CEO loves me with all his soul.-Chapter 128.

He passed a few other delivery men and custodians—all too exhausted or apathetic to care about a newcomer.

The signs in this area were more disturbing: "Crisis Containment Wing. Level 4 Hazmat Required."

And one even more chilling:

"Live testing in progress. Do not engage with specimens."

He peered through a small viewing window and saw a dim-lit chamber. Inside were several glass tubes, most of them dark and empty. But in one of them, a small figure floated—a child, barely eight years old, with tubes in their mouth and electrodes glued to their shaved scalp.

The heartbeat monitor beeped irregularly.

Argo forced himself to keep moving.

Down another hallway, a group of custodians was talking animatedly, and he paused nearby to listen.

"Yeah, so that Dr. Myles? Gone. Just vanished last night."

"Another one? That’s the fourth this month."

"They say he saw something in Naehr’s chamber. Something that made him go quiet."

"Or maybe he just talked too much."

"Either way, he’s not coming back."

As Argo scribbled mental notes, a loud chime echoed through the corridor. The main broadcast system crackled to life.

"Attention. All personnel assigned to Level 3 and above must report to Sector 9 for the genome stability trials. Unauthorized access will be met with immediate neuro-lockdown."

Argo slinked into an unused alcove and crouched, breathing slowly. Around him, the movement of lab techs and guards intensified. He had to get out. He had more than enough for the report—and for evidence that could bring this whole rotten operation down.

But as he turned to find his way back to the extraction point, his earpiece buzzed.

Clara: "Chief, you’ve got five minutes to exfil. There’s movement on the scanners. They might have detected an intruder."

Argo: "Understood."

He glanced once more at the child in the tank as he passed. His jaw tightened.

"Hold on, kid," he murmured under his breath. "We’re gonna end this."

--

The front door of the Levistis Manor clicked open quietly in the golden haze of late afternoon. The scent of sun-warmed lilac drifted through the open hallway, mixing with the softer hum of family life waiting within. Augustin stepped in first, brushing his coat free of dust as he turned to let Adrian enter behind him.

Adrian looked exhausted. The days had taken a toll—beneath the elegant fall of his long black hair and the dignified silver of his eyes, there was weariness stitched into every blink. Still, he looked around with a soft exhale, something between relief and longing.

"Finally," Augustin muttered, setting down his keys.

Footsteps came quickly down the marble staircase—Leclair.

He was still in a half-unbuttoned white shirt and soft gray lounge pants, but his honey-colored eyes were alert, searching, and when they landed on Augustin, the world seemed to pause.

"Augustin," Leclair breathed, voice low, cracking just slightly at the edges.

Augustin barely had time to open his arms before Leclair crossed the floor and pulled him into a tight, wordless embrace. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t showy. It was simply two people finally in the same place again, after days of danger and silence. Augustin leaned into him, face buried against his husband’s shoulder.

"I missed you," Leclair whispered into his ear.

"I missed you more," Augustin murmured. He pulled back just enough to smile shyly, then kissed Leclair’s cheek—soft and brief, but honest.

Before Augustin could protest, Leclair suddenly bent down and scooped him up bridal style.

"Wha–! Leclair!" Augustin yelped, blushing furiously as his legs instinctively folded. "You can’t just—!"

"I can," Leclair replied smoothly. "And I will. You haven’t slept properly in three days. You’re mine for the next twelve hours."

Adrian chuckled quietly as Leclair carried his flustered husband upstairs, their laughter echoing like a soft return to peace.

But he lingered in the foyer, glancing toward the sitting room, where a familiar figure stood leaning against the doorframe.

Isaac.

He looked different somehow—less severe than before, perhaps because the shadow of grief had settled slightly from his face. But his black eyes, usually full of sharp intensity, had softened into something gentler as he looked at his younger brother.

"You look like hell," Isaac said flatly.

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Thank you. I missed you too."

Isaac grinned slightly, then tilted his head toward the hallway. "They’re still asleep. You want to see them?"

Adrian’s heart gave a quiet lurch. He nodded.

They walked down the hall side by side, silent for a few steps. At the nursery door, Isaac paused and glanced down at his brother.

"Did you miss them?" he asked.

Adrian didn’t answer at first. He simply looked through the cracked door, seeing the two small forms curled beneath soft blankets.

"Too much," Adrian whispered.

Isaac gave a small nod and pushed the door open wider.

Inside the nursery, golden light from the window draped over the cribs where Aurelius and Seraphina slept. For a moment, Adrian simply stood at the threshold, staring, his breath caught in his throat.

They were there. Whole. Unharmed. His babies.

Aurelius stirred first, his little fists twitching, his black hair tousled. He blinked drowsily up at the ceiling—then his gaze shifted to Adrian.

"Dada..." he mumbled.

Seraphina’s eyes opened next, wide and bright and unmistakably Adrian’s—silver as the moon. She blinked a few times, then squealed.

"Dada!"

Adrian stepped forward, unable to stop the tears welling in his eyes.

The twins burst into wails of joy—or protest—he couldn’t tell. But they didn’t stop crying until Adrian leaned into the crib and awkwardly tried to pick up both at once. They weren’t light anymore. Eight months of growth and energy made them squirming bundles of demanding affection.

"Okay—okay, one at a time," Adrian muttered, carefully balancing them both against his chest. Their tiny arms clung to him like vines. "I’m here. I’m home."

Isaac watched from the door, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Guess they missed you too," he said quietly.

Adrian turned around, both babies in his arms, one sobbing against his neck and the other sniffling against his shoulder.

"I’ll never leave them again," he whispered.

Isaac nodded once. "Good."

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