Too Late CEO: The Runaway Wife Returns

The black Maybach rolled smoothly into the VIP drop-off lane at the Golden Leaf Academy.

Damon stepped out of the car. Principal Eleanor was already waiting on the marble steps, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She forced a bright, welcoming smile.

"Mr. Holloway, what an unexpected honor," Eleanor gushed, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides as they entered the main hall.

"Explain the anomaly," Damon demanded, his voice bored. He only came here to escape the suffocating air of his office.

"It's nothing bad, sir," Eleanor explained quickly. "A massive, anonymous overseas wire transfer just hit the school's account, specifically earmarked for the autism art therapy room you sponsor."

Damon stopped listening. His eyes wandered to the wall of fame lining the main corridor. Rows of framed photos displayed the school's top students.

His gaze drifted over the smiling faces.

Suddenly, his eyes locked onto a photo in the second row.

His expensive leather shoes stopped dead on the marble floor.

It was a picture of a second-grade boy in the school uniform. The boy wasn't smiling. He stared at the camera with cold, indifferent eyes. His brow bone was slightly lowered, casting a shadow over his eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin, arrogant line.

It was Damon's face. Just shrunk down to the size of a child.

Damon's heart violently contracted. The air vanished from his lungs. He couldn't breathe. He took a slow, stiff step toward the wall, his eyes burning into the photograph.

Brad followed his boss's gaze. Brad gasped, the sound loud in the quiet hallway. "That's... that's impossible."

Damon reached out and grabbed Eleanor's upper arm. His large hand clamped down like a steel vice.

Eleanor let out a sharp cry of pain. "Mr. Holloway! You're hurting me!"

"Who is this boy?" Damon roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

Eleanor trembled, terrified by the sudden violence in his eyes. "He... he's a new transfer student. He started today. His name is Leo Alvarez."

Alvarez.

The name struck Damon like a physical blow to the head. The blood roared in his ears, rushing backward through his veins.

He let go of Eleanor's arm, shoving her slightly. "Bring me his entire enrollment file. Now."

Three minutes later, Damon sat in the principal's leather chair behind her desk. His large hands shook visibly as he flipped open the thick manila folder.

On the first page, clipped next to Leo's form, was a photo of a little girl. Stella. She had the exact same striking, icy blue eyes that every Holloway possessed.

Damon's eyes darted down the page. Under grade placement, a bold notation read: Accelerated placement, Grade 2. Qualified via gifted assessment. IQ: 168.

Father: [Blank]

Mother: Corrie Alvarez

The black ink on the white paper hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Damon slammed the folder shut. He sucked in a massive breath of air, his chest heaving.

Five years of crushing guilt, of waking up in cold sweats, of wishing he was dead-all of it vanished in a single second. It was instantly replaced by a wild, manic joy, followed immediately by a volcanic rage.

She wasn't dead.

She faked her death and hid his flesh and blood from him for five years.

Damon shot to his feet. The heavy leather chair flew backward, crashing violently into the wall behind him.

"Bring those children to this office immediately," Damon ordered Eleanor, his voice a lethal growl.

"Mr. Holloway," Eleanor stammered. "The teacher says... a man claiming to be their uncle came and picked them up ten minutes ago. He presented a legally notarized emergency pickup authorization form signed by Ms. Alvarez, and we verified the signature."

Damon's eyes turned pitch black. The temperature in the room plummeted.

"Uncle?" Damon whispered, the word dripping with venom. "What wild man is suddenly playing family with my children?"

He snatched the phone out of Eleanor's hand and looked at the digital sign-out log on her computer screen.

Authorized Pickup: Mael Corbin.

A sickening wave of pure, violent jealousy chewed through Damon's stomach. He turned to Brad.

"Lock down this entire block," Damon commanded. "Nobody leaves."

"Sir, we can't," Brad said calmly, stepping in front of his boss. "Locking down an Upper East Side block will bring the NYPD in minutes. Let me pull the security footage. We track the car."

Damon forced his fists to uncurl. He walked to the security monitors on the wall.

He watched the grainy footage. A man-Mael-was holding Stella's hand and guiding Leo toward a black SUV.

Just before stepping into the car, the boy, Leo, stopped. He turned his head and looked directly up at the security camera hidden in the corner of the building.

Leo smirked. A deliberate, mocking challenge.

Damon stared at the screen. He saw his own arrogant expression mirrored on his son's face.

Damon laughed. It was a dark, terrifying sound. He cracked his knuckles, the popping sound sharp in the quiet room.

He turned and marched toward the door.

"Find out everything about this Mael Corbin," Damon barked at Brad. "I want their exact location. Now."