Zeke’s POV

I arrived at my parents' home immediately after receiving my mother's message. I paused to admire the familiar building before entering. Their home exudes refined elegance, with tasteful decor and luxurious furnishings throughout.

"Aha, look who finally found his way home," my mother said, walking gracefully toward me. She wore a magnificent silk garment, one of the finest in London.

"Hello, Mother," I replied, hugging and kissing her.

"Oh, son, how have you been?" she asked.

"I've been well," I answered curtly.

My father strolled in. I take most of my features from him; he's a handsome man, as my mother is strikingly beautiful. Sadly, I never had a sister to match her beauty.

"Good morning, Sir," I greeted formally. I was trained to address him this way, following the traditions of the old aristocracy.

"Hello, son. Long time no see," my father's baritone voice echoed.

"Yes, Sir. Glad to see you're in good health," I replied.

"Thanks to your mother," he said, kissing her cheek. She blushed. The sight was lovely.

"Alright, gentlemen, shall we move to the garden for breakfast?" my mother asked, her voice as bright as her smile.

"Yes, Mother," I replied. My father took her hand, and they walked toward the garden; I followed.

The sprawling garden was meticulously landscaped, filled with lush greenery and exotic blooms. The morning sun warmed the neatly trimmed lawn and vibrant flowerbeds. A stone pathway wound through the greenery, leading to a cozy breakfast nook beneath leafy trees.

As we sat down, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee blended with the scent of roses, creating a comforting atmosphere. It was clear they had worked hard throughout their lives, and their suburban retirement was more than just an escape from the city's hustle and bustle.

"So, Zeke, how's life in the city?" my father asked, his voice imbued with wisdom.

"It's bustling as always," I replied. "But I find myself longing for the peace and quiet of home," I added softly.

My mother's gentle voice chimed in, her eyes filled with affection. "You should visit more often, dear. We miss you."

"I will do my best, Mother," I replied.

I inquired about their vacations, and my mother regaled me with stories, just as Zane and Fletcher used to. I smiled.

For a while, we ate in silence. We had just finished dessert when my mother's words cut through the air, catching me off guard.

"Zeke, darling, you've been through two marriages without children. What's the plan?"

Her question stung, but I remained calm. "I don't know yet, Mom," I replied, hoping it would suffice, but it didn't.

"How can you say that, Zeke? You've always loved children. Remember when we visited orphanages?"

I couldn't answer. They had been away so much on vacation, they didn't know why I divorced Ellen.

"Why aren't you saying anything, Zeke?" she asked again.

"I'm sorry, Mother, but there's nothing more to say," I replied.

"No, Zeke, I can't accept that. You need a wife to bear you a child, or don't you love children anymore?" Her voice was laden with concern.

My silence only fueled her words.

"Zeke, you said you were so in love with Ellen, enough to divorce Kamille. Oh, bless her soul!" She crossed herself. (It felt ironic; Kamille was alive.)

"I loved Kamille like a daughter, but you sent her away. If you could marry Ellen, you can marry another young woman, right?" My mother's persistence made my head spin.

Before I could respond, my father's calm voice interjected. "Perhaps it's time to consider your options carefully, son. Surrogacy, adoption, or… other avenues."

"I will think about it, Sir," I replied.

"Oh, I remember you used to donate sperm after you learned Kamille was infertile. Can't you try that again?" my mother chirped.

"No, Mother. I'm done with all that," I responded.

The mention of surrogacy triggered memories. When I met Kamille, I was drawn to her innocence and purity. My grandfather and her grandmother had made a deal: I had to marry her to become CEO of the Reid conglomerate.

Everything went smoothly until after the wedding. Ellen returned from France, where she studied music. Her passion captivated me, but things went wrong. Ellen and I had dated before her studies, but poor communication led to a breakup. After Ellen's return, I disliked Kamille so much that I didn't realize I'd become a pawn in my wife's sister's game. Ellen convinced me Kamille was infertile. We had just married and may not have even consummated the marriage; the memory is hazy.

My mother's frustration boiled over. "So what's your plan, Zeke? Kamille is dead, Ellen is gone, what next?" (If only she knew Kamille was alive.)

"I'll think of something, Mom," I replied.

She sighed and stood to get fruit. My father asked her not to, but she insisted on dicing it herself.

"The help doesn't cut it the way Zeke likes," she said, leaving the table.

As she left, my phone buzzed. A text triggered my protective instincts, and I excused myself. Two women at Kamille's house? Who are they? Is she safe?

I quickly called the number I'd gotten the night she was drunk. The line connected.

"Hello, Kamille," I said.

"Hello, Daddy? Is that you, Daddy?" A little girl's voice made my heart skip a beat. Who is the father of Kamille's children?

I overheard Kamille scolding her daughter, but the girl kept asking about her daddy, then silence.

"Kamille?" I called, unsure if she was still there.

"Yeah, it's me, but who is this?" she said. It hurt that she didn't recognize my voice. But why should she?

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's Zeke. I just wanted to check on…" My words were cut short.

"I… I can't talk right now," she stammered. "I'll call you later," and hung up.

I was unsatisfied. Was she in distress? Why end the call like that? I needed to know she was safe. I texted her security to let me know if anyone left the house within the hour. I didn't care about her anger; I needed her to be safe.

I returned to the garden; my mother emerged with the finely diced fruit.

"Mom, Sir, I'm sorry, but I have to leave. Something important came up. Enjoy your stay in London," I said, preparing to leave.

"Zeke," my mother called softly. I turned. "Why are you leaving suddenly? Is everything alright?"

My father's face was etched with concern. "Is it Ellen?"

"Yes, Ellen contacted me, saying she needed to talk. I hope she's alright," my mother added.

"She should be fine, Mother," I replied.

"Zeke, I just don't want you to be alone anymore. I want the best for you," she said, her voice filled with love.

"Thank you, Mother," I smiled weakly.

As I drove away, my thoughts were only of Kamille. If only I'd listened to her, if only I'd known the truth. I sat in the car, typing a message to her: I needed to see Kamille.