The second Cristian Ward's words dropped, something fierce lit up in the Ward brothers' eyes, each of them burning with a look that said they were ready for anything.
Koen Ward cracked his knuckles with a low, threatening pop. Usually the cool, collected pilot, Griffin kept things smooth when he spoke. "In a society ruled by laws, of course, we can't just openly throw punches, right?"
He turned and caught a passing nurse's attention with an easy smile. "Hey, do you guys keep burlap sacks around here?"
The nurse blinked, totally thrown. "We, uh, do, but we've also got cardboard boxes if that's more what you need…"
She figured he needed something to carry stuff in and boxes would be way more practical.
Griffin just smiled, polite as ever. "Thanks, but the burlap sacks will do just fine."
After all, if certain steps had to be taken, a little discretion never hurt.
The Ward brothers traded a look, a silent, mutual nod sealing the plan.
**
At the end of the VIP hallway, on the other side of a heavy door, the wind outside was straight-up brutal.
Michael, stood there shivering his ass off. He'd been out there all damn night, and even now with the sun peeking over the horizon, nobody from the Ward family had shown.
Mr. Jordan couldn't pull an all-nighter, so he'd ordered Michael to wait it out, hoping to look as sincere as possible.
The early spring chill cut deeper than the dead of winter. Michael was at his limit—frozen, starving, dead on his feet, and all he could think about was a hot shower and crashing into bed.
The second that thought hit, toughing it out any longer felt impossible. After another hour, he decided to bail for now.
Down in the underground parking garage, Michael dialed his phone while walking, "Make sure you keep eyes on everything. When Mr. Ward steps out, hit me up immediately—"
Before the word "me" could leave his lips, everything went pitch black—a burlap sack had been yanked over his head!
Then, out of nowhere, fists started raining down. "What the fuck— Who the hell are you?!"
Fueled by pure, righteous fury, the Ward brothers went to town on Michael. Normally, they wouldn't stoop to this kind of thing, but thinking about Avani's injuries and her tiny, scared questions about food and if she'd get beaten at home, their blood just boiled over.
Michael could only howl in pain, completely helpless to fight back.
"Stop…"
"You have any idea who I am? I'm Michael Jordan, CEO of Broadgate Corporation! If you've got the balls to mess with me, you'll see if—"
Cristian Ward cut him off cold, a smirk twisting his lips as he loosened his tie and raised a hand.
The Ward brothers froze on command, but Koen Ward was still right there, gripping a steel rod and narrowing his eyes at Michael like a predator sizing up prey.
Michael, mistaking their pause for fear, actually thought he'd scared them off.
But then—CRACK—the steel rod came down on his leg with brutal, bone-shattering force!
"AHHH—!!"
Michael's screams tore through the underground garage, echoing off the concrete.
**
Beaten beyond recognition, Michael landed right back in the hospital—hell, he'd never really left, 'cause they'd hauled him straight back in.
Bruised and busted up, he had no clue who jumped him. They'd left zero trace, nothing to ID them, and now he wasn't just hurting—he was so furious he could practically choke on his own rage.
His wife, Hannah Mendez, stood at his bedside, her tears dripping with way too much drama. "You feeling any better, Michael?"
If Michael could open his swollen eyes, he'd see right through the phony concern in her gaze.
Dressed in a patient gown, Hannah played the role of the worried, doting wife to perfection. But inside, she was a nervous wreck, eaten alive by jealousy.
How the hell had that little brat Avani become the one-and-only darling of the Ward family?
When Mrs. Jordan had spilled the news to Hannah, her heart had dropped into her stomach in sheer panic.
She'd engineered her own fall, making damn sure Avani took the heat. With the Jordan family one bad move from financial ruin and Michael staring down bankruptcy, Hannah was desperate to jump ship.
Young, hot, and seeing a shot at a way better future, she wasn't about to be dragged down by a kid tying her to a sinking family.
So, she'd gotten rid of the baby, staging the whole thing to look like Avani had shoved her.
In her head, Avani was nothing but a weed the Jordans ignored. Michael, in a drunken stupor once, had even called Avani a total embarrassment and wished she'd vanish.
Using Avani as her scapegoat should've been risk-free—or so Hannah had thought.
But now? Avani had been revealed as a Ward—a name that commanded major respect among the big-shot families.
Hannah was flat-out terrified the truth would come out.
What the hell was she supposed to do? She needed a plan, and fast, to make sure Avani couldn't breathe a word against her.
**
In the quiet VIP hospital room, Avani's eyes fluttered open. The room was dead silent and totally empty.
Her little heart sank, convinced everyone had left her behind.
A lost, abandoned look fell over the tiny girl's face, loneliness written all over her features.
Just then, the door creaked softly, and Koen Ward stepped back in.
The light flickered in Avani's eyes, a tiny glimmer of hope sparking back to life.
The Ward family had been asked by Mr. Ward to step out and let the room air out a bit since it'd gotten way too stuffy.
Koen's voice was gentle as a whisper. "Avani, sweetheart, you feeling a bit better? I've got breakfast right here. You want some?"
Avani gave a small nod, and Koen immediately signaled for the breakfast tray to be brought in. The movement stirred the rest of the Ward family, and in seconds, they were crowding around her bed, all eyes on her.
Mr. Ward asked softly, "What sounds good to you, sweet pea? We've got ravioli, pulled pork, some warm dinner rolls…"
Koen Ward, the most restless of the bunch, jumped in way too excited, "Spaghetti carbonara! It's freaking amazing!"
Mr. Ward gave Koen a solid thump with his cane. "Spaghetti? The girl just woke up, how's she gonna handle spaghetti?"
He held out a plate of sausage instead. "Avani, how about a little sausage? They're steamed real soft—melt in your mouth, promise."
Koen lifted a bowl of oatmeal, his smile warm and easy. "Maybe starting with some oatmeal would feel nice too."
Avani glanced around at all of them, her nose tingling with a swell of emotion she didn't quite understand. She felt this sudden, unfamiliar urge to just burst into tears.
Was this what having a real family felt like?
Sniffling, she murmured, barely above a whisper, "Grandpa… I'd like some sausage, please…"
Mr. Ward's eyes went glassy, and he nodded fast, his voice thick. "Of course, sweetheart! Sausage it is, all for you!"
The Ward family looked at Avani and saw a ghost of young Fiona Ward staring back.
Their Fiona, so wild and carefree, sometimes a little firecracker—she was nothing like this. But here was their granddaughter, so afraid of getting anything wrong, so desperate to please, her voice tiny as she called him "grandpa."
Barely three and a half years old, and she'd already learned to read the room just to survive.
The Ward family's hearts just cracked open, watching Avani so guarded, so careful.
It wasn't until she'd eaten and drifted back to sleep that they all crept out on tiptoe, silent as shadows.
She hadn't been asleep long when, with her eyes still closed, that voice came again:
[Little sweetheart, little sweetheart…!]
Avani's eyes flew open, darting around the room.
Nobody was there…
At first, she thought it was just a dream messing with her, but the moment she shut her eyes, the voice crept back:
[Avani, little Avani, little sweetheart!]
Little Avani clutched the bedsheet, her heart thumping as her gaze darted toward where the voice seemed to be coming from…
