Chapter Seven

by Roxanne Rene

Damien Cross was a man who thrived on control.

In his meticulously structured world, everything operated like a finely tuned machine. Meetings commenced with clockwork precision, numbers consistently aligned with mathematical accuracy, and people adhered to protocols without fail.

And yet, he found himself ensnared in the chaotic ballet of a preschool drop-off line.

With a sharp adjustment of his cuffs, Damien surveyed the agonizingly slow procession of vehicles ahead, each inching forward at a glacial pace.

“…This is utterly absurd,” he muttered, the frustration simmering just below the surface.

Beside him, Rowan couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Welcome to the trenches, billionaire.”

Damien’s brow furrowed deeper as he witnessed the disorder surrounding him. There were no defined lanes to guide the way, no semblance of priority access, and—dear God—was that a minivan brazenly cutting into the line?

“What in the world is that guy doing?” he exclaimed, incredulity coloring his voice.

Rowan leaned closer to the window for a better view. “Oh, that’s a classic drop-off line snake move. See how he’s pretending to merge back in like it’s all a mistake?”

A muscle in Damien’s jaw tightened. “He should be arrested.”

Rowan laughed heartily, a sound filled with amusement. “Oh, honey. This is the lawless frontier.”

Damien exhaled sharply, exasperation washing over him. This was inefficiency at its worst. Why wasn’t there a better system? Where was the priority lane? The express drop-off service?

“Excuse me,” he said, rolling down the window with a determined flick and waving to a beleaguered staff member. “Is there an executive line for high-priority drop-offs?”

The exhausted teacher, a shadow of a smile on her face, regarded him with a blank stare. “Sir, this is a preschool.”

A beat of stunned silence ensued as the statement’s weight sank in.

Damien rolled the window back up, defeated. “That was entirely unproductive.”

Rowan wheezed with laughter, clearly relishing the situation. “Oh my God. You just tried to VIP upgrade a school drop-off line.”

Damien exhaled slowly, deeply unimpressed by the absurdity of it all.

Meanwhile, Nessa was reveling in her surroundings.

“I like the limo!” she declared, her eyes sparkling joyfully.

Damien’s frustration melted away as he gazed at her cherubic face. He reached over and gently straightened the straps on her adorable, oversized backpack. “I’m glad, sweetheart.”

Rowan watched with mock seriousness. “God, she’s already spoiled.”

Damien arched an eyebrow, his tone defensive yet playful. “I prefer the term ‘well-provided for.'”

Finally, after an eternity of creeping vehicles and impatient parents, they reached the front of the line.

As he caught sight of the preschool building, Damien felt a wave of emotion wash over him. He turned to Nessa, suddenly struck by a surge of hesitation. This was his daughter’s first official school drop-off, a milestone that marked the onset of a new chapter in their lives.

Nessa beamed up at him, her innocence a stark contrast to the stress of the morning. “Bye, Daddy!”

A warmth lodged in Damien’s throat, a sensation he hadn’t anticipated.

Rowan leaned over and kissed Nessa’s cheek affectionately. “Have a great day, baby.”

Damien hesitated momentarily, then instinctively tucked a loose curl behind Nessa’s ear and murmured softly, “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

His chest tightened a blend of pride and melancholy coursing through him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Nessa was off—bounding toward the building with the exuberance of a child who had done this a hundred times before.

Damien exhaled, a sense of relief washing over him. That went well.

And then, all hell broke loose.

A panicked father in a rusted Honda slammed to a halt, completely blocking the exit lane. Within moments, the carefully orchestrated system collapsed into pandemonium.

Horns blared, voices rose in confusion and anger, and one overzealous PTA mom jumped out of her car, waving her arms as if she were directing a symphony turned chaotic.

Damien watched in abject horror, his mind racing.

“…What is happening?” he asked, disbelief etched on his face.

Rowan’s smirk widened. “Natural selection.”

Feeling the pressure settle in his temples, Damien pinched the bridge of his nose, the absurdity of the situation weighing him down. “This is completely unacceptable.”

“You’re in it now, billionaire boy,” Rowan sang, utterly unphased by the unfolding chaos.

Damien could only stare as a completely unhinged mom in an SUV careened across the lawn, her wild movements resembling those of a deranged battle general determined to restore order.

“This is a nightmare,” he muttered, his patience stretching thin.

Rowan beamed a playful glint in his eyes. “Admit it. You love it.”

Damien’s scowl deepened as he shouted, “Rowan, I am twenty minutes late for work.”

Rowan leaned back, comfortable in the madness. “Don’t worry. I already texted your assistant and told her you were held hostage by suburban warfare.”

Damien turned slowly, disbelief written across his face. “You what?”

Rowan grinned like a mischievous child. “She responded with a crying emoji and said it’s ‘the most relatable thing you’ve ever done.'”

Damien swore under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching in frustration.

Then, his personal phone began to ring.

Ivan’s voice crackled over the speakerphone, vibrant and teasing. “Wow. Preschool traffic? That’s rough, buddy. You holding up okay?”

Damien closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. “Ivan.”

“You’re being humbled. I love this for you,” Ivan replied, laughter evident in his tone.

Damien clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to snap. “I am going to fire you.”

“Oh, please. We both know Rowan would kill you first.”

Rowan wore a smug smirk, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Facts,” he proclaimed, his voice dripping with confidence.

Damien let out a sharp, frustrated exhale, the sound escaping his lips like a soft storm.

He found himself trapped in this reality, a labyrinth of choices and consequences.

He silently pleaded to whatever higher power might be listening, vowing to never return to that dark past again.

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Damien survived the school drop-off line from hell, but things are heating up—with some flirting, tension, and an absolutely meddlesome five-year-old. Check in to check out Chapter 8 on March 3!

Return to Chapter 6 <— —> Continue to Chapter 8