Stanley's breath caught in his throat as his eyes fixed on the photograph.
It was their picture.
All five of them, captured years ago during that chaotic, yet somehow magical outdoor photo shoot Natalie had insisted on. They had all fought her on it at first. It seemed like such a pointless exercise—clothes pressed, smiles forced, a moment that felt like it could have been better spent doing literally anything else. But Natalie, with that trademark mischievous glint in her eye, had convinced them all to go along with it. After much grumbling and eye-rolling, they had given in, and surprisingly, that day turned out to be one of their happiest.
Stanley stared at the image in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as his gaze lingered on each face. Maverick was there, cake smeared across his cheek, looking more like a child than the nonchalant person he had became. Neville had that signature smirk of his, as though he was in on some joke that no one else was aware of. Joshua, ever the stoic, had that irritated look on his face, but anyone who knew him well enough could see that there was a glimmer of secret amusement behind his eyes. And Stanley himself… He couldn't help but smile a little at how carefree he looked. He was actually smiling in that photo, genuinely happy, something he hadn't seen on his own face in years.
And then there was Natalie.
There she was smiling so brightly that it seemed to light up the whole world. It was the kind of smile that was full of life—so vivid, so full of mischief and energy. A smile that could make anything feel possible, even when everything else around them felt like it was crumbling.
Gone.
Her absence hit him harder than it ever had before, the weight of it pressing down on his chest like a vice. His heart ached in a way he wasn't used to, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to blur. He was back in that moment again, back to when everything felt simple, when things didn't have to be so complicated.
But then his gaze shifted downward. He looked back at the little girl who had been standing there, staring up at him with wide eyes. His chest tightened further, and then it clicked.
The eyes. Those big, bright, innocent eyes that were staring up at him like he was the most important person in the world. The smile, that small, mischievous smile that reminded him so much of the one Natalie had always had. And the dimples—those damn dimples that Natalie had passed down to her.
Stanley's throat went dry as realization hit him like a tidal wave. This little girl wasn't just anyone.
"Where did you get this picture?" he asked, his voice quiet, cautious, as if he was afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment.
The girl perked up, her face lighting up with an expression of pure excitement. "Mommy gave it to me! She said she wrote something on the back for you!" she exclaimed, bouncing on her little feet.
Stanley slowly turned the photo over, his fingers shaking slightly as he flipped it to reveal the back. And there it was, unmistakable in all its messy glory—Natalie's handwriting. He hadn't seen it in years, but the moment his eyes fell on it, it felt as if she were standing there beside him, mocking him with that irreverent sense of humor she'd always had.
Hey! If you're reading this, that means my baby found you! Congratulations! You're lucky to have my daughter live with you for a year! Take good care of her! — Natalie Citadel
Stanley stood there, utterly still, his eyes locked on the words. The world around him seemed to blur, the noise of the office fading into nothingness as he tried to make sense of what he was holding in his hand.
A daughter.
His heart raced, pounding in his chest as a rush of questions flooded his mind. Why now? Why like this? And how on earth was he supposed to take care of a child when he could barely take care of his own emotions? His life had always been so controlled, so structured. He didn't know how to navigate this kind of chaos.
But then his eyes drifted back to the little girl, still standing there with her big, hopeful eyes. She had that same bright smile on her face, that unflinching trust that somehow made her seem like she belonged here, like she belonged with him. Her tiny hand was still wrapped around the leg of his pants, and her grip, though small, was firm and insistent. She wasn't afraid of him, not like everyone else. She didn't know him for what he was, for the cold man who ran a billion-dollar empire. She didn't see the walls he'd built around himself, the anger, the bitterness, the hurt.
Stanley had faced boardrooms full of cutthroat executives, assassins, backstabbers, billionaires, and all manner of threats. He had stared down the worst that the world had to offer. But nothing, nothing had ever terrified him like this little girl calling him "Daddy."
And somehow, deep down, he knew this was it. He knew, with a certainty that left him breathless, that his world would never be the same again.
As Stanley continued to stare at the back of the photograph, his brow furrowed deeply, and a new tension began to form in his chest. His eyes instinctively scanned the lobby, searching for her—for Natalie. But, as expected, she was nowhere to be seen. She never did things directly, did she? Always some roundabout surprise that left everyone else to clean up the mess.
Stanley felt a deep sense of frustration rise within him. He couldn't believe this was happening.
With no other choice—and with a very determined, very chubby little girl still clinging to his leg like some sort of human barnacle—Stanley let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, his patience thinning. With a firm grip, he scooped her up—not gently, not sweetly—but with enough force to make sure she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He threw her over his shoulder, treating her like a sack of potatoes.
But the little girl didn't mind.
In fact, she was thrilled.
She squealed with delight, her laughter echoing off the marble walls of the lobby, her little legs dangling wildly as she swung her arms in the air, completely oblivious to the fact that Stanley wasn't exactly thrilled with the situation. To her, it was just another game her "daddy" had come up with—another fun adventure she was ready to enjoy.
Stanley's assistant, Henry, who had been standing just outside the door, entered the lobby and watched the scene unfold with wide eyes. His feet shuffled nervously as he glanced back and forth between Stanley's stoic face and the giggling child slung over his shoulder. Henry had seen a lot in his time working for Stanley, but this? This was something entirely new.
The elevator doors slid shut, and the employees in the lobby snapped out of their daze, their eyes wide with disbelief.
They had just witnessed the unthinkable.
They had just seen the Ice King himself—Stanley Gosling—allow a child to call him daddy. Not only that, but he had carried her, albeit in a way that resembled a potato sack rather than the typical fatherly embrace. There was no security call. No immediate legal notices. No icy dismissal. Nothing.
The employees exchanged confused glances. Was this a joke? Was this some kind of corporate stunt? Did this mean… the boss was actually accepting her as his daughter?
And, more importantly, who carries their kid like a sack of potatoes?!