Chapter 2 - Five Minutes
Vincent Rowan had been threatened by prosecutors, rival crews, corrupt detectives, and men who smiled while discussing murder over coffee.
None of them had ever made him feel as helpless as a crying seven-year-old with her arms around his neck.
For the first few seconds, Sophie simply held on.
Vincent stayed kneeling beside the heavy Persian rug, one hand between her shoulder blades, the other resting carefully against her hair.
The fire cracked softly behind him.
Rain tapped the windows.
Nothing else moved.
Finally, Sophie whispered, “Are we counting?”
Vincent looked toward the clock on his desk.
“No.”
She leaned back enough to look at him.
“Why not?”
“Because if we count, you’ll spend the whole time thinking about when it ends.”
Sophie considered this with startling seriousness.
“My dad counted.”
“Your dad sounds more organized than me.”
That earned him the smallest laugh.
Vincent felt something in his chest loosen.
Then the library door opened.
Mara Ellis stood there.
She had clearly been running.
Her dark hair had come loose from its normally neat twist. Her black housekeeping dress was covered by a white apron, and one hand still gripped a polishing cloth.
Her face lost all color when she saw her daughter.
“Sophie.”
The child turned.
Mara’s eyes moved next to Vincent.
Still kneeling.
Still holding her daughter.
For a moment no one spoke.
Then Mara hurried forward.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rowan.”
Sophie immediately tightened her grip.
Vincent felt it.
Mara reached for her.
“Sophie, you know you’re never supposed to come into Mr. Rowan’s private rooms.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“She asked permission after entering,” Vincent said.
Mara stopped.
Vincent rose carefully, keeping one hand on Sophie’s shoulder until the child let go on her own.
Mara stared at him.
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No.”
Vincent picked up the green coat from the floor.
“You should probably be angry.”
“I am.”
“At me too?”
Mara blinked.
Sophie whispered, “He said you would be.”
Vincent handed the coat to Mara.
For the first time, he studied her properly.
He had seen Mara nearly every day for three years.
He knew she preferred coffee without sugar.
He knew she reorganized the entire household schedule every January.
He knew she could settle disputes between staff members without raising her voice.
He knew she had once fired a florist on the morning of a charity dinner and somehow replaced eight hundred white roses before noon.
He had never noticed that grief still lived behind her eyes.
Not until now.
Mara crouched in front of Sophie.
“What happened?”
Sophie looked down.
“School.”
Mara’s expression changed.
“What happened at school?”
Sophie hesitated.
Vincent turned away slightly.
He understood privacy.
But Sophie reached for his hand.
Not Mara’s.
His.
Vincent went still.
Mara noticed.
Sophie whispered, “Can he stay?”
Mara looked up at Vincent.
He expected discomfort.
Instead he saw embarrassment.
And fear.
Not fear of him.
Fear that refusing might hurt her daughter.
Vincent sat on the edge of the desk.
“I can stay.”
Sophie told her mother everything.
The writing assignment.
The boy.
The girl.
The sentence about her father not loving her enough to stay.
Mara listened without interruption.
By the time Sophie finished, Mara was crying silently.
She tried to hide it.
Sophie noticed anyway.
Children always noticed the things adults worked hardest to conceal.
“Mom?”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
Vincent nearly smiled.
Apparently honesty ran in the Ellis family.
Mara reached for Sophie.
This time the child went willingly.
“I’m sorry,” Mara whispered.
“For what?”
“For not being there when you came home.”
“You were working.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Vincent spoke before thinking.
“It matters.”
Mara looked at him.
He continued more quietly.
“You work because she needs you.”
Mara’s eyes hardened slightly.
“That doesn’t make absence feel different to a child.”
“No.”
Vincent looked toward Sophie.
“But absence for love isn’t abandonment.”
Mara froze.
The sentence had come from somewhere Vincent avoided.
Sophie stared up at him.
“You know that?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Now I do.”
The room fell quiet again.
Then Sophie asked, “Did somebody leave you?”
Mara closed her eyes.
“Sophie.”
“It’s fine.”
Vincent looked at the fire.
“My father.”
“Did he die too?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
The disappointment in Sophie’s voice was almost worse than pity.
“He chose to leave.”
She frowned.
“That’s mean.”
Vincent let out a short breath that almost became a laugh.
“Yes.”
“Did you cry?”
He looked at her.
“Probably.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I trained myself not to.”
Sophie studied him.
“That sounds harder.”
Vincent had no answer.
Mara did.
“It is.”
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Something quieter.
Two adults who had both learned to make themselves useful because useless grief frightened them.
A knock came from the library door.
Vincent’s security chief, Dominic Hale, stepped inside.
He stopped when he saw Mara and Sophie.
His expression remained professional.
“Mr. Rowan.”
“What?”
“Problem downstairs.”
“How serious?”
Dominic glanced at Sophie.
Vincent understood.
He stood.
“Sophie.”
She looked up.
“Our five minutes are over.”
Her face fell.
“But—”
Vincent reached for his phone.
He opened the timer.
Five minutes.
Then placed it on the desk.
“New five minutes.”
Sophie stared.
Mara stared too.
Vincent said, “I have to handle something downstairs.”
He nodded toward the leather sofa.
“You and your mother stay here until this rings.”
Sophie smiled.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked at Mara.
“If that’s all right.”
Mara nodded slowly.
Vincent walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked back.
Sophie was curled against her mother on the sofa, green coat between them.
For the first time in years, his library looked occupied instead of expensive.
Dominic followed him into the corridor.
“What happened?” Vincent asked.
Dominic’s expression tightened.
“One of our cars was followed from the courthouse.”
“By police?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Vincent’s entire demeanor changed.
The warmth disappeared.
The man who had held a crying child vanished behind something colder.
“Where is the car?”
“Garage.”
“Driver?”
“Alive.”
“Did they see the house?”
“Yes.”
Vincent stopped.
That mattered.
Rowan House was private.
Protected.
Hidden behind legal ownership, layered corporations, and enough security to discourage curiosity.
Anyone following a vehicle all the way there had done it deliberately.
Dominic lowered his voice.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“The driver found this under the rear wheel.”
He handed Vincent a photograph.
Vincent looked down.
It showed Mara.
Leaving Sophie’s school three days earlier.
Sophie held her hand.
Both were unaware of the camera.
On the back, a message had been written in black ink.
WE FOUND WHAT YOU CARE ABOUT.
Vincent’s face went completely still.
Dominic watched him carefully.
“They think the woman and kid matter to you.”
Vincent looked toward the library door.
“They don’t.”
Dominic said nothing.
Vincent continued.
“They work here.”
Again, Dominic said nothing.
Vincent hated him for it.
“Double exterior security.”
“Already done.”
“Change Sophie’s school transportation.”
Dominic lifted one eyebrow.
Vincent looked at him.
“She lives on this property.”
“Of course.”
“And Mara does too.”
“Understood.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you any particular way.”
Vincent gave him a cold stare.
Dominic almost smiled.
From inside the library came the soft sound of Sophie laughing.
Vincent looked at the photograph again.
Someone had watched them.
Someone had mistaken kindness for vulnerability.
That mistake could become deadly.
Vincent slipped the photograph inside his jacket.
“Find out who took this.”
Dominic nodded.
“And if we do?”
Vincent looked toward the rain-dark windows.
May you like
His voice was quiet.
“Then we teach them the difference between caring about someone and being weak because of it.”
