Chapter 3 - The Awakening of Christopher Kane
"Christopher?"
The small, timid voice broke through the roaring in my ears. I looked down. The second twin, the one who had been sleeping against Rosalind’s knee, had finally woken up. He rubbed his eyes with small, dirty knuckles, looking up at me with wide, intelligent hazel eyes—the exact shade of my own.
"Mommy, who is that man?" the boy asked, his voice carrying the distinct, melodic cadence that had haunted my dreams during the first year after she vanished. "Is he shouting at you?"
Rosalind’s arms tightened around both boys protectively. "No, sweetie. No one is shouting. Go back to sleep."
"He has hair like mine," the boy muttered, tilting his head with childish curiosity before burying his face back into his mother's jacket.
Something inside my chest fractured and then reformed with the crushing density of a neutron star. All the wealth in the world, all the luxury resorts, all the waterfront estates in Baltimore, all the accolades from corporate boards—they turned to dust in an instant. I was a stranger to my own flesh and blood. And the architect of this devastation was the woman who had birthed me, the matriarch whose name I carried.
I dropped to my knees on the freezing marble floor, ignoring the stares of passing passengers and airline staff.
"Rosalind," I said, my voice thick with a raw, agonizing remorse that terrified even me. I reached out a hand, hovering inches away from her arm, terrified she would flinch away from my touch. "Look at me. Please. Look at me."
She hesitated, her chest heaving as she finally lowered her gaze to meet mine. There was no warmth left in her eyes—only a vast, exhausted ocean of pain.
"Why are you here, Christopher?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "Did your mother send you to check if the job was done? Are you here to make sure we're far enough away from your precious empire so we don't embarrass your board of directors?"
"My mother is going to wish she had never drawn another breath," I said, every syllable dripping with a cold, absolute venom that surprised us both.
Rosalind flinched at the darkness in my tone. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm not going to Baltimore," I said, standing up slowly, my mind racing through a calculated checklist of retribution. The corporate lawyer on retainer in downtown Minneapolis, the forensic accountants who audited my mother's private foundations, the freeze I was going to slap on every trust fund Genevieve controlled before the hour was out. "And you are not going anywhere else. You and the boys are coming with me."
"Going with you?" Rosalind barked a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Christopher, have you lost your mind? Your mother owns half of this state! You walk into her mansion with two kids she spent six years pretending didn't exist, and what? You think she'll hand you a cup of tea and apologize?"
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"She won't have a mansion left by sunset," I replied, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping the screen with a trembling thumb. "And she won't ever touch you or my sons again."
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