إيفان

Aphrodite raised her head in a panic, her eyes half-closed from the sleep that had forcibly snatched her away atop her desk. Papers were scattered, the mop lay by her feet, and her delicate hands were dry from the cleaning chemicals that had eaten away at their softness. She looked at the clock... it was far too late. She sighed as she remembered her son... her infant, whom her ex-husband had ruthlessly kidnapped, simply because he couldn't bear the thought that she had asked for a divorce from his filthy world. A man who lived among fake faces, black deals, and nights that should not be mentioned. He had robbed her of her child to burn her heart, to make her pay the price for her audacity to walk away. She had reported everything to the police; his threats, his disappearance, and his suspicious work. They were searching for him as a wanted man, but she knew him better than they did; she knew he didn't flee, but rather hid in plain sight, disguising himself under another name and a fake life.

While she was drowned in her thoughts, her manager suddenly barged in, smiling with relief as he said in a commanding tone: "Luckily you're here, you have a house cleaning now. No one else is at work, handle it professionally." She didn't have the luxury of refusing; she needed the money for lawyer fees or a lead that could bring her child back. An hour later, she stepped out of a taxi in front of a luxurious mansion, with an iron gate, windows reflecting the sunset, and a garden that was eerily silent. She swallowed hard and entered. The large door opened easily, as if it had been waiting for her. Her steps hesitated in the spacious hall, clutching the cleaning tools with a trembling hand.

At the dining room, she stopped; there was a man sitting at the head of the table, papers concerning her scattered before him, and a lit cigarette held steadily between his fingers with a frightening composure. He wore a dark suit and a heavy watch, possessing a stillness only known to a man accustomed to having his orders obeyed. And in his arms was a small sleeping child with a familiar face, a nose she recognized, and a lock of dark hair. The blood froze in her veins, and she recoiled, hitting the edge of the table with a muffled gasp; it was her husband. He didn't seem surprised; instead, he looked at her slowly, with the confidence of someone arranging the chaos around him. Her presence was no coincidence, but threads cleverly woven to tighten the siege around her. He stood up calmly, holding the child, and said in a quiet tone: "Don't be afraid, I didn't kidnap you. I simply brought you back to your original place, by my side and by our son's side." Then he pointed to his chest, saying: "You came to clean this house? Good... start by cleaning the mess you left in my heart because of your departure."