By seven o’clock on a cold Saturday evening in Boston, Bennett Whitmore was supposed to be thinking about an engagement ring.

When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Bennett’s heart slammed into his throat.

The sofa in the grand foyer was empty.

Panic, cold and suffocating, seized his chest. "Clara!" he shouted, ignoring the startled looks from the hotel bellhops. "Clara!"

"Bennett!"

He whirled around. Clara was standing near the side glass doors that led to the parking valet, holding Mason’s hand while Julian, Leo, and Sam were huddled around her. Standing directly in front of them was Lenore, flanked by two imposing security guards from Whitmore Holdings.

"You cannot take these children out of this building!" Lenore was shouting, her voice echoing off the glass walls. "If they are Whitmores, they belong under our legal guardianship! Security, keep her right there until my lawyers arrive!"

"Touch them and I'll kill you," Bennett’s voice roared across the lobby like a thunderclap.

He closed the distance in three long strides, shoving one of the security guards aside with such raw force the man stumbled into a decorative marble pillar. Bennett stepped directly in front of Clara and his sons, glaring down at his mother with a look of absolute, terrifying hatred.

"You have lost your mind, Mother," Bennett growled, his body tense, ready for a fight. "You will not lay a finger on my family. Not today. Not ever."

"Bennett, think about what you are doing!" Lenore shrieked, her aristocratic composure completely shattered. "You are walking away from Whitmore Holdings! You are walking away from your birthright! If you step through those doors with that woman, I will have the board remove you as CEO by Monday morning! You will be left with nothing!"

"I have everything I've ever wanted right behind me," Bennett said flatly.

He turned to Clara, sweeping Mason up in his arm and grabbing Leo's hand. "Where is your car?"

"The blue station wagon near the curb," Clara said, her voice shaking with adrenaline.

"Let's go."

Bennett marched his family through the revolving glass doors into the crisp, freezing Boston night. He loaded the four boys into the back seat of Clara's battered, six-year-old Subaru station wagon, making sure every single seatbelt was clicked securely into place.

He slid into the passenger seat beside Clara. She put the car in drive, slammed her foot on the gas, and pulled out of the Harbor Crown driveway just as two dark luxury sedans belonging to Lenore’s legal team pulled up behind them.

As the city lights of Boston blurred past the windows, the cabin of the small station wagon fell into a quiet, vibrating silence.

From the back seat, little Sam spoke up in a quiet, sleepy voice. "Mommy? Did we get the mint chocolate chip ice cream?"

Bennett turned around in his seat, looking at the four identical little faces staring back at him in the dim streetlights. A deep, unstoppable warmth bloomed in his chest, shattering six years of ice.

"We're getting ice cream right now, buddy," Bennett said, his voice thick with emotion. "And then... we're going home."