Reborn From Flames: His Secret Triplets

"Take your hands off him."

Alisson's voice was not loud, but it cut through the noise of the airport like a surgical scalpel. The absolute authority in her tone made the bodyguards freeze. Their hands hovered in the air, unsure of how to proceed.

Alisson slowly stood up, bringing the boy with her. She kept him tucked securely against her side, using her own body as a physical barrier between the child and the men.

The silver-haired butler wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. He stepped forward, his posture straightening into a stance of arrogant superiority.

"Madam," the butler said, his English clipped and demanding. "I must ask you to release the heir to the Yates family immediately. You are interfering with private security."

Alisson's pupils contracted slightly.

The Yates family.

She knew that name. Everyone in Aethelburg knew that name. They were the apex predators of the financial world, a dynasty of unimaginable wealth and power.

The boy, hearing the butler's voice, did not let go. Instead, he pressed his face harder into the fabric of Alisson's trench coat. His small fists twisted the beige material into tight knots.

Alisson let out a cold, mocking laugh.

"If you truly cared about the well-being of your heir," Alisson sneered, her gaze sweeping over the butler with blatant disgust, "you would not allow a child suffering from severe psychological trauma to run unsupervised in a crowded terminal. Your aggressive approach is triggering a secondary stress response."

The butler's face flushed red with anger. He was not used to being lectured by strangers. He took a step forward, reaching out to physically pry the boy away.

Before his hand could touch Alisson, Jovany moved.

The five-year-old boy smoothly stepped sideways, extending his small leg just enough to block the butler's path.

Jovany tilted his head up. Behind his dark sunglasses, his eyes were cold and calculating.

"Do not touch my mother," Jovany warned. His English was flawless, his tone eerily calm and devoid of childish fear.

Janna immediately stepped up beside her brother. She put her hands on her hips, her pink dress swishing.

"You are a bad man!" Janna yelled, pointing a tiny finger at the butler. "You are bullying the pretty boy!"

The butler was left completely speechless. He stared at the two children blocking his way, utterly bewildered. He then looked at Geovanni, who was still clinging to the strange woman. In the five years since the young master was born, he had never allowed a stranger to touch him, let alone clung to one for comfort.

Alisson knew she had to de-escalate the boy's panic before it caused physical harm to his nervous system.

She bent down slightly, bringing her lips close to Geovanni's ear.

She whispered a series of specific, rhythmic words. They were neuro-linguistic programming cues designed to ground a dissociating mind.

Slowly, the rigid tension in Geovanni's muscles began to melt. His breathing slowed. But he still refused to look at the butler.

Alisson reached into her pocket and pulled out a soft tissue infused with a specialized lavender essential oil blend. She pressed it into Geovanni's hand.

"When you feel the panic coming back, smell this," she whispered.

Geovanni gripped the tissue. He slowly, reluctantly, loosened his fingers from her coat. He looked up at her, his dark eyes filled with a desperate, silent attachment.

Seeing the boy let go, the butler immediately signaled the guards. They moved in quickly, forming a tight human wall around Geovanni, cutting off his line of sight to Alisson.

"Stand down."

An old, powerful voice boomed across the corridor.

The bodyguards instantly parted.

An elderly Caucasian man walked forward, supported by an ornate purple sandalwood cane. He was surrounded by another layer of elite security. This was Erland Yates Sr. , the undisputed patriarch of the Yates empire.

He had stood quietly in the background, watching the entire interaction. His sharp, weathered eyes missed nothing.

The butler immediately bowed at the waist. "Old Master."

Erland Sr. waved the butler away dismissively. He walked directly up to Alisson. He looked at her not with arrogance, but with intense, evaluating scrutiny.

"The technique you just used," Erland Sr. said, his voice deep and resonant. "Was that a form of neuro-linguistic programming combined with somatic grounding?"

Alisson's stomach tightened. The old man was incredibly perceptive. She kept her expression perfectly neutral and gave a single, curt nod.

Erland Sr. let out a heavy sigh. He looked at his great-grandson, who was now quietly smelling the lavender tissue.

"I have flown in the best specialists from around the globe for years," the old man muttered, almost to himself. "None of them could pull him out of an episode that quickly. You did it with a few words and a song."

He reached into the breast pocket of his tailored suit and pulled out a heavy, gold-embossed business card. He held it out to Alisson.

"I am hosting a closed-door seminar at Aethelburg University tomorrow," Erland Sr. said. "The world's leading psychological experts will be there. I invite you to attend as my personal guest. Perhaps we can discuss my great-grandson's condition."

Alisson stared at the card. Her immediate instinct was to refuse. She wanted nothing to do with the Yates family.

But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Geovanni peering at her from between the guards' legs. His eyes were so full of longing it made her chest ache.

Her hand moved on its own. She took the card.

Janna tugged on Jovany's sleeve. She leaned in close to her brother's ear.

"Jovy," Janna whispered so softly it was barely a breath of air. "That pretty boy's eyes look exactly like yours. Do you think he is our lost brother?"

Jovany's hand clamped over Janna's mouth instantly. He shot a rapid, paranoid glance at the old man and the guards, ensuring no one had heard her. He shoved the thought deep into the back of his mind.

Erland Sr. turned around. The massive entourage moved out, taking Geovanni with them.

Right before he stepped through the sliding glass doors to the waiting cars, Geovanni turned his head and looked back at Alisson one last time.

Alisson watched the motorcade pull away. She swallowed hard, forcing down the hollow, painful feeling in her gut. She turned and led the twins toward their own waiting black Lincoln town car.

Inside the moving car, Alisson stared at the gold card in her hand.

Erland Yates.

She knew the waters of the Yates family were deep and filled with sharks. But the memory of that little boy's trembling hands was burned into her mind. She slipped the card into her bag. She would go.