Ryan’s POV
I collapsed into my office chair, running a hand through my hair. Another long day at Blackwood Group, and all I could think about was how quickly I could get ho.
"Mr. Blackwood, the quarterly projections are ready for your review," Simon said, placing a folder on my desk.
"Leave them. I’ll look at them tomorrow," I replied, already reaching for my coat. "Anything urgent?"
"Nothing that can’t wait until morning, sir."
I nodded and headed for the elevator. The drive ho felt longer than usual tonight. Serena had only been gone a few days for her London trip, but the emptiness I felt was becoming unbearable. I never thought I’d beco this dependent on soone’s presence.
When I finally walked through the front door of our ho, the quietness hit imdiately.
"Vivian?" I called out, looking around for my daughter.
The nanny appeared from the kitchen. "Mr. Blackwood, Vivian just had her bottle and has fallen asleep. Her temperature has remained normal, and she’s been in good spirits all day."
I nodded, trying not to show my disappointnt. Even my six-month-old daughter seed to be handling her mother’s absence better than I was.
"Dinner is ready whenever you’d like to eat, sir," the nanny added.
"I know, I’ll eat in a bit," I muttered, loosening my tie and pulling out my phone.
I sent Serena a quick ssage, asking how the preparations were going. No imdiate response. She was probably busy with her Fashion Week preparations. The thought of her working late in London, possibly with Cedric Lancaster hovering nearby, made my jaw clench involuntarily.
After staring at my phone for another minute, I made a decision and dialed Simon.
"Book on a flight to London for tomorrow," I said when he answered.
"Tomorrow?" Simon sounded surprised. "But sir, you have the investors eting at—"
"Reschedule it," I cut him off, then softened my tone. "I’ll be back the following morning. It’s just a quick trip."
"I’ll make the arrangents imdiately, Mr. Blackwood."
After hanging up, I felt lighter sohow. The prospect of seeing Serena tomorrow lifted my spirits considerably. I suddenly realized I was starving.
Just as I was heading to the dining room, a wail echoed from upstairs. I took the stairs two at a ti, finding Vivian awake and crying in her crib.
"Hey there, princess," I murmured, carefully lifting her tiny body. Her crying subsided almost imdiately as I cradled her against my chest. "Did you have a bad dream?"
I paced around her nursery, gently bouncing her. "Guess what? I’m going to see Mommy tomorrow," I whispered, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "I’d take you with , but it’s a quick trip. You’ll have to stay here and be a good girl, okay?"
As if she understood, Vivian’s tiny mouth curved into a smile, her eyes—identical to Serena’s—looking up at trustingly.
"That’s my girl," I said, gently stroking her cheek. "You’re so much better at this than Daddy is. I’m still learning how to be patient when I miss soone."
I continued rocking her until her eyelids grew heavy again. Even after she fell asleep, I held her a little longer, studying her features that were so much like her mother’s.
"Your mom is making quite a na for herself," I whispered. "And she’s doing it all on her own, without the Blackwood na opening doors. She’s the strongest person I know."
Finally placing Vivian back in her crib, I headed to my study. I needed to review so docunts before my impromptu trip tomorrow. As I worked, I couldn’t help checking my phone every few minutes, hoping for a ssage from Serena.
When my phone finally buzzed, I practically lunged for it, only to find it was just Simon confirming my flight details. My disappointnt was almost comical. Since when had Ryan Blackwood beco so desperate for a text ssage?
Since falling in love with his wife, apparently.
I looked at the frad photo on my desk—Serena holding Vivian on the day we brought her ho from the hospital. My family. The most important thing in my world.
"Just one more night," I muttered to myself, returning to my work with renewed focus. Tomorrow, I’d be in London.
Serena’s POV
I looked up from the sketches, completely lost in my work until I heard a familiar voice.
"Serena, still busy?"
It was Cedric standing in my doorway, looking casually elegant as always in his tailored suit. I felt a small pang of guilt imdiately.
"Cedric, you’re here," I said, setting my pencil down.
"Did you forget about that lunch you promised ?" His tone was light, but I could see the expectation in his eyes.
I laughed awkwardly. "I’ve been so swamped these past few days, I completely forgot."
"Then how about right now?" he suggested without hesitation.
I froze for a mont. He’d put on the spot, and refusing would seem incredibly rude after he’d helped so much with the Fashion Week arrangents.
"Alright," I finally said. "Let just hand off a few things, and we can go."
"Take your ti. I’ll wait right here." Cedric made himself comfortable in the chair across from my desk, watching with that sa patient smile he’d had since university.
I quickly gathered the sketches that needed revisions and distributed them to my design team, giving brief instructions on the changes I wanted. All the while, I could feel Cedric’s eyes on . There was sothing comforting yet unsettling about his presence—a reminder of a simpler ti, before Ryan, before Vivian, before Dreamland Studio had beco my lifeline.
"Where would you like to eat?" I asked once I’d grabbed my purse.
"How about near our old university? There are several new restaurants there. It would be nice to revisit old haunts."
The suggestion made perfect sense—nostalgic, but not overly intimate. "Sounds good."
During the drive, conversation flowed easily between us. We talked about industry gossip, mutual friends, and the upcoming Fashion Week.
The restaurant Cedric chose was bustling with students—their energy and optimism filling the air. We were seated by a window on the second floor, giving us a perfect view of the campus in the distance.
"This place hasn’t changed much," I observed, taking in the familiar streets where I’d once walked as a student, full of dreams but uncertain about the future.
"No, it hasn’t. We’re the ones who’ve changed," Cedric replied, his voice heavy with nostalgia.
"The years have gone by so quickly." I sighed, mories washing over —late nights in the design studio, group projects, dreams discussed over cheap coffee.
Cedric began reminiscing about specific monts from our university days—the ti I’d fallen asleep in the library and he’d covered with his jacket, the design competition we’d entered together, the graduation party where we’d promised to stay in touch.
"Rember Professor Harmon? He always said you’d be the one to watch," Cedric said, leaning forward slightly. "He was right."
I smiled, about to respond when the temperature in the room seed to drop suddenly. Sothing made turn toward the entrance.
My heart stopped.
Standing there, scanning the restaurant with those intense gray-blue eyes, was Ryan. My husband. In London. Unannounced.
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