"Miss Elisa, we’re here," the driver’s voice pulled out of my thoughts.
I blinked and turned toward the window. The car rolled past a pair of wrought-iron gates crowned with the emblem of the Dean family, opening into a sprawling estate that whispered of wealth and quiet power. The driveway curved through manicured lawns trimd to perfection, bordered by tall hedges and marble statues that glead under the pale morning light. At the far end stood the main building, a grand white mansion with towering pillars, glass-panelled balconies, and a fountain at its heart that danced with silver ripples.
I exhaled softly "Here I am again... in the Dean’s house"
Anyone in my situation would say I was walking straight into the lion’s den and they’d be right. But this was the only way to clear Nix’s doubts about , even if his suspicions were true.
Running away with my child had crossed my mind countless tis. But that would only confirm everything he already suspected. And if Nix ever discovered that Nyxella was his own flesh and blood... I feared he’d take her from without hesitation.
"Welco, madam," a man who appeared to be the butler greeted politely, bowing slightly as he opened the car door. He offered his hand and helped both Nyxella and out of the car. His composure was professional too perfect, like every staff mber who worked under Nix Dean.
Before I could respond, a familiar voice sliced through the calm air.
"Hello, Miss Sorreto, and welco to my humble domain."
My chest tightened instantly because his voice carried that lazy drawl I both hated and feared. Against my better judgnt, my eyes lifted and there he was. Nix leaned half his body against the doorfra, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a file. His sharp gaze swept over , pausing only briefly on Nyxella.
"Where are your luggages?" he asked, one brow rising in that infuriatingly smug way of his.
"Mr. Dean never ntioned staying over," I retorted, narrowing my eyes at him.
His lips curved. "Don’t start flying already. We’re heading to where the company is based... unless Miss Sorrento already knew about that?"
I t his gaze coolly. "Then I’ll have to go back and pack for myself and my child." My tone was flat, deliberately denying him the satisfaction of seeing flustered.
He chuckled under his breath, straightening from the doorfra. "I’m not that petty, Elisa. I can afford to get you and your child sothing decent to wear. Besides, the flight’s in two hours and you don’t have the ti to go back and return."
He said it lazily, already turning toward the house as if his word was law and there was no room for negotiation.
But my attention shifted to the small hand that had been tapping gently on my chest. Nyxella. Her wide innocent eyes were fixed on Nix who was already walking away.
"What do you want, baby?" I asked softly, forcing a small smile as I brushed my thumb over Nyxella’s cheek.
But instead of answering, she pointed toward Nix. Her little finger trembled slightly, and my heart tightened.
Did I... make a mistake showing her his photos over and over again? Those secret monts at night when I’d whisper his na under my breath, trying to prepare her for the day she might et him, it suddenly felt like a terrible choice.
Before I could gather my thoughts, that deep, teasing voice filled the air again.
"Are you scared that I’ll eat you?"
I looked up and found him there again, standing exactly where he’d been earlier leaning casually against the doorfra like he owned not just the house, but the air itself. His eyes trailed lazily from to Nyxella, sharp yet unreadable.
"Don’t worry," he continued, his tone smooth but laced with quiet amusent. "I won’t ask you about the father of your child at least, not now." He gave a faint sigh and turned, motioning toward the hall. "My butler prepared breakfast. It’d be rude not to invite you."
I followed slowly, my grip tightening around Nyxella’s tiny hand. "I’m not hungry," I muttered coldly.
He didn’t even look back. "Not as if you have a choice, Miss Sorreto. You’re already so skinny. How do you plan to take care of that little one.." his tone dropped into a mocking drawl, ".. and a business?"
The sting in his voice was deliberate. Every word rolled out slow and calculated, like a man pressing on an old wound just to watch the reaction. He knew exactly which buttons to push the way his lips twitched faintly when I refused to respond told he was enjoying it.
The echo of our footsteps followed us down the long corridor. The marble floor glead beneath crystal chandeliers, and the scent of polished wood mingled faintly with freshly baked bread. Paintings of the Dean ancestors hung on either side, each fra heavy with gold and silent judgnt.
When we reached the dining hall, warmth and chatter greeted us. The room was vast, sunlight spilling through wide glass panels, glinting off silverware neatly arranged on the long mahogany table. And at the far end, seated comfortably with a half-empty plate before him, was Tom.
He looked up from his al just as we entered. "Morning," he said casually before noticing Nyxella in my arms.
But she saw him first. Her eyes lit up instantly, and without warning, she began clapping and babbling in excitent. Little bursts of delighted gibberish spilled from her lips as she wriggled restlessly, her tiny hands reaching toward him.
I sighed softly, setting her down. "Careful, baby," I whispered.
The mont her feet touched the floor, she toddled forward in those uneven little steps, her curls bouncing with each movent. Tom’s, spoon halfway to his mouth, froze when he felt her small hands grab at his knee.
"My little apple thief! How have you been?" he said with a warm grin, setting the spoon down and scooping her up easily.
Nyxella didn’t even glance at his face. Her focus was completely on the bowl of soup before him. Before anyone could stop her, she dipped her tiny hand straight into it, splashing drops onto the tablecloth.
For a heartbeat, the entire room froze. Then Tom laughed. A deep, genuine laugh that filled the hall.
"Guess soone’s already claid my breakfast," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
I stood there, half embarrassed, half srized watching as Nix’s eyes flicked toward them. His expression was unreadable, but the faintest shift in his gaze made sothing twist inside .
Because for the first ti I couldn’t tell whether that look was jealousy... or recognition.
Before Tom could react, her small fingers plunged straight into it.
The sound was soft but a distinct plop as her hand broke through the surface of the soup, sending warm droplets splattering across the tablecloth. Tom’s mouth fell open mid-laugh, disbelief flashing across his face as a streak of orange landed on his cuff.
"Nyxella!" I called sharply, but she didn’t even flinch. Instead, she turned those round, expressive eyes toward Tom eyes that seed to say, ’This isn’t what I ca for.’
Tom couldn’t help but chuckle, the corners of his mouth curving into a wide grin. "That’s a bowl of soup, little one, not an apple," he said between soft laughter.
But his laughter quickly died when Nyxella began patting her soup-stained hands against his cheeks, giggling uncontrollably as she babbled a string of sweet, nonsensical sounds. Her small palms left streaks of orange on his face, but she didn’t care in fact, she seed to think it was hilarious.
Tom tried to move away, laughing helplessly, but she only grew more excited. With an innocent squeal, she dipped her hands back into the bowl and began splashing the soup again, patting at it gleefully until droplets flew across the table and onto both of them.
"Nyxella!" I scread. My voice echoed through the dining room, sharp and trembling.
She froze instantly, her laughter cutting short as her eyes went wide. Tom quickly lifted her into his arms and stood, trying to avoid the spill spreading over the tablecloth. But then, without warning, Nyxella’s lips quivered and she burst into tears.
"Nyxella... I’m sorry," I whispered, stepping closer to take her from Tom. But she turned her back on , clutching at his shirt with trembling fingers.
"Please, baby, don’t do that. I didn’t an to scream at you. Don’t turn your back on mummy," I said softly, my voice breaking. "You know mummy loves you and you alone."
She only shook her head, little sobs shaking her tiny shoulders. Her curls bounced as she refused to look at , her small body stiff with hurt. The sound of her crying filled the room, slicing straight through . I reached out again, but she only hid her face further into Tom’s chest.
My throat tightened painfully. The sting of tears blurred my vision as I tried to hold myself together. She’s just a baby, I told myself. She doesn’t understand. But that didn’t stop the ache that spread through my chest like wildfire.
And then Nix stood.
He had been watching quietly from his seat the entire ti, expression unreadable. Now, as he rose and made his way toward us, the air seed to shift. His footsteps were slow, confident, and deliberate just like always.
He didn’t say a word, didn’t even stretch out his hands. But the mont Nyxella saw him, she reached toward him on her own.
She wriggled out of Tom’s arms, toddled those few unsteady steps, and raised her little hands up toward him, crying softly.
I froze. My heart... stopped.
Nix crouched, scooping her effortlessly into his arms. She buried her face into his chest as his large hand rubbed gentle circles on her back.
"It’s okay. You’re fine," he murmured, his voice low, calm, and steady the sa voice that once unsettled now soothing the child I had sworn to protect from him.
And just like that, Nyxella’s sobs began to fade. Her tiny hand clutched at his collar as she sniffled, her breathing slowing against his shoulder.
I stood there, tears spilling down my cheeks in silence. I should’ve been grateful.. grateful that he could calm her, that she felt safe in soone’s arms. But instead, all I felt was a deep, hollow ache that I couldn’t fight.
Because as I watched them, his hand was still gently tapping her back, her small fingers gripping his shirt and that was when I realized sothing terrifying.
This was what it would look like if he took her away from .
That picture-perfect mont the man she didn’t grow up knowing, holding her as though he always had painted itself too clearly in my mind. She didn’t know him, not truly, yet sohow, she had already found comfort in him. A bond so instant, so natural, that it made my heart twist painfully.
I was supposed to be happy. Instead, I felt the sharp edge of loss, cutting deeper than I could bear.
Because for the first ti, I wasn’t sure I could protect her from the man she was never ant to love but already did.
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