PART 2:

The company would always come first.” The words struck him like physical blows because he knew they were true. He had built walls around himself to focus on his ambitions, never considering what he might be walling out. “What are their names?” Jackson asked, his voice catching. “Ethan and Abigail,” Charlotte replied, a softness coming into her expression for the first time.

“They’re 14 weeks old.” Jackson moved closer, looking down at his sleeping children. Ethan’s tiny hand was curled into a fist outside his blanket. Abigail’s rosebud mouth moved slightly as she dreamed whatever infants dream about. Something inside Jackson broke open. A feeling so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees.

Can I he began, unable to finish the question. Charlotte hesitated, then nodded. You can hold them if you’d like. Abigail will probably sleep through it, but Ethan’s a light sleeper. With trembling hands that had signed billion-dollar contracts without hesitation, Jackson carefully lifted his son from the carrier.

The baby’s eyes fluttered open, deep blue eyes that mirrored his own. And Jackson Reid, who had stood firm through market crashes and hostile takeovers, felt tears roll down his cheeks. “Hello, Ethan,” he whispered. “I’m your dad.” Charlotte watched them, her own eyes glistening. “What happens now, Jackson?” It was a question that encompassed far more than just the paused divorce proceedings.

It asked about the empire he had built, about the family he hadn’t known he had, about the man he might still become if it wasn’t too late. “I don’t know,” Jackson admitted, something he rarely said in boardrooms or business negotiations. “But I want to find out. I want to know them.

I want” he trailed off, searching for words to express the seismic shift happening within him. “I want to try again, Charlotte. Not just with them, with us.” Charlotte’s expression was guarded, years of disappointment having built their own walls. “It’s not that simple.” “I know,” Jackson said, carefully returning Ethan to his carrier as the baby began to fuss.

“But for the first time in years, I’m absolutely certain about what matters most, and it’s not waiting for me at the office.” As they left the courthouse separately that day, Charlotte with the twins, Jackson with a canceled divorce and a heart full of regret and newfound purpose, the billionaire boss who had frozen at the sight of his children made a silent promise.

Whatever it took, however long it required, he would find a way to be worthy of the family he had almost thrown away. Jackson paced the length of his penthouse’s floor-to-ceiling windows, phone pressed to his ear. The city lights of Boston sparkled below, a view he’d once considered the perfect backdrop for empire building. Now those same lights seemed cold and distant compared to the warmth he’d felt holding his son for those brief moments.

“I need to reschedule the Berlin investors,” he told Diane, his chief operating officer, “and the Tokyo conference call. Move it to next week.” “Jackson, we’ve been planning the European expansion for months,” Diane replied, concern evident in her voice. “The board is expecting The board can wait,” Jackson interrupted, surprising himself with the firmness in his tone.

“Family emergency.” The words felt foreign on his tongue. Family emergency. For years his company had been his family, his employees, his dependents, his shareholders, his responsibility. Now the true meaning of those words crashed through the carefully constructed walls of his professional life. “Is everything okay?” Diane asked, her tone softening.

Jackson paused, looking at the photo he’d pulled up on his tablet. A social media post Charlotte had made 3 months ago. The twins, just days old, swaddled in matching blankets. A post he’d missed completely while negotiating acquisitions in Singapore. “No,” he admitted, “but I’m trying to make it right.

” After ending the call, Jackson sat heavily on his leather sofa, mind racing through the past 8 years with Charlotte. They had met when his company was just beginning to take off. She’d been a graphic designer contracted for Horizon’s first major product launch. Charlotte had captivated him with her creativity, her warmth, her ability to see beauty in the ordinary.

She hadn’t been impressed by his growing bank account or his ambitious plans, but by the passion he’d once had for innovation itself. When had that changed? When had the means become the end? The morning after the courthouse revelation, Jackson arrived at Charlotte’s brownstone in Beacon Hill. He’d purchased it for her 3 years ago, insisting she should have a beautiful home even as he spent increasingly little time there himself.

Now he stood on the doorstep like a stranger, a paper bag of fresh pastries in hand, a peace offering that felt woefully inadequate. Charlotte answered the door with Abigail cradled against her shoulder, dark circles under her eyes more pronounced than yesterday. “Jackson,” she said, surprise evident in her voice. “I didn’t expect you.

” “I should have called first,” he acknowledged, suddenly unsure. The confident CEO persona that served him so well in boardrooms seemed useless here. “I brought breakfast.” Charlotte hesitated before stepping aside to let him in. The home he had technically owned but rarely visited was warm and lived in, nothing like his minimalist penthouse.

Baby items were scattered everywhere, a swing in the corner, a playmat on the floor, tiny clothes folded on the coffee table. “Ethan just fell asleep,” Charlotte whispered, nodding toward a baby monitor. “It took 3 hours of walking the floors.” Jackson set the pastries on the kitchen counter. “Let me hold her while you eat something,” he offered, gesturing to Abigail.

Charlotte’s expression was a mixture of surprise and weariness, but she carefully transferred their daughter to his arms. “Support her head,” she instructed unnecessarily. Abigail was heavier than she’d seemed yesterday, more substantial in his arms. Her eyes, blue like his, blinked up at him curiously. Jackson felt that same overwhelming rush of emotion, a feeling so powerful it made his throat constrict.

“I’ve missed so much,” he said softly. Charlotte took a pastry and sank into a kitchen chair, exhaustion evident in every movement. “You made your choices, Jackson.” The words stung because they were true. Even now, his phone buzzed repeatedly in his pocket, the Empire demanding attention from its creator.

Jackson silenced it without looking, focusing instead on the tiny fingers that had wrapped around one of his. I want to help, Charlotte, not just financially. I want to be here, to be their father, to try to be the husband I promised to be. Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to hear those words? How many nights I’ve lain awake waiting for you to come home only to receive a text that you were working late? How many holidays and anniversaries you’ve missed because some deal couldn’t

wait? Each question was a knife twisting in Jackson’s chest because he remembered those texts, those missed moments, those choices that had seemed so important at the time. “I know I can’t undo that,” he said quietly, carefully sitting across from her with Abigail still cradled in his arms, “but I can be different moving forward.

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