Chapter 3 - The Price of the Throne
By 3:00 AM, the interior of the warehouse had been transformed into a makeshift medical bay. Marcus had brought in a private concierge doctor who was on my personal retainer—a man sworn to absolute discretion.
Sylvie was hooked up to an IV drip on a cot in the center of the room, her fever slowly breaking under the medication. In the corner, the twins were resting in a double bassinet, the rhythmic thump-thump of a fetal heartbeat generator keeping them calm.
I sat at a metal desk, my laptop open, watching the financial markets. The digital dashboard of Vexley International was bleeding red.
My mother hadn't just filed for custody. At midnight, she had called an emergency board meeting, citing my sudden disappearance and "emotional instability" as grounds to temporarily suspend my CEO status. The headlines were already hitting the financial news: VEXLEY EMPIRE IN TURMOIL: CEO JULIAN VEXLEY VANISHES AMID CUSTODY SCANDAL.
The phone on the desk buzzed. The caller ID simply read: V.V.
I picked it up, my grip so tight the plastic casing groaned. "Victoria."
"Julian," my mother’s voice came through the speaker, crisp, elegant, and utterly devoid of maternal warmth. "You always were dramatic. Running out of a hospital with stolen children? It looks terrible for the stock price."
"They aren't stolen, Victoria. They are my children. Sylvie’s children."
A sharp, aristocratic laugh cut through the line. "Sylvie signed away her rights to the Vexley bloodline the moment she accepted that $40 million divorce settlement, Julian. Look at the addendum on page 84. Any biological material created during the legal duration of the marriage belongs to the estate trust if the marriage dissolves before implantation. She stole corporate property when she used that surrogate."
My stomach turned. I had signed that settlement without reading every single line of the boilerplate corporate addendums. I had trusted my legal team. My mother’s legal team.
"I don't care about the contract," I said, my voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "If you come near my children, I will dump my entire forty percent share block onto the open market by morning. I will tank the company, Victoria. I will turn your precious empire into pennies."
"You won't do that," Victoria replied smoothly. "Because if you tank the company, the trust fund that pays for the medical research keeping your father alive in that Swiss clinic disappears. You love your empire, Julian, but you love your guilt more. Come to the office at 9:00 AM. Bring the children. We’ll rewrite the succession plan, and Sylvie can go back to being the nobody she was before you met her."
The line went dead.
I stared at the blank screen. She had me cornered. If I fought her publicly, I would destroy my father's medical care and lose control of the company I gave my life to build. If I gave in, my children would become corporate assets, raised by lawyers and public relations experts.
I felt a soft touch on my shoulder.
Sylvie was standing behind me, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, her eyes clear despite her weakness.
"She thinks you're still the boy she broke, Julian," Sylvie whispered, looking down at the laptop screen. "She thinks your business is your only weapon."
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"It is my only weapon, Sylvie. It's all I have."
"No," Sylvie said, a faint, fierce smile touching her lips. "You forgot about the original formulas. The ones stored in the vault right beneath our feet."
