KAIDEN
The city sprawlsbelow me like a glittering, restless beast I’ve been trained to tame since birth. Standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, I can see the length of Silverpoint. Every penthouse and pigeon-speckled rooftop is laid out in a grid I could navigate blindfolded. I can track my childhood across the skyline. New towers rise where playgrounds once stood, while newer cranes replace the old. The steady thump of industry always drowns out everything softer. The Hammond name is etched into the mortar, the steel, and the blood of the workers who fell so we could build higher.
The Hammond legacy is a weight I am no longer willing to lift. I have spent three years systematically distancing myself from my family, yet it is never enough when your father owns judges, and your mother knows which wives are sleeping with which senators. The name follows me like a curse that no amount of money can break.
My laptop pings with a video call request. The display reads H. Home. I stare at the pixels while the inevitable settles into my bones like ice water.
I roll my shoulders and armor myself for the coming assault. My white shirt is heavy and opaque enough to bury the black inkthat covers my arms and chest. To my parents, I’ll look like the polished investment they intended me to be. My fingers adjust my cuffs, straightening what is already straight.
My mother’s face blooms across the screen like a poisonous flower. Helena Hammond is the queen of charity auctions and emotional manipulation so subtle you don’t realize you’re bleeding until you’re empty. She’s dressed in lemon cashmere with blonde hair styled in waves so perfect they look sculpted. Her makeup is an expert mask, though I recognize the signs of pressure. A faint blur under her left eye suggests she’s been rubbing it. Her lips are not quite as bright as usual. The crystal tumbler in her hand tells me everything about this conversation's trajectory.
“Alexander, darling,” she starts. The name hits like a slap. Only my parents refuse to call me by the name I chose for myself. To the rest of the world, I am Kaiden Rhodes. “I see you are still in that office of yours.”
“Same one as last week, Mother. And the week before.” I keep my voice neutral. I give her nothing to latch on.
She waves my words away. Her diamond bracelet rattles against the glass as she moves. “Are you alone?”
I glance around the space I've carved out for myself. The bookshelves are filled with volumes I’ve actually read. The photos matter, like the one of Logan, Ethan, and me at last year’s ELK launch, covered in champagne and genuine joy. My racing leathers hang on the back hook, still dusty from yesterday’s ride when I hit 180 mph trying to outrun the sound of my father’s voice.
“I'm alone,” I say. “What's wrong?”
Her eyes dart off-screen and then back. I see my own paranoia reflected in the movement. She fingers the pendant at her throat. The diamonds spell out a sharp H. She has worn the Hammond initial for so long, I wonder if she remembers that herown name starts with the same letter. She twists the jewelry until the chain digs into her neck.
“Did you read the notes from today's stakeholder call?”
“No.” I know exactly what it covered. Another acquisition, another neighborhood about to be revitalized into sterility. Admitting that I know means engaging, and engaging means they win.
Helena exhales through her nose with practiced disappointment. “Your father's new project came up for a vote. There was controversy.”
“Isn't there always?” I lean forward just enough to seem interested, watching the micro-expressions that tell the real story. The way her gaze shifts left when she drinks signifies shame. The tightening around her mouth signifies fear. She isn’t calling to update me. She is calling to warn me.
“You could at least pretend to care, Alexander. For me.”
“Do you want a performance or the truth?” The words are sharper than intended. I am running low on restraint.
Her jaw tightens. “Don't. Not today.”
A shadow moves behind her. My body recognizes the threat before my eyes process the image. My spine straightens and my shoulders square. It is the same physical response I’ve had since I was seven and learned that showing weakness meant losing something I loved.
Victor Hammond steps into the frame with the calculated precision of a predator. He wears his usual uniform, a white shirt with sleeves rolled to the exact same spot on his muscular forearms, and a wedding ring that's more an ownership mark than a symbol of love. His hair is silver now but still thick, swept back from a face that could have been handsome if it ever held warmth. The eyes are what people remember first, pale gray like winter mornings. Like steel, like things that cut. I inherited my mother's blue eyes, and I’m grateful for that small mercy.
“Son.” He doesn't wait for acknowledgment. “Don't upset your mother.”
The wordsonin his mouth sounds likeassetordisappointment. Today it's both.
“Then perhaps we should change the subject,” I say. My fingers find the edge of the desk, pressing until the wood bites back. “Or I can move to my next appointment.”
Victor's smile is all teeth. It is the greeting of a shark that has already smelled blood. “When you're done playing with your little friends, I have serious business to discuss.”
The dismissal of ELK, of everything I've built without him, makes something dark coil in my chest. I can still hear him saying the same words at my sixteenth birthday when I skipped a board meeting to go dirt-biking with Logan and Ethan. He canceled my credit cards for a month, thinking money was the leash that would bring me to heel. He never understood that freedom meant more than comfort.
Helena attempts damage control. Her voice is soft, a little slurred. “We aren't trying to pressure you, Alexander. There are just responsibilities.”
“I'm aware.” My voice is steady, even though my knuckles are white under the desk. “I also have a company to run. My company. That was our agreement.”
Victor's hand lands on the back of Helena's chair. His fingers drum once, twice, three times. His tell when he's about to go for the throat. “ELK is not a company. It's an expensive hobby. You're wasting your potential on glorified tree-hugging when you could be?—”
“Could be what?” The calm in my voice is deceptive. “Destroying neighborhoods to build luxury condos? Bribing senators? Blackmailing competitors until they sell or disappear?”
