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Antonio Smith's Outfit -
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Antonio's POV
Dinner ended the way it always did. Ellie disappeared—off to her room, the hallway, somewhere only she knew. I didn't stop her. I rarely did. After everything she'd been through, she deserved space to roam without fear. What I didn't understand was why Jenna's actions still burned under my skin. I am a bachelor. I have access to anything I want. And yet— I shut the thought down and called Joseph to confirm Ellie's Career Day schedule for the morning. Once that was settled, I retreated to my study and began drafting a speech. Nothing corporate. Nothing dull. These were eight‑year‑olds—not shareholders. Still, one name kept circling my mind. Aidan. From what Ellie told me, the boy had stood up for her. I couldn't hate him for that. But the instinct was there—sharp, territorial. Antonio. They're children. I poured myself a shot of vodka and let it burn. What I was furious about was the girl. The blond one. Raevynn. Now that I'd seen it with my own eyes, the question clawed at me: How long had Ellie been bullied? She'd only been at that school a week. The thought that my daughter had been hurting—and hiding it—made my jaw tighten. By eight o'clock, I abandoned the study and went to my bedroom. I changed into pajamas without thinking. That habit stuck after the night I'd found Ellie curled against me while I was half‑asleep and barely dressed. I wasn't risking that again. As if summoned by routine, Ellie padded in carrying her blanket and a stuffed animal. "You gonna change into pajamas?" I asked, noting she was still in her school clothes. "I wanna wear noffin," she replied sleepily. I sighed. "She'll be fine," I told myself. Puberty was a future problem. "Alright, baby. Lights out." I turned them off. She was asleep in seconds. I slid into bed carefully and studied her—lashes resting against her cheeks, breathing steady. I kissed her forehead. Three years. Three years since she'd collided into my life and dismantled everything I thought mattered. Without her, I'd still be in that penthouse—empty, untethered. She was mine. Flesh and blood. Eventually, sleep claimed me.
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Morning came with weight on my chest. Ellie. Curled against me like she'd always belonged there. I glanced at the clock. Seven. "Baby," I murmured, nudging her, "time to wake up." "Nooo," she groaned. "Few more minutes." "You don't want to run around like a wild dog again?" She rolled off me dramatically. "That's my girl." In the wardrobe, I heard her rubbing her eyes. "Daddy, what should I wear?" "I'll be in a blue suit." "I'll wear a blue dress!" she squealed, racing off. I chuckled. If my employees ever saw my mornings, half of them would stop fearing me. When I finished dressing, Ellie skipped toward me in a summer dress. "Won't you be cold?" I asked. "It's not cold," she insisted. "Fine—but if you sneeze, that's on you." She grinned. "Daddy, you look really handsome!" "And you've gotten uglier," I replied blandly. Her face dropped. "That's because I look like you!" I laughed quietly. "You've grown." "Really?" she asked hopefully. "Yes," I said, unable to resist. "Wider." "That's mean!" "But your face makes up for it." She was about to protest when I guided her across the street. I'd decided to walk. Parents stared. I ignored them. "And I have someone like you as a father," she muttered. I smiled and patted her shoulder. Truth was—she was fragile. Too thin. That's why I let dessert count as a snack.
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At the school, I went straight to the office. "Miss Cleveland." "Mr. Smith." "I'm here for Career Day." She guided us to the classroom—walls covered in butterflies and drawings. "Miss Poppy," I said. "We meet again." The children scrambled to their seats. I cleared my throat as the smartboard lit up. "Good morning, class." "Good morning, Ellie's dad!" they chorused. I smiled. "I own several companies," I began. Confused faces. So I simplified. Teachers. Principal. Superintendent. Understanding dawned. "In business, I'm a CEO—Chief Executive Officer." Recognition flickered. Then security appeared. "Chairman," the man said quietly, "there's been a hit in London." My watch read 9:00 a.m. "When?" I asked as we stepped out. "Three p.m. London time." I exhaled sharply. "Tell my daughter I'll be away on business," I ordered. "A few weeks." "Yes, sir." I hated it already. I climbed into the limo, knowing the hardest part wasn't the crisis— It was leaving her behind.
