The house was super quiet when Alexander finally got home.

He stopped at the front door, keys still in hand, listening to the silence. Emma was probably in her room, maybe sleeping, studying, or messaging that guy.

Zayn Cole Virelli.

The thought squeezed tight in Alexander’s chest.

He’d been away for two days. It was the first time in twenty-three years that he had left Emma on her own. No explanation, no proper goodbye, just that note left on the kitchen counter.

He’d done it on purpose.

He’d started pulling away because he knew, deep down, he knew, that one day, Emma would find out the truth about him. She’d learn who he really was and what he had done.

And when that happened, she’d hate him.

It was better to start the separation now. Easier to get used to the emptiness before it became permanent.

He moved quietly through the house, avoiding turning on any lights or calling out to let Emma know he was back. He walked down the hall to his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he finally let himself break down.

Tears streamed down his face silently, leaving wet tracks he didn’t bother to wipe away. His hands shook, his chest felt tight, and everything felt way too heavy.

Two days of meetings with Alpha. Two days of being reminded that Emma was just a pawn, a weakness, something Alpha could use whenever he wanted.

Two days of pretending everything was fine while his whole life fell apart.

She can’t find out. Not yet.

He didn’t even notice the door open.

Didn’t hear the footsteps.

It was only when Emma’s voice cut through the darkness that he realized she was there.

"Dad?"

Startled, he looked up quickly.

Emma stood in the doorway, lit up by the light from the hallway. In the dark, she couldn’t quite make out his face. She had no idea he’d been crying.

Her hand reached for the light switch.

"No, Emma, don’t—"

Light flooded in.

Emma stopped in her tracks.

Because her dad, her always-composed, totally-in-control dad, was sitting on his bed, tears streaming down his face. This isn’t real.

"Dad?" she said again, her voice tiny and scared.

Alexander tried to wipe his eyes. He tried to stand. He wanted to say something.

But the exhaustion — two days without sleep, barely eating, carrying the weight of everything — finally hit him.

His vision blurred. The room swayed.

He caught a glimpse of Emma’s lips moving. He saw her rushing toward him.

And then everything went dark.

Emma caught him as he fell back onto the bed.

"Dad!" She shook him by the shoulders. "Dad, wake up!"

Nothing.

His eyes were shut. His breathing was shallow. His face was pale.

"Dad, come on!" Emma’s voice climbed higher, panic flooding through her. "Dad, wake up! Dad!"

She shook him more forcefully. Still nothing.

"No, no, no, no—" Emma was crying now, her hands trembling as she tried to check for a pulse, desperately attempting to remember what to do, trying to think,

Her phone.

She rushed down the hallway to her room, grabbed her phone from the nightstand with shaky hands, and stood there for a second, trying to figure out who to call.

She needed to call 911.

But her fingers were already scrolling through her contacts.

To a name that had just been added a few days before.

Zayn.

She hit call.

*****

Zayn was hanging out in his car outside Emma’s place when his phone started ringing.

He’d been parked there for about twenty minutes. It wasn’t creepy, he told himself—just a little worried. Emma had seemed off in their texts earlier: distant and stressed about something.

So, he drove over—just to be close by, just in case.

When he saw Emma’s name pop up on his screen, he grinned and answered right away.

"Emma?"

Instead of a greeting, he heard crying.

Zayn’s grin vanished in an instant.

"Emma?" He straightened up, gripping the phone tightly. "Emma, what—"

"Zayn," her voice wavered, her words a jumbled mess through her tears. "Zayn, please—"

"Emma, wait. Stop crying for a second and tell me what’s going on." Zayn was already opening his car door, waving urgently to his security guys in the car behind him. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," Emma managed to say. "But Dad—Dad is—"

"What about your dad?" Zayn was on the move now, heading toward her house.

"He’s not waking up!" Her voice cracked completely. "Zayn, he came home crying, and then he just collapsed. I don’t know what to do, and he’s not waking up—"

"Emma, listen to me," Zayn said firmly, already racing up her driveway. "I’m right outside your house. Let me in. Now."

"What?"

"I’m outside. Open the door."

Ten seconds later, the front door flew open.

Emma was standing there, phone still pressed to her ear, her face a mess of tears and sheer terror.

Without thinking twice, Zayn pulled her into his arms.

"I’m here," he said softly. "I’m here. Show me where he is."

Emma nodded, pulled back, and dashed down the hallway.

Zayn moved forward, surrounded by his security team.

Alexander was just where Emma had left him—lying on the bed, out cold, looking really pale.

Zayn felt for a pulse and found one: it was steady but weak.

"Tom," he called out to one of his guards, "let the hospital know we’re bringing someone in. Looks like severe exhaustion or stress."

"Got it, sir," Tom replied.

Zayn looked at Emma. "We’re taking him to the hospital. Right now. Can you walk?"

Emma nodded, tears running down her face.

"Great. Let’s go."

With Zayn and two guards helping, they got Alexander into the back of the SUV. Emma climbed in next to her dad, holding his hand, while Zayn sat on her other side.

The vehicle took off from the house, lights flashing.

Emma was shaking. "He was crying. I’ve never seen him cry before. And then he just—"

Dad never cries.