Everything had happened so fast that the Jordan family could barely wrap their heads around it. In his mad dash to get downstairs, Michael completely missed Koen Ward taking Avani away. Instead, he caught a glimpse of Cristian about to step into a car, and that was all it took for him to bolt over.
“Oh, Mr. Ward!” Michael beamed, his smile so wide it was almost manic. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you here! Your presence truly honors our humble home!”
As Michael spoke, the rest of the Jordan clan—his parents, Mr. Jordan, Mrs. Jordan, and even the household staff—poured out to welcome Cristian, each wearing a smile that screamed desperation. In front of this towering, intimidating man, they practically groveled.
Cristian Ward was the current head of the legendary Ward family, a titan in high society and business alike. A mere nod from him could yank the Jordans out of the deep shit they were in. They were desperate to kiss ass—and figure they could milk this chance for all it was worth.
The Jordans were staring down disaster, but if Cristian Ward stepped in, their luck could flip overnight. The dream of rubbing shoulders with the upper crust felt so damn close they could taste it.
Cristian, though, met Michael’s fawning greeting with a steely gaze and a face carved from stone. “The Jordans,” he said, his voice clipped. “Very well.”
And with that, he turned away, leaving Michael and his whole family standing there like fools, wracking their brains over what the hell those cryptic words meant.
Mrs. Jordan whispered, “Did Mr. Ward compliment us? Does this mean he’s actually gonna help?”
Mr. Jordan, ever the skeptic, frowned deep. “That look on his face didn’t exactly scream ‘compliment’ to me…”
Michael quickly ordered someone to figure out what had gone down. When they learned Cristian and his crew had rolled in en masse to take Avani, his expression crumpled. They found out some man in black had wrapped Avani up warm, calling himself her uncle.
It hit Michael like a lightning bolt. Suddenly, every piece clicked into place.
The Ward family was famous for having eight sons and only one treasured daughter, who'd been kept out of sight because of her fragile health… Could it be that the woman he’d taken in four years ago was actually Cristian’s sister—their precious girl?
Regret flooded the Jordans like a tidal wave. They’d been sitting on a goddamn gold mine this whole time and had no clue. Now, they were in full-blown panic mode, staring down the weight of their colossal screw-up.
Mrs. Jordan’s voice trembled. “She was a Ward… We have to get Avani back, and fast…”
If only they’d known—hell, they never would’ve treated her like dirt.
Michael, now drowning in guilt, replayed every time he’d punished Avani. A cold dread settled in his gut. Frustrated, he snapped, “How the hell are we supposed to bring her back now? It’s not up to us anymore!”
Mr. Jordan’s furrowed brow showed his mind was churning. “We’re still Avani’s family—her real grandparents and her father. The Wards might be pissed, but they can’t change that. And don’t forget, that thing with Hannah really did happen…”
They’d only been disciplining her to keep her from turning into some spoilt brat! Michael had just lost his temper in the heat of the moment…
The Jordans convinced themselves they could explain everything, and once the air was cleared, they’d be swimming in money and status.
***
After scooping up Avani, the Wards headed straight for the nearest hospital instead of home.
The swanky clinic, normally as quiet as a library, was chaos on the top floor. Nobody dared speak above a whisper. Tension hung like a heavy fog, the beeping machines and hurried footsteps of doctors and nurses the only sounds.
Mr. Ward paced the corridor, his cane tapping an anxious rhythm. “Why haven’t we heard anything yet?” he demanded.
Cristian glanced at his watch, fighting to keep his cool. “Dad, please, sit down.”
Avani had been rushed to the hospital and wheeled directly into the emergency room. Koen Ward had gone in with her, but there was still zero news.
Inside that room, Koen’s hands shook as he looked at Avani’s bruised, battered little body.
Severe frostbite, broken bones—a busted arm, leg, even ribs… The poor kid was a mess. And the frostbite was so bad in some spots that amputation was a real possibility.
How the hell could a child barely over three years old suffer through all this?
Koen’s eyes burned red as he leaned close to her unconscious form.
“Avani, it’s Uncle Koen. Can you hear me?” His voice was low, gentle as a lullaby.
“If you can, sweetheart, please hold on. Be strong…”
Avani’s eyes were shut tight, but for the first time, her body felt light and warm.
The world around her was dead silent, except for a voice whispering right by her ear:
“Avani… little Avani…”
“Can you see me? Can you hear me?”
Who was that?
Avani tried desperately to open her eyes, but they just wouldn’t budge.
She was dying to answer, to let them know she could hear every word, but no sound came out.
***
It took three hours of surgery before Avani was finally out of danger. The doctors called it nothing short of a miracle.
She was wheeled into a room, tubes and wires snaking everywhere.
Koen, his face grim, handed the medical report to Cristian. As the Ward family scanned it, they struggled to bottle up their rage.
Mr. Ward ground his teeth, fury blazing. “Un-fucking-believable. She’s not even four, and they treat her like this!”
Cristian had already done a deep dive on the Jordans. Ice-cold, he reported, “Their products were flagged for smuggling, landing them in hot water. They’ve been begging us for help ever since.”
Mr. Ward let out a bitter laugh. “They should consider themselves lucky if I don’t destroy them, and they think we’re gonna help?”
His rage was a living thing—he was itching to grind the Jordan family into dust.
“Don’t worry,” Cristian assured him. “Their fall will be quick and brutal.”
Mr. Ward fell silent, his lips a tight line, before he finally asked, “And what about Fiona…?”
Cristian didn’t answer.
The Manchester were over a thousand miles from Washington—a world away.
Four years ago, Fiona Ward, deathly ill and battling amnesia, had somehow ended up in the Manchester, where Michael Jordan took her in.
When she gave birth to Avani, Fiona was already critical, barely surviving the delivery.
Maybe knowing her child was there gave her two more years before the sickness came back to claim her. Then she was gone, leaving Avani all alone.
Their beloved sister—the one they’d treasured—had died in a foreign land, unknown, unrecognized, a ghost to the world…
Cristian’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, his rage only making his icy demeanor even colder.
Mr. Ward wisely stopped asking questions. He wasn’t sure he could handle the answers.
Koen asked, “Why the hell did they hurt Avani like that?”
Cristian’s tone was pure frost. “Michael’s wife, Hannah, miscarried after falling down the stairs. Michael was convinced Avani pushed her.”
The Ward family’s faces darkened in unison.
Right then, word came that the Jordans had tracked them down and arrived.
Cristian’s assistant stepped in quickly, voice low. “Mr. Ward, the Jordans are here. They’re claiming they want to see their granddaughter…”
Cristian’s laugh was dark and merciless. “Turn off the heat on this floor and open the windows. Let them wait.”
***
Michael, Grandpa, and Mrs. Jordan ended up waiting outside the VIP floor for what felt like forever, a wall of security guards blocking their way.
Told to wait by Cristian’s assistant, they had no choice but to shut up and deal.
Mrs. Jordan grumped, “Why won’t they let us in? We’re her grandparents! Since when does family get turned away at the damn door…?”
Michael, fuming and out of patience, gritted his teeth. “Just. Wait.”
He knew he’d gone way too far with punishing Avani, and the Wards had every right to be pissed.
But it didn’t take long for the Jordans to notice something was off—the hallway was getting colder by the second.
They were parked right by the open windows, and the icy wind sliced through them, chilling them to the bone.
Mrs. Jordan, used to being pampered, was the first to start shivering like a leaf. “What kind of bullshit weather is this? I can’t stand it!” she whined.
Mr. Jordan scowled. “Michael, go find someone and ask what the hell is going on!”
Sure, the Wards’ anger was understandable—a little waiting was no big deal. But they’d been out here for over half an hour now.
In this kind of cold, nobody could last.
