They canceled my flight, so I returned to my mansion in silence. When I opened the door, I found my four-year-old daughter trembling with hunger, clutching a heavy book while my wife snapped, “If you drop it, you start over.”

That morning, in his sprawling estate just outside Houston, Alexander Hayes adjusted his tie in the mirror with the same precision he used to close multimillion-dollar deals. On the outside, he was still the polished businessman featured in magazines. Inside, he was a tired widower who had spent three years burying himself in work to avoid the ache left by Emily, the mother of his child.

He walked downstairs expecting the smell of fresh coffee or toast. Instead, a strong lavender scent hit him.

At the kitchen island stood Stephanie, his new wife, pouring a thick green smoothie into a tall glass. She looked flawless—hair perfectly pinned, blouse wrinkle-free, her smile controlled and deliberate.

Seated in an oversized chair was Lily, his four-year-old daughter. Her cream nightgown clung to her small frame, her feet dangling, not even touching the floor. Her eyes were downcast, hands clenched tightly on her lap.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Stephanie said sweetly—too sweetly. “Breakfast of champions.”

Alexander kissed Lily’s forehead and froze. She was cold. Cold and slightly damp with sweat.

“Still not feeling well, peanut?”