Falcon drove through the city in silence.
The skyline bled gold into black as night settled. His penthouse sat high above it all — glass, steel, and isolation.
He entered without a word.
Lucas —sprawled lazily against the kitchen counter, flipping a coin between his fingers.
"Well?" Lucas asked. "What did the old man want?"
Falcon removed his coat, draping it neatly over a chair.
"Remind me," he said flatly, "why you're still here."
Lucas smirked. "Because you're the only one who hasn't shot me yet."
Falcon walked past him toward the bar.
"I have nowhere else to go," Lucas added lightly. "You know that."
Falcon poured himself a glass of wine, the dark liquid catching the dim lights of the apartment.
"He wants someone found," Falcon said at last. "And removed."
Lucas straightened slightly. "Who?"
Falcon took a slow sip before answering.
"Lucien Wexler."
The name lingered in the air.
Lucas went still.
"Lucien Wexler…" he repeated carefully. "Wasn't he your old ment—"
"Don't," Falcon cut in sharply.
The temperature in the room shifted.
"That man," Falcon said quietly, eyes darkening, "is long dead to me."
Lucas lifted both hands in surrender. "Alright. Message received."
He walked to the couch and dropped onto it like he owned the place.
"Well then," he muttered, stretching out. "Goodnight."
Falcon ignored him.
Instead, he picked up his tablet from the glass table and opened a secured file.
Lucien Wexler.
Photograph. Background. Financial routes. Offshore accounts. Current location.
Out of the country.
Careful. Calculated. Hidden.
Falcon zoomed in on Lucien's most recent image. Older now. Sharper around the eyes. Smiling in a way that suggested he believed himself untouchable.
"He doesn't appear to have family," Falcon murmured to himself. "That simplifies things."
He studied the screen a moment longer.
"Don't worry," he said softly, almost conversationally. "I'll make it quick."
He set the tablet down, finished his wine in a single controlled swallow, and disappeared down the hallway.
The next morning.
The Montgomery estate felt different.
Heavier.
The Elder's chamber was filled.
Chairs had been arranged near the bed. Curtains drawn halfway to allow pale daylight in. The Elder sat upright, thinner but composed, hands resting over a cane across his lap.
Martha, his wife, sat closest to him — posture rigid, eyes cold.
Alexander, the third son, leaned forward in his chair, restless.
Terrence, the second son, stood against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Simon stood beside the Elder's bed — immaculate suit, hands clasped behind his back, watchful.
Opposite them sat the Elder's brother, Sebastian, quiet and observant.
"It's rare," the Elder said softly, voice worn but firm, "to see the entire family in one room."
"Lucas hasn't arrived," Alexander muttered. "I'm sure he's with that snake."
Terrence exhaled lightly. "I heard he was thrown out of wherever he was staying. Too loud. Not that it matters."
Martha's lips thinned. "Let's begin without him."
The Elder's eyes flickered.
"I am not waiting for Lucas."
The room stilled.
"I am waiting," he continued, "for someone else."
Terrence frowned slightly.
And then—
The distant sound of a car engine echoed through the courtyard.
The Elder's gaze shifted toward the window.
"He's here," he murmured.
Terrence stepped aside and glanced out.
A sleek black car had just rolled to a stop.
Falcon stepped out first.
Lucas followed.
Terrence gave a humorless laugh. "Of course."
Moments later, the doors to the chamber opened.
Falcon entered first — calm, composed, dressed in black. Lucas trailed behind him, hands in his pockets.
The air tightened instantly.
Martha stood up abruptly.
"What is he doing here?" she demanded, fury sharp in her voice. "This is a family meeting."
Lucas spoke evenly. "Falcon is family."
"Family?" Martha repeated, as if the word tasted bitter. "That killer is no blood of mine."
Alexander shot up from his seat. "And you," he snapped at Lucas, "why are you walking in beside him like you belong there?"
Lucas' jaw tightened but he said nothing.
Sebastian cleared his throat. "Let's not assume the Chairman invited him without reason."
Simon's eyes never left Falcon.
There was no warmth in them.
Only calculation.
Falcon, for his part, remained silent. He stepped forward, stopping at an appropriate distance from the Elder's bed.
He neither bowed nor spoke.
He simply waited.
"Enough."
The Elder's voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Silence fell immediately.
"The next person who speaks out of turn," the Elder continued calmly, "Simon will escort out of this room."
Simon inclined his head slightly.
No one doubted he would.
The tension was suffocating.
The Elder's gaze moved across each of them before settling on Falcon.
"I asked you all here," he said slowly, "because today, I will be making a decision about the future of this family."
A decision.
Not a discussion.
And suddenly, every person in that room understood— This was no ordinary gathering. And whatever the Elder's "surprise" was… It was about to change everything.
The Elder cleared his throat.
"Come in."
The doors opened immediately.
A young man entered first, composed but cautious, pushing a woman seated in a wheelchair. Her posture was fragile, but her chin remained lifted with quiet dignity.
Behind them walked a girl with striking red hair.
The same girl Falcon had seen in King's warehouse.
Isabella.
Falcon recognized her instantly.
His expression did not change.
But his eyes sharpened — just slightly.
The young man positioned the wheelchair beside the Elder's bed. Isabella stood on the other side, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
The room had gone silent.
Martha looked as though she might explode — until Simon's gaze met hers. A subtle shake of his head.
Not yet.
She swallowed her outrage and sat back down stiffly.
The Elder rested both hands over his cane.
"These individuals," he began calmly, "are your family."
The words dropped like a blade.
He gestured toward the woman in the wheelchair.
"She is the woman who once carried my child."
A ripple of disbelief spread through the room.
He then pointed toward the young man.
"And he is my son."
A pause.
"And when she left… she carried another within her."
His gaze shifted toward Isabella.
"Isabella."
Martha stood abruptly. "What are you saying?"
Simon stepped forward, voice smooth and measured. "What the Chairman is saying," he clarified, "is that Master Oliver and Miss Isabella are his biological children. Their mother was once legally married to him."
He glanced briefly at the woman.
"She fled when she discovered her husband was a Montgomery."
Martha's face drained of color.
"I don't… understand," she whispered.
The Elder's voice hardened slightly.
"She believed she could disappear with my blood. She underestimated which blood runs in this family."
Alexander stood so suddenly his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"This is absurd!" he snapped. "You bring strangers into this house and expect us to accept them because you claim they share your blood?"
Sebastian leaned forward, calmer but no less firm. "Brother… you owe us a proper explanation."
Voices overlapped.
Accusations.
Shock.
Humiliation.
Through it all, Isabella had kept her head lowered.
Until she looked up.
Her eyes moved across unfamiliar faces — hostility, suspicion, calculation.
Then they landed on Falcon.
Her breath caught.
What is he doing here?!
Her thoughts raced.
He told me that warehouse belonged to the Montgomerys… Her stomach tightened.
He is a Montgomery.
Embarrassment burned her cheeks. Of all places… of all people…
She dared one more glance.
Falcon was already looking at her.
Their eyes locked for half a second.
Cold. Assessing.
She immediately looked away.
The Elder struck his cane lightly against the floor.
"That is enough."
The room fell silent.
"I anticipated your disbelief," he continued calmly. "Which is why I prepared proof."
He signaled Simon.
Simon stepped forward with a leather folder and removed several documents.
DNA reports.
Official. Sealed. Undeniable.
He handed a copy to each family member.
Alexander scanned his, jaw tightening.
Terrence's arms slowly uncrossed.
Sebastian adjusted his glasses.
Simon handed Martha's copy last.
She read it.
Her fingers trembled.
99.9% match.
Her knees nearly gave out, but Alexander and Simon steadied her.
"Mother," Alexander asked urgently. "Are you alright?"
She pulled away from them.
Then, in one sharp motion, she tore the papers in half.
The sound echoed.
"You think paper will make me accept whatever gutter you dragged them from?"
she spat.
Simon bowed his head respectfully.
Then returned to his position beside the Elder.
The Elder's eyes darkened.
"Mind your words," he said quietly. "They are my blood."
Martha huffed and turned toward the door.
"Ma'am," Simon called smoothly. "The Chairman is not finished."
She stopped.
After a long moment, she turned back around.
The room was suffocating now.
The Elder's gaze shifted.
It landed on Falcon.
He had not spoken once.
Had not reacted.
Had not blinked.
"You all know," the Elder said slowly, "that Falcon has been like a son to me."
Terrence rolled his eyes subtly.
The Elder ignored him.
"I raised him. I trained him. I trusted him."
A pause.
"Today… I make that official."
The room stilled.
Falcon's gaze did not waver.
The Elder continued.
"Falcon will marry my daughter, Isabella."
Silence.
Heavy.
Explosive.
"And through that union, he will become a true Montgomery."
The words detonated across the room.
Alexander's face went pale.
Terrence straightened from the wall.
Martha stared as if she had misheard.
Isabella froze.
Marry…?
Her heart pounded violently in her chest.
Falcon remained still.
But something in his eyes shifted.
Not shock.
Not refusal.
Calculation.
This was the surprise.
The Elder leaned back slightly, breath controlled but deliberate."This is not a request," he said softly. "It is my decision."