with the low hum of city life—traffic below, the distant wail of sirens, the muted clink of glass from the kitchen where staff prepared dinner. Yet the only sound Alexander focused on was the scratch of crayons against paper.
Aria was sprawled on the Persian rug of the living room, crayons scattered around her like confetti. Her curls bounced as she leaned over her work, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. She looked up as he entered, her face lighting up with that smile that disarmed him every time.
“Look, Daddy!” She held up a drawing proudly. “Miss Hayes says I draw better when I don’t worry about coloring inside the lines. See?”
Alexander crouched beside her, taking the paper carefully. A heart, uneven and lopsided, filled the center. Inside it, two stick figures: one small with curls, one tall in a suit. And next to them, another figure—a woman with long hair, smiling.
His chest tightened.
“Do you like it?” Aria asked eagerly, eyes wide.
He forced his voice steady. “It’s beautiful, Little Star.”
She beamed, already reaching for another crayon, oblivious to the turmoil flickering behind her father’s eyes. Alexander set the paper down gently on the table, his fingers lingering on the uneven lines of the third figure.
He had promised.
And Alexander Knight never broke a promise. But he also never entered a deal without knowing the cost.
Emilia Hayes might have passed every test so far.
But the real test—the one that would decide whether she could step into Aria’s world—had only just begun.
- Writer
