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“He’s innocent in all this. We both know that. We can make this work. You and me, we built something real here. Don’t let her destroy it.”

She pulled her hand back. “Dinner’s almost ready. Can you wash Seth up?”

The rage surged through me. Not because I ached for her in some soft, loving way, but because she had stopped reflecting the man I wanted to see in her eyes. She used to make me feel like the king of this house. The successful husband. The provider. The man who had everything under control. Now that mirror was cracked, and the reflection staring back was ugly. It was infuriating.

Get over it. Move on like I have. We have two boys now. Life doesn’t wait for your feelings.

Dinner was a tense tableau of normalcy. Seth mashed sweet potatoes between his fingers in the high chair, babbling happily. Luke dozed in the bassinet next to Samantha, oblivious. Samantha cooed at them both, her voice soft and warm for the children, but when her eyes flicked to me, the light died.

We exchanged the bare minimum, pass the salt, pass Luke’s bottle, and the silence pressed in like a third presence at the table. I watched her across the wood grain, noting every tight line around her mouth, every averted glance. She was still performing the role of wife and mother, but the performance no longer flattered me.

That had to change.

After dinner, Samantha dismissed the house staff before they could clear the table. Then she moved through the kitchen in silence, clearing the table and cleaning the dishes herself. The clink of plates and running water filled the space between us, but she offered no conversation, no glance in my direction. She was using every dirty dish as an excuse to avoid being alone with me, and we both knew it. When the last dish was put away, she disappeared upstairs without a word and went straight into the shower. I listened to the distant rush of water while I got both boys settled for the night.

Once the boys were down, Seth sprawled in his crib while Luke slept swaddled in the nursery. The house settled for the night. Samantha went to bed early, her back turned firmly toward my side of the mattress. She wasn’t going to bounce back anytime soon. The crack in the mirror wasn’t mending itself.

Hours slipped by in heavy silence. I lay there staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down until I could no longer stand it. I needed to vent.

I left the house without a sound, easing the front door shut behind me.

The drive to Colin’s place was serene under the dim streetlights, the quiet roads giving me too much space to think. When I finally pulled up to the curb, Colin’s porch light was already on. He opened the door before I could even knock, regarding me with that flat, knowing expression he reserved exclusively for nights like this.

“Long night?” he asked, stepping aside.

I walked in. The place smelled like leather and gun oil. Colin disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. I pulled the small vial of cocaine from my pocket without a word. Domestic pressure built like steam in a sealed pipe. Colin and this were the release valve.

We didn’t bother with small talk. Lines were cut on the heavy glass coffee table. The burn hit fast and clean, intensifying everything around me while dulling the thoughts that mattered less.

“Maggie got twenty years,” I said after the first rush settled.

Colin nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Good. She’s not your problem anymore.”

“No.” I took another sip of whiskey, letting the warmth spread. “Samantha is.”

He studied me for a moment. “She’s grieving the marriage she thought she had.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“Eventually.” Colin swirled the liquid in his glass. “You need to train her to obey you. Give you what you want even when she doesn’t want to.”

I pulled the small photo from my wallet, the one taken a few weeks ago with both boys in the same frame. I handed it to him.

Colin studied the picture, his eyes moving between their faces. “They’re definitely yours.”

“Yeah.”

“You can work with them,” he said. “Raise them together. Train them to become the lethal force the Collective needs.”

I took the photograph back and studied my sons. My father had been nothing more than a wealthy man with a powerful name. He possessed none of my discipline, intelligence, control, or instinct. Everything exceptional about me had developed without his guidance. I had created those qualities within myself because no one else had been capable of teaching them to me.

Seth and Luke would have what I never did. I would begin shaping them before anyone else had the chance. I would teach them control, loyalty, patience, and violence. They would understand power because I would show them how to take it and keep it.

They would never equal me. Expecting that would be unreasonable.

But I could make them close.

I could make them useful to the Collective, feared by everyone beneath them, and worthy of carrying my name. With enough training, they might become the closest thing to perfection the world would ever see after me.