Mara was sitting on the couch, holding baby Audrey, when Rafael arrived. His face was set, but there was an undercurrent of sothing she couldn’t quite read in his eyes. She set Audrey down in her crib and walked over to him.
"You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world," Mara said, voice soft. "What’s wrong?"
Rafael didn’t waste ti. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small, sealed envelope with the lab results.
He handed it to her, his eyes watching her every movent as she opened it carefully.
"What is it?" she asked, her heart beginning to race.
Her hands shook slightly as she pulled out the sheet of paper. The words "MATCH CONFIRD" stood out clearly on the top, and her eyes widened as she read further.
"It’s... him?" Her voice trembled, but her eyes were already filling with tears. "Andrew... my baby... he’s alive?"
Rafael nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Stef. He’s alive. Andrew is your son."
Mara collapsed into the nearby chair, the paper trembling in her hand, her breath caught sowhere between a sob and a gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth as disbelief and joy collided— hard, overwhelming, unstoppable.
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks. But they weren’t tears of pain this ti. They were tears of joy. Of life. Of a love she thought had been buried forever.
Her voice cracked as she whispered, barely able to form the words: "My son... my baby..."
She stared at the DNA result like it was sacred— a miracle printed in black and white.
Andrew was hers. All the years of silence. The ache.
The emptiness. All of it had led to this mont. Rafael crossed the room quietly. He didn’t speak at first. Just knelt beside her, steady and calm, his presence anchoring her swirling emotions.
His hand rested gently on her shoulder. Warm. Solid. "He’s the one, you were right, Mossette," Rafael said softly, using the na only he called her in monts like this.
"And we’re going to bring him ho. No matter what it takes."
Mara nodded slowly, her body trembling from the inside out. She reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. There was no more wondering. No more doubting.
Her heartbroken, nded, aching—finally had a direction again. "We’ll get him back, Rafael," she said, her voice raw but sure. "We’ll get Andrew back now." And this ti, She wouldn’t stop until her son was safe in her arms.
—
The city outside Lucy’s window pulsed with life—horns echoing, lights blinking like restless eyes—but inside her apartnt, it felt like ti had paused. A clock ticked too loudly on the wall, every second stabbing at her patience.
Lucy paced barefoot across the hardwood floor, arms folded tightly over her chest. Her silk robe clung to her like a second skin, humid from the storm still rattling against the windows. She muttered to herself, the frustration simring just below the surface.
"Ethan can’t treat like this and get away with it," she said, her voice low but seething, as if saying it aloud would anchor the truth.
It had been over 24 hours.
Twenty-four hours since he left the apartnt and threatened to make her pay. Twenty-four hours since Ethan ghosted her. And still, not a single word from Celeb’s high-powered legal team—just vague promises and unread emails.
Lucy knew Ethan. Knew how he moved like a shark—silent, calculated, ruthless. This silence wasn’t a retreat. It was the calm before he ca for her throat.
Her phone buzzed. Another ssage from the lawyer’s: "Still nothing. Waiting for the Judge,"
She hurled the phone onto the couch. "Do sothing!" she scread at the empty air, then turned sharply to where Celeb sat lounging in her kitchen, sipping wine like it was just another Saturday.
Celeb arched a brow, amused. He was shirtless, toned, lounging like a prince bored with court drama. "Maybe I will," he said slowly, letting the words drip. "Maybe if you make happy first."
Lucy’s heart thundered—not with desire, not quite. It was anger, fear, loneliness, and sothing else knotted tight in her chest. She knew what he ant. She hated that she knew, hated how easily he could flip the script.
Still, she stepped toward him, her movents slow, calculated. She dropped her robe, revealing herself, not just her body, but her choice. A strange kind of power in her vulnerability.
Celeb’s eyes darkened, his grin widening. "Now that’s what I’m talking about."
The tension snapped like a taut wire, coiled too long.
Lucy moved deliberately, her eyes never leaving his as she turned and walked toward the couch. Her body swayed, silk robe brushing past her thighs, until she reached the edge and bent forward—slowly, gracefully—settling onto her stomach, her hips arched just so. She spread her legs, subtle but deliberate, baring herself not just physically, but with a kind of boldness that dared him to act.
Celeb didn’t move at first. He just stared.
His throat bobbed as he downed the last of his wine in one long, slow gulp. The glass t the table with a hollow clink, echoing louder in his ears than it should have. His pulse thundered. The room felt smaller. Hotter. Charged.
He stood, slowly. His movents were reverent, like a man approaching sothing sacred.
When he reached her, he didn’t touch her right away. He simply hovered, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself for him. Then, with one hand, he traced the length of her back, fingertips gliding over her skin as though morizing every inch. She shivered beneath his touch.
He sank to his knees behind her, adjusting her hips slightly, guiding her into the position he needed. Her body yielded under his hands like she was made for this mont, for him.
He teased her softly with his thumb, slow circles that sent a tremor through her spine. Lucy let out a breathy moan, her fingers clenching the cushion beneath her. That sound lit a fire in him, primal, consuming.
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