Chapter 1782:


    Alban stared after him, frustration mounting. He was exhausted — the kind of tired that went beyond sleep — and it showed in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way he was struggling to summon the energy to be properly angry.


    “Bain Jones!” he called after him. “I’m talking to you. Stop.”


    Bain didn’t stop. Alban, refusing to let it go, followed after him in long, irritated strides.


    Under normal circumstances, their rivalry was a business matter — conducted with a degree of cold professionalism. Lately, Alban couldn’t summon much energy for any of it. The sustained effort of trying to reach Gillian, of wanting his daughter in his life, had ground him down in ways that boardroom battles never had.


    Bain stepped into the elevator. He made a pointed attempt to close the doors before Alban could reach them. Alban lunged forward and got inside just in time.


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    They stood facing each other in the confined space, Alban’s re fixed and unyielding. “Apologize, or I’ll pull the security footage and prove you walked into me deliberately.”


    “Go right ahead,” Bain said, studying him with the particr contempt of a man who finds the situation mildly entertaining.


    As the elevator rose, Bain was privately turning over the same thought he’d been sitting with since he found out: how could someone like Alban be the father of a child as warm and gentle as Adide? The resemnce, now that he knew what to look for, was obvious — that was why her face had struck him as familiar. The news that Alban had a five-year-old daughter had genuinely caught him off guard, and he hadn’t entirely decided how he felt about it.


    “We’ll see about that,” Alban muttered, jaw tight.


    “Interesting timing, actually,” Bain said, his tone easy and deliberate. “I’m here today to discharge Adide from the hospital.”


    “You’re not taking her anywhere,” Alban said immediately, the panic in his voice impossible to disguise.


    If Adide went back to the Jones household, his ess to her was effectively over. The Jones estate was not somewhere he could simply show up and expect to be admitted.


    “I’m justpleting the paperwork for my employee’s child,” Bain said, a faint, infuriating smile crossing his face. “You go deal with your security footage.”


    “Are you threatening me?” Alban’s voice dropped to something quieter and colder.


    “I’m facilitating a child’s discharge from hospital. Why are you making it strange?” Bain asked, his expression the picture of innocence.


    The pretense was transparent, and they both knew it. The realization crystallized for Alban — Bain knew. He had known for some time.


    “Stop pretending,” Alban said, the wordsing out clipped and tight.


    “I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to,” Bain said, raising an eyebrow, looking marginally more cheerful than before.


    The elevator opened. They stepped out into the corridor, Alban still at his heels.


    “Mr. Martel,” Bain said, not turning his head. “I wasn’t aware you’d taken up following people.”


    Thement pushed Alban past thest of his patience. He elerated, overtook Bain, and strode ahead down the hallway.


    “Now you’re the one following me,” he shot back, making for the hospital room with purpose.


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