Chapter 31

POV: Nora

I don’t remember breathing after the door slammed. Only the sound — sharp, final — like a gunshot between my ribs. Ava’s wide eyes burned on the inside of my skull, the way her voice cracked on my name before she ran.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, the words falling out of me in a stupid, instinctive rush. “Elias, I’m so—”

“No.”

His voice is iron.

He steps toward me, still dripping from the shower, a towel slung low on his hips. My whole body is shaking, half from the shock, half from the cold rush of dread.

“Nora.” He grabs my chin gently but firmly, forcing my eyes to stay on his. “You don’t apologize for this. Not to me. Not ever.”

My throat tightens. “But—”

“She walked in at the wrong time. That’s it.”

His jaw flexes, that controlled, dangerous calm settling over him — the same one he used when facing down men who wanted me dead. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I won’t let you carry guilt for something that isn’t yours.”

God. The way he says “won’t let you” goes straight down my spine.

“But she’s your daughter,” I whisper.

“And you’re—”

He cuts himself off, breath sharp.

Whatever he was going to say, he swallows it.

He steps back, dragging a hand through his wet hair, frustration and worry flickering across his face. “I have to talk to her. Figure out where she went. She’s hurting and confused, and I need to clean this up.”

The words sting even though I know they shouldn’t. He’s not choosing her over me — he’s being a father. A complicated, imperfect one.

“What do I do?” My voice is too small. I hate that.

Elias looks at me like he can feel every crack running through me.

“Don’t overthink this, okay? I’ll solve it.”

His voice is firm, grounding — the kind that makes you believe him even when your world is shaking.

“You can stay here if you want. My house is your house.”

The way he says your house sends a shiver straight down my spine.

“Or go to your apartment if you need clothes, or want a moment alone. The case at the base is finished — you’re officially off duty.”

He softens, just a fraction.

“Whatever you choose is fine. Just… don’t disappear.”

A tiny breath escapes me. “I won’t disappear.”

He steps closer again, cups my face, and presses his lips to my forehead — soft, grounding, devastating. He’s never done that before. Not like this.

“I’ll handle Ava,” he murmurs. “Let me deal with the mess. You just take care of yourself.”

I nod because it’s all I can do.

“I think I need to work,” I say, voice small but honest. “I’ll go back to the FBI. Try to occupy my mind.”

Elias looks at me… and smirks.

“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“You were kidnapped yesterday,” he says, amused. “And you still can’t stay one day away from work?”

I shake my head, laughing under my breath. “Are you judging me?”

“I’d do the same.”

He cups my face again and kisses me — soft, but still devastating in its own way.

“You can take one of my cars,” he adds. “Choose one from the garage.”

I blink. “Choose? How many cars do you have?”

He actually thinks about it. “Here? Five or six.”

“Here?”

My voice cracks.

Like he has more somewhere else.

I can’t help laughing.

The tension is lighter for a moment, but my heart is still heavy, bruised from everything.

I dress, eat the breakfast that arrives, kiss him goodbye, choose a Jeep, and drive home.

The silence in my apartment feels like it might swallow me whole.

I change into clean clothes, tie my hair back, and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror.

I look like a woman who just watched her life split open in two.

Work.

I need work.

Something to occupy my brain before it invents twenty different ways this can end badly.

The FBI building is loud and bright — the closest thing I have to neutral ground.

The moment I walk in, Elena spots me from her desk.

“Well, well, look who’s alive. But seriously, girl — kidnapped yesterday and you couldn’t take one day off?”

Cole glances over with a smirk that should be illegal.

“Or did you just need a break from General Hot-and-Devastating? Do you need help walking, honey?”

I nearly choke on air. “Oh my god, stop.”

Elena’s eyes widen. “Wait — why are you red? Nora. NORA.”

Cole’s eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit. He broke your hips?”

“No.” I cut him off too fast, too sharp. “No teasing today. Seriously.”

They exchange a look like they’re already planning my funeral.

Elena softens first. “Hey. What happened?”

I press my hands against the desk to stop the shaking. “Ava. She saw us. Me and… him. I was wearing his shirt, and he was… in a towel.”

My face burns just saying it.

Elena blinks. “Who is Ava?”

“Ava is Elias’s daughter.”

They exchange that oh shit look again.

“And she’s my childhood friend,” I add, voice cracking.

Cole whistles low. “Oof. That’s bad-bad.”

“Yeah.” My throat closes. “It’s really bad. She ran. And I tried calling her but… nothing. She won’t pick up. Elias is trying to find her now.”

Elena stands and wraps her arms around me without question. She smells like vanilla lotion and coffee. “I’m sorry, Nora. That’s messy as hell.”

“I know.” I swallow thickly. “I feel like I’m sinking.”

Cole leans against the table, frowning for once. “If anyone can fix it, it’s him. Dude is terrifyingly stubborn. He’ll talk to her.”

“I hope so,” I whisper.

Because if he couldn’t…

If Ava never forgave me…

If this blew up everything we fought through to be together—

I try not to imagine it.

I fail.

And for the first time today, I want him so badly it hurts.

Elena’s mouth falls open like I just told her the world is ending. “Oh, honey…”

Cole stands, crosses his arms, and studies me with that big-brother-but-annoying vibe he thinks is charming. “So let me get this straight. You got kidnapped, survived, got half-traumatized, kissed—” he gestures vaguely, “—the general with the tragic eyes, and then got caught by the one person you absolutely didn’t want to know about it?”

When he says it out loud it sounds even worse.

I groan and drop my forehead to the desk. “Please stop narrating my life.”

Elena moves around her desk and rubs my shoulder. “No, babe, we’re narrating because you’re clearly dying inside and this is our coping mechanism.”

I let out a weak laugh. “I think I am dying inside.”

Cole lowers his voice. “How did he look? Elias. When she ran.”

My chest tightens. “Like someone shot him. Twice.”

They both wince.

Elena curses softly. “Fuck. Poor man. And poor you. And poor Ava.”

I nod, swallowing the ache. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. I feel like I ruined everything. She’s been in his life way longer than I have. She matters more.”

Cole snaps his fingers at me. “Hey. Don’t start that shit.”

I blink up at him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says firmly. “Two consenting adults kissing is not a crime. And your friend walked in at the wrong time — that’s on fate, not on you.”

Elena leans on the desk beside me. “Plus, if she’s your friend, she’ll come talk to you. Eventually. After the dramatic storm.”

I rub my temples. “I just hate this. I hate knowing I hurt her.”

Elena softens again, voice gentler. “Sweetheart, love is messy. And this was always going to be complicated. But Elias will fix things with her. Let him. That’s not your job.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But it feels like it is.”

Cole opens his mouth — probably to say something annoying — but stops when someone clears their throat behind us.

Agent Marshall stands there with a folder in hand, eyebrows raised. “Are we… interrupting a therapy session?”

Cole points at him. “Yes. Come back in fifteen.”

Marshall ignores him. “Castell, the director wants to see you.”

My stomach drops. Of course. Because today wasn’t already a dumpster fire.

“Now?” I ask.

Marshall gives me a look that says: When does the director ever mean ‘later’?

I exhale through my nose. “Great. Amazing. Perfect timing.”

Elena squeezes my hand. “You got this.”

Cole taps my shoulder. “If you faint, faint toward me. I’m stronger.”

I roll my eyes, grab the folder Marshall holds out, and steel myself as I head toward the director’s office.

Every step feels like wading through wet cement.

Because for the first time in a long time… everything in my life feels like it’s teetering on the edge.

And the universe clearly isn’t done with me yet.

Chapter 32

POV: Nora

The director’s office is too bright. Too clean. Too full of that cold, administrative silence that makes you feel like you’re about to get scolded by a disappointed parent.

He doesn’t look up right away — just flips through a report like I’m a line item he needs to check off.

Finally, he sighs. “Castell. Sit.”

Great. Love that tone.

I lower myself into the chair, trying to make my lungs do normal human things. They’re failing.

He steeples his fingers. “Yesterday you were kidnapped by Agent Daniel Hale.”

My jaw tightens. Hearing his name is like someone dragging a metal hook down my spine.

“We have him in custody. He is cooperating,” the director continues. “But given the… history you two share, we need to ensure you’re fit for duty today.”

I almost laugh. Almost. “I’m fine.”

His eyes flick up — sharp, assessing. “You survived a violent confrontation with someone you once dated and thought was dead. You were found in a compromised state of physical and emotional distress. It is standard procedure that you take mandatory leave after—”

“I can’t be home.” It comes out too fast. Too raw. “I need to work. Please.”

He studies me for a long, uncomfortable stretch. I know that stare — the one that tries to peel your layers back and check the wiring under your skin.

“I’m not fragile,” I add quietly. “I just… I need something to keep me functional.”

Another beat. Then he exhales, sets the folder down, and nods once. “Fine. But any sign you’re unwell, emotionally or physically, you’re going home. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

I leave before he can change his mind.

Back at my desk, everything feels too loud. Too bright. Too normal.

I open a file, stare at the words, and nothing sticks.

My phone sits next to me like a bomb. I check it every thirty seconds.

Still nothing.

I text Ava again.

Please talk to me.

Delivered. Unread.

My throat tightens. I scroll up their chat — the last real conversation was over a month ago. A stupid meme I sent her, something about bad hair days, and she answered with a picture of a cat wearing tiny sunglasses. That was us. We didn’t need constant talking. Just… touchpoints. Stupid, silly, comforting touchpoints.

I tap on her name and open the photo she sent me months ago.

It knocks the air out of me.

Me and Ava in some backyard, both sunburned and muddy, laughing like feral little idiots. She was so tiny — always tiny — with this wild blond hair that made her look like she’d been electrocuted, and those sharp, bright blue eyes she got from Elias. I’ve known her since she was basically a toddler. Four years younger, but she acted like she was twenty years older sometimes.

I remember standing in front of her at school when she was getting picked on. I remember braiding her hair before sleepovers. I remember her trying to follow me everywhere, tripping over her own shoelaces and giggling like a gremlin.

And now she won’t answer my calls.

My chest feels too tight. I try calling again — straight to voicemail.

I text Elias.

Any news?

He answers quickly.

No. Still nothing. I’m checking every place she could go.

My hands shake a little.

I’m worried, I type.

Dont be he replies. I’ll update you as soon as I have anything.

I stare at the screen long after the message disappears.

He’s busy. He’s trying. I know that. I know he must be losing his mind right now.

But the silence from Ava feels like a punishment carved right into my ribs.

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes.

She was supposed to be safe. She was supposed to always, always be mine in some tiny corner of the universe — my little shadow, my tiny chaos monster.

And now she’s ghosting me like I’m the villain in her story.

My phone vibrates.

I jerk up so fast I almost knock over my coffee.

But it’s not Ava.

It’s a case alert.

Work. Right. Work.

I grab the file and force myself to breathe.

If she needs time, I’ll give it to her.

But God… I hope she’s okay.

And I hope she still loves me — even a little.

By the time I wrap up the last bit of paperwork, my brain feels like wet cement. Heavy. Slow. Useless.

I try calling her. It rings. Rings. Then silence.

I don’t want to be in my apartment. It’s too quiet. Too cold. Too… mine. And the only place I really want to go is the one place my heart is already sprinting toward — Elias.

Being wrapped up in him, breathing him in, letting his steadiness carve out a place where my thoughts can’t hurt me… God, I crave it.

But I can’t just show up there like some addict chasing her next hit of comfort. Not when Ava is missing. Not when everything feels like a fault line ready to split again.

So instead, I go to the gym.

If I keep my body moving, maybe my brain will shut up for five minutes. Maybe.

I grab a kettlebell, focus on the weight, the burn, the repetition. I get into that autopilot mode where the world blurs out.

Except—

When I straighten and turn toward the mirror again… I see him reflected behind me.

Elias.

I almost drop the kettlebell on my own foot.

He’s leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place, dark shirt clinging to broad shoulders, eyes locked on me with that impossible mix of relief and hunger.

My heart jams into my throat. “H–How did you know I’m here?”

He steps closer, voice low, calm, infuriatingly casual. “I have a tracker on your phone.”

I blink. “Oh. Right. I forgot about that.”

His gaze drags down my body, slow and assessing, and suddenly I’m hyper-aware of the sweat on my skin, the messy hair, the flushed cheeks.

I move toward him anyway, because my body doesn’t know the meaning of restraint with him. I reach him and instantly flinch a little. “Wait— I’m sweating.”

His hand cups the back of my neck, and he pulls me into him with zero hesitation.

“You think I care about that?” he growls, mouth brushing my temple.

I don’t get another second to think.

He lifts me.

Just—hands on my waist, pulling me up like I weigh nothing, my legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. A sound leaves me — something halfway between a gasp and a moan — and then his mouth is on mine.

Hungry. Claiming. Desperate.

God, I missed him. I missed this. I missed breathing the same air as him.

I kiss him back like I’m trying to make up for lost hours. Days. Lifetimes.

“I missed you,” I whisper against his lips. “I’m not used to being far from you.”

His forehead drops to mine, breath uneven. “You have no idea what it’s like being back at headquarters without you.” His mouth brushes mine again. “Lunch without you feels wrong. Not having you tease me feels wrong.” His voice drops even lower. “No coffee deliveries. No you barging into my office pretending you’re there for paperwork when all you want is to crawl under my desk and ruin me.”

Heat punches through me so sharply I grip his shoulders.

He smirks, wicked and devastating. “You know I can’t work properly anymore, right? Every time I sit down, I imagine your mouth on me. That’s what you did to me.”

My brain short-circuits.

I kiss him again, deeper this time, fingers sliding into his hair as I whisper, “Maybe I’ll ruin it again.”

His hands tighten on my waist like a promise.

And then—his phone rings.

He tenses, jaw flexing, and gently lowers me until my feet hit the floor.

One look at the caller ID makes his breath leave him in a harsh exhale.

Ava.

My stomach sinks.

He answers immediately. “Ava?—Yes, I’m here. Where are you?—Okay. Stay there. I’m coming.”

When he hangs up, he presses a quick kiss to my forehead. It’s soft, it’s rushed, it’s everything I don’t want to let go of.

“She wants to talk,” he says quietly. “I’ll find her.”

I nod because if I try to speak, something inside me will shatter.

He touches my cheek once more, like he’s memorizing me, then turns and goes.

And just like that, I’m standing in the middle of the gym, sweat cooling on my skin, heartbeat still synced to his.

I don’t know where else to go, so I go home.

My cold, silent, empty apartment.

The moment the door clicks shut behind me, the loneliness hits me so hard my knees nearly buckle.

God, I miss him.

I miss the weight of him. The steadiness. The teasing. The certainty that if he’s in the room, the rest of the world can’t touch me.

Tonight, it all touches me.

And it’s suffocating.

Chapter 33

POV: Nora

I try to sleep.

God knows I try.

But the second I lie down in my cold bed, everything in me aches for him. The silence feels wrong. The sheets feel wrong. Even the air feels wrong.

I give up and get a glass of wine — the cheap bottle I opened last week and forgot about.

One sip and I nearly make a face.

His wine.

His freaking wine ruined me.

Everything with him ruins me.

I sit on the couch, staring at the ceiling, swirling the glass like an idiot who pretends she knows anything about wine. All I can think about is the nights he poured something dark and expensive into crystal glasses and watched me drink like he was memorizing the way my lips moved.

He’s out there right now, trying to fix the mess with Ava.

Trying to reach her.

Trying to make this less of a disaster.

And I’m here, useless, counting the minutes like a pathetic human metronome.

Midnight.

Then 12:30.

Then 1:00 a.m.

I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, pillow over my head, blanket kicked off, blanket pulled back up, blanket thrown again — I’m a mess.

And then I hear it.

A knock.

Sharp. Confident. Familiar.

My entire body freezes.

My heart punches against my ribs so hard it hurts. My hand fumbles for my phone on the nightstand.

A notification lights up the screen.

Open for me.

Elias.

I don’t even remember getting to the door. I just register that my hand is shaking when I unlock it and open it.

And there he is.

Elias.

In a black t-shirt, hair a little messy from running his hands through it, eyes dark, jaw tight, chest rising too fast.

He looks like a man who fought a war inside himself and lost.

“I just…” His voice is low, rough, wrecked. “I can’t spend a night without you.”

Something breaks in me. Cleanly. Completely.

Before I can breathe, he steps inside, grabs my waist, pushes the door shut with his foot, and kisses me.

It’s not soft.

It’s not gentle.

It’s need — pure, starving need — like he’s been holding himself back for hours and finally snapped.

I melt into him instantly, my hands curling into his shirt, my body arching into his. I can barely breathe between kisses but I mumble against his mouth, “I couldn’t sleep.”

He lifts his head just enough to smirk — dark, dangerous, possessive.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice brushing hot against my lips. “Your body is finally learning it can’t live without mine.”

My knees nearly give out.

He walks me backward through the apartment like he owns every inch of air I breathe. His mouth drags down my jaw, then my neck, his hands sliding under my shirt, gripping my hips like he’s staking a claim.

I gasp, arching. “Elias—”

“You missed me,” he says, not a question. A verdict.

He lifts me again — those same big hands around my thighs — and I wrap my legs around him, my back hitting the hallway wall. I can feel him hard against me, feel how much he wants this, wants me.

“I did,” I whisper. “I missed you so much.”

His eyes blaze. “Show me.”

And I do.

I kiss him like I need air. I drag my nails down his shoulders. I let him pull my shirt off and toss it somewhere neither of us will find later. I tug at his belt because I’m shaking with how badly I want him.

He laughs softly against my throat — that dark little rumble that shoots straight between my legs.

“Impatient,” he teases, kissing the curve of my shoulder.

“I blame you,” I breathe.

He kisses me like he’s starving, like the hour he spent away from me was punishment. His hands roam everywhere — my waist, my back, my hips — and then he lifts me again like nothing, like I weigh air, and walks me deeper into the apartment.

I cling to him, still kissing him, still half out of breath.My entire body lights up.

He sets me down just long enough to make his palms skim my stomach and drag up to my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until my knees buckle.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, staring at me like he’s trying to absorb the sight. “You really tried to distract yourself from missing me.”

My lips part but no sound comes out — not when he drops to his knees in front of me.

My breath catches.

God.

Elias on his knees between my thighs should be illegal.

It’s a kind of reverence only he knows how to weaponize.

He kisses my hip first, slow and deliberate, then slides my shorts and underwear down at the same time. He doesn’t rush — he peels them off like he’s unwrapping something precious.

“Nora,” he murmurs, looking up at me. “Hold on to me.”

I do. My hands tangle in his hair as he lifts one of my legs over his shoulder.

Then he drags his mouth over me — one slow, lingering stroke of his tongue — and I gasp so loudly it echoes off the walls.

“Missed this taste,” he says against me, voice vibrating through my skin. “Missed you.”

I press my palm to my mouth to muffle a moan, and he instantly catches my wrist.

“No,” he says, eyes dark. “I want to hear everything.”

He pulls my hand away and keeps it pinned to my thigh as he goes back to devouring me like he’s been thinking about this all day.

My legs shake. My head drops back. I can’t even hold my balance because the way he licks me is too good, too slow, too deep. He alternates— soft teasing passes and then harder strokes that make my hips jerk.

“Elias—oh—” I can barely speak.

He groans against me, gripping my hips to keep me still. “That’s it. Let me hear it.”

I’m already close, embarrassingly fast, because it’s him and it’s been too many hours since I touched him, since he touched me.

I pull his hair, desperate. “I’m going to—”

He tightens his grip, drags his tongue over me one more time, slower, firmer—

And I shatter.

My legs tremble violently, my breath breaks in a sob, and I barely stay upright because he holds me through all of it, kissing me gently as the aftershocks hit.

He stands in one smooth motion, kissing me deeply, letting me taste myself on him. His hands slide to my ass as he lifts me again, my legs automatically locking around him.

“You always come so fast for me,” he murmurs against my lips. “It drives me insane.”

“You— you’re the one who—” I can’t even finish.

He smirks like the bastard he is and carries me to the bedroom.

He sets me on the bed, strips his shirt off, then his belt, then everything else — slow on purpose because he likes watching me fall apart just from looking at him.

He climbs over me, kisses me again, and I arch into him. His hands roam my body in slow, claiming passes, like he’s memorizing the curves all over again.

“You missed giving me your mouth?” he asks softly, teasing, brushing his thumb over my lower lip.

I swallow, heat crashing through me. “Yes.”

His eyes darken. “Next time. Because right now…” He positions himself, dragging the head of his cock over me slowly, making my hips jerk. “I need to be inside you too badly.”

“Then take me,” I whisper.

He groans — that deep, broken sound I only ever hear when he loses control — and pushes inside me, inch by inch, slow and brutal in the best way.

My back arches, my breath catching. “Oh—god—”

Elias drops his forehead to mine. “Fuck, you feel perfect… always so tight for me.”

He starts thrusting slow, deliberate, savoring every movement. His hands hold my hips in place, his mouth trails kisses along my cheek, my throat, my shoulder.

Every time he pushes deeper, I gasp.

Every time I gasp, he mutters something filthy against my skin.

“You think I could sleep without this?”

“I needed you. Right now. Like this.”

I dig my nails into his back. “I needed you too—”

He kisses me hard, swallowing my words, thrusting deeper until I’m whimpering against his mouth. His pace stays slow but devastating, every roll of his hips hitting that exact spot that makes my breath stutter.

His voice drops to a whisper, almost dangerous. “Come for me again.”

And I do.

Harder.

Messier.

My whole body shaking as he holds me through it.

He keeps going through my climax, staring into my eyes like he’s trying to drown in them. When his own breath starts to break, he grabs my jaw, kisses me like he’s losing control, and with a rough groan, he comes inside me, pulling me tight to his chest.

We’re both shaking when he lowers his body on top of mine, breathing into my neck.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

Just breathing.

Just the weight of him.

Just the way he feels like home.

Then he shifts, kisses the corner of my mouth, softer now.

My body was still humming, that delicious afterglow heat settling into every nerve like warm honey, when he eased down beside me and pulled me into his chest. Elias always did that—like no matter how many times we came apart, he needed to anchor me right back into him. His palm drifted up and down my arm in those lazy, absent circles, and God… I could’ve melted into the mattress.

I found his other hand resting on the sheets and tangled my fingers with his, drawing shapes on his knuckles, anything to ground myself in him. The room was dim, quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes after you’ve been completely devoured.

I swallowed, let my cheek rest against his shoulder.

“So… what did Ava say?”

His breath left him in a long, heavy exhale. Not frustrated—tired. Hurt. Worried.

Chapter 34

POV: Nora

“She’s… she’s really upset,” he admitted, voice low, almost apologetic. “She feels betrayed. I tried to explain everything, but she just asked for time. And space.”

A beat.

“I’m giving her both.”

I nodded against him, my chest tightening. “Okay. At least we know she’s safe.”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed my arm again, slower this time. “Safe.”

I sighed. “I’m calling her, texting her, everything. She still won’t answer.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a small kiss into my hair. “But… I get it. You get it too.”

I did. Of course I did. It still stung.

Elias shifted a little, his fingers tightening around mine. “She never just disappears like that without a word. We don’t see each other much, but she has a tag on me. Every time I get into something dangerous, after I’m cleared, the system sends her an update.”

I blinked, lifting my head enough to look at him. “Like an alert?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “And since you got kidnapped, and I was involved, the report went to her too. Once everything settled, she came to check on me and found…”

He grimaced, almost laughing at himself. “Her widowed father in a towel.”

“And,” I added, unable to stop the weak, tired smile, “her childhood best friend wearing his shirt.”

He let out a soft groan. “Yeah. That.”

Silence, warm and thick, settled for a moment. His hand squeezed mine again.

“But we’ll figure it out,” he said, voice suddenly steady. Certain. “Let’s give her time. The important part is that you’re here. With me.”

I looked up at him again, his face half in shadow, half softened with affection. “I’m glad you said ‘we’.”

I nudged him with my nose. “We never had pillow talk, you know. We’re always already in round two. Or three. Or four…”

He chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated right through my chest. “Nine. Don’t forget nine.”

I snorted. “Okay, yeah, nine.”

His grin went full wicked. “And honestly? You’re complaining? Because I can start round two right now.”

I pressed my hand to his chest. “Please. Let me breathe.” I kissed his collarbone. “I love our rounds. I really do. But I also love this.”

He softened immediately—the way he always did when I said something that cracked him open a little.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss my forehead, then my mouth, slow and sweet this time. “Me too.”

We tangled closer, legs brushing, breaths syncing. His fingertips traced my spine.

My hand found his heartbeat.

We fell asleep like that—pressed together, wrapped in each other, the world quiet for the first time in days.

I wake up wrapped in Elias — one of his legs tangled with mine, his arm heavy around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck.

For a second, I don’t move.

I just… feel him.

Solid. Warm. Mine.

Then his hand starts wandering.

Lazy at first. Not innocent.

His fingers trace up the line of my stomach, then down again, slipping lower, teasing the edge of the place he already knows too well.

I let out a breathy laugh. “Good morning to you too.”

His voice is a low rumble against my spine. “Morning.”

He kisses the back of my shoulder, slow and soft… and then his hand moves with a lot less softness.

“Elias…” I whisper, already breathless.

He presses closer, his body already hard against me. “What? You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”

And then the slow, lazy morning stops being lazy at all.

He shifts me gently onto my back, his body covering mine, braced on his forearms. His chest is still warm from sleep, his eyes half-lidded, hungry in that way that makes my pulse trip.

“I thought I exhausted you last night,” he murmurs with that crooked smile that always destroys me.

“You never exhaust anything in me,” I breathe, pulling him down into a kiss.

It starts soft — then turns fast, deep, possessive.

His hand slides down my thigh, slow and intentional, like he’s savoring the build-up. My breath catches as his fingers trace the inside of my leg, drifting higher until—

“Oh—” I gasp when he touches me.

“Open for me,” he whispers, voice low and rough.

I open.

He explores me first, slow and knowing, his fingers finding me already warm, already aching.

“Jesus… this just from a morning kiss?” he teases, breath shaking.

“No,” I manage. “Because of you.”

That flips a switch in him.

He turns me gently onto my side, his chest pressing against my back, his hand still between my thighs. My body arches into his automatically, hips seeking him. He holds my waist, guiding me, teasing me until my voice breaks on his name.

“I want you inside…” I whisper, looking back at him over my shoulder.

He doesn’t wait.

He aligns himself and pushes in slowly — the first inch stealing all my breath. Then he sinks in the rest of the way, deep and perfect.

“Like this?” he growls against my ear.

I grab his hand, guiding his rhythm.

He follows — slow at first, then deeper, harder, faster. He lifts my thigh just enough, angling me perfectly, and I moan into the pillow, my whole body pulsing.

“More,” I beg.

He gives me everything.

The sounds — our bodies, our voices, the heat of him behind me — blend until pleasure takes me under. My climax hits hard, tight, dragging his out of him. He groans my name, burying his face in my neck as he comes, shuddering.

We collapse together, still tangled, still panting.

His hand slides over my stomach, pulling me back against him.

“I told you,” he whispers, kissing my shoulder, “I wasn’t done with you.”

I laugh softly, breath still uneven. “I’m starting to believe you never sleep.”

“I sleep,” he says, lazy and smug. “You’re just a very effective alarm clock.”

We stay there like that for a while — limbs tangled, the morning sun barely cutting through the curtains, his fingertips brushing lazy patterns over my skin. It’s almost too nice. Too safe. Too real.

Eventually, he nips my shoulder and says, “Shower?”

I turn just enough to meet his eyes. “If I say yes, are we actually going to shower?”

He gives me that look — the one that answers without words.

“Fine,” I mutter, pretending to be annoyed even though I’m already smiling. “But we’re actually washing this time.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, pulling me up with him.

The shower is half-cleaning, half-him pinning me against the tiles and kissing me like he’s starving. When we finally manage to get out without starting round three, my legs are shaking for entirely predictable reasons.

Back in the kitchen, I steal his shirt and make breakfast — nothing fancy, just eggs and toast, but he looks at me like I’m performing a miracle.

“You’re cooking?” he asked, sounding personally offended.

“Yes.”

“For us?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you… okay?”

I flicked a piece of bread at him. “I can cook.”

He picked it up with a smirk. “I’ve just never seen you do it in my house. Usually we’re too busy—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“—being distracted.”

I glared at him over my shoulder, but the smile was already pulling at my lips. “I’m making eggs. Calm down.”

He leaned back in the chair, watching me with that soft look he got sometimes, the one that made me want to both kiss him and kick him. “You would look good in my kitchen too,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Stop flirting with me, I’m holding a hot pan.”

“I’m absolutely going to keep flirting,” he replied. “You look domestic and it’s doing things to me.”

I turned around and pointed the spatula at him. “Stop.”

He bit his lower lip like a menace. “Make me.”

I threw a dish towel at his face.

He laughed, the kind of laugh that filled the whole kitchen. And I hated how much it warmed my chest.

Breakfast turned into teasing, which turned into him stealing bites off my plate, which turned into me swatting him with the spatula again, which turned into us kissing over the sink because apparently we have the self-control of teenagers.

But God… it felt normal.

It felt good.

It felt like us.

I only manage to eat half a slice of toast.

Not because it tastes bad, but because my stomach feels… off.

Too tight.

Too sour.

Too everything.

Probably the mix of kidnapped yesterday, sex twice before breakfast, and zero actual meals in the last 24 hours. My body is just filing complaints.

Elias notices, of course.

He always does.

“You okay?” he asks, thumb brushing my jaw.

“Yeah. Just… nerves. I’m fine.”

He kisses me goodbye anyway — slow, warm, confident — and it settles something inside me even as everything else feels shaky.

“Text me if you need anything,” he murmurs.

“I will.”

We part ways — he goes back to HQ, I head to the FBI, mentally promising myself:

Eat something real at work.

Spoiler: I absolutely do not.

By mid-morning I’m nauseous.

Not dramatically — just a constant, queasy, twisting feeling that sits low in my stomach like bad news.

I drink water.

I pretend to snack on a granola bar.

I keep texting Ava — nothing.

Every minute that passes makes it worse.

At lunchtime, Elena drops a packet of papers on my desk.

“You’re not eating?”

“I… can’t,” I mumble, swallowing hard. “My stomach’s weird.”

She frowns but doesn’t push. Instead, she taps the folder. “We started the end-of-month report since you weren’t here.”

“It’s okay, it’s only due on the twenty-fifth,” I say, grabbing my pen.

She blinks. “It is the twenty-fifth.”

I freeze.

“No it’s not.”

She spins her monitor toward me.

25 stares back at me in giant digital numbers.

My heart stops.

Literally stops.

Because in my head, the end of the month feels far away.

But—

Oh God.

My calendar.

My cycle.

My period.

I open my phone, check the app.

It takes two seconds.

Two seconds is enough for the blood to rush out of my face.

Late.

I’m late.

My stomach flips.

Not nausea — panic.

Chapter 35

POV: Nora

Late.

I’m late.

My stomach flips.

Not nausea — panic.

Oh God.

Oh God, no.

I can’t—

I cannot be pregnant.

Right?

My brain starts sprinting through every stupid possibility: stress, hormones, poor eating, the fact I’ve been sleeping maybe four hours a night.

But late is late.

I grip the edge of my desk, breaths short, head spinning so fast I can barely hear Elena talking.

“Nora? Are you okay?”

“I’m—yeah. Just… dizzy.”

Dizzy.

Nauseous.

Late.

Perfect.

My phone buzzes.

I jolt so violently I almost drop it.

Please be Ava.

Please.

But it’s a message from Marshall.

“Dr Castell, someone is here to see you.”

My heart slams.

If it’s Elias, I will actually faint.

I can’t talk about this now.

I can barely hold my own skull together.

I stand anyway, smoothing my clothes, trying to look normal.

Elena watches me with concern. “Is it him?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

I walk toward the hallway, every step a drum in my ears.

I only realize my hands are shaking when I press my badge to unlock the conference room. Agent Marshall said someone was here for me, and for one stupid, split-second heartbeat, I thought it was Elias—storming in, demanding answers, catching me in the middle of a full-blown anxiety spiral about my period and my life and everything else.

But it’s not Elias.

It’s Liam.

He stands when I enter, tall and composed in that quiet-doctor way, hands folded in front of him. I’ve only met him twice, maybe three times, back when Ava came for a training course and dragged him along so she wouldn’t die of boredom. Back then he was just “Ava’s sweet fiancé.” Now he looks… tired. Not angry. Just deeply, achingly worried.

“Hi, Nora,” he says softly.

My throat closes. “Liam. Oh God, is Ava—? Did something happen?”

He nods once. “She’s hurt.”

The words hit like someone’s shoved a fist under my ribs. The room blurs for a heartbeat. “Is she okay? Where is she? Why didn’t she text me back? I—”

He lifts a hand—not to silence me, but to slow me down, like someone trying to steady a patient who’s about to pass out.

“She’s stable,” he says. “But she’s shaken. And angry. Mostly angry.”

A small, nauseating laugh tries to crawl up my throat. “Yeah. I deserve that.”

He lets out a slow breath. “I didn’t come here to fight. Or to blame you. I just… Ava’s shutting everyone out right now. I didn’t want you left in the dark.”

It takes me a second to process that. “You came to tell me? Why?”

“Because I know you care about her,” he says simply. “And because I know this situation isn’t as black-and-white as she wants it to be.”

His understanding hits me harder than any accusation could have.

I rub my palms over my face. “Liam, I didn’t know. When I met him, when we—when things started—I swear to God, I didn’t know he was Ava’s father. None of this was intentional. I’m not trying to justify anything, I just…” My voice cracks. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

He studies me for a long moment, and there’s no judgment in his eyes—just fatigue, empathy, and a hint of something like resignation.

“I believe you,” he finally says.

That almost breaks me.

“But Ava’s hurt,” he continues gently. “She feels betrayed. By him. By the situation. By the universe, honestly. You know how she is—when things get too overwhelming, she lashes out before she makes sense of it.”

I nod, swallowing the hard, metallic taste of guilt. “I never wanted to be someone who hurt her. Not in any way.”

“I know.” Liam shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look… I’m a doctor. I’ve seen messy. Relationships, families, life—it’s always messier than people admit. And what happened between you and Elias?” He exhales, not judging, just acknowledging. “It’s complicated. You were two adults who didn’t have the full picture. And by the time you did…” He gives a tiny shrug. “Life doesn’t come with reverse gear.”

A hysterical little sound escapes me. “Tell that to my stomach, which apparently thinks nausea is the new normal.”

He frowns slightly. “Are you okay?”

My face heats. “Yeah. Probably. Just… stress.”

And maybe something else, my brain whispers, loud and cruel.

But this is not the moment.

Liam lets it go, thankfully. “Anyway. Ava’s going to need time. But she’ll eventually want to hear your side. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But she will.”

I nod, even though the knot in my chest feels like it’s permanently lodged there.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For coming. For not yelling. For… being decent.”

He gives me a small, sad smile. “I love her. And she loves you. In her way. Even now, she keeps talking about you when she’s angry. That’s not hatred. That’s hurt.”

I blink hard. “Can I… can I see her?”

“Not yet,” he says gently. “But I’ll keep you updated. I promise.”

And then he does something that completely undoes me—he touches my shoulder, the lightest, most reassuring gesture.

“She’ll work through this,” he says. “And so will you.”

He leaves me there, blinking at the door long after he’s gone, my heart pounding and my stomach twisting, because everything is hitting at once—Ava, Elias, the mess between all of us, the possibility of being late on more than just paperwork.

And suddenly my life feels like it’s balancing on the edge of something huge.

The moment Liam leaves, the silence in the office feels louder than any explosion I’ve ever walked into. My chest is tight, my pulse jumpy, and my stomach… yeah, still doing that horrible swooping thing that feels half adrenaline, half nausea, half oh my God what if.

My phone buzzes.

Elias: You alive, sweetheart? Or did work steal you from me?

I stare at the message. Usually I’d answer with something flirty, something that would make him groan in that low way I love. But right now my fingers won’t even move. They’re cold. I can barely swallow.

Another buzz.

Elias: If you ignore me I’ll take it personally, you know.

A nervous laugh slips out. God, he’s teasing. He’s being himself. And I can’t even answer because every part of me feels like it’s hanging by a thread.

I shove my phone face-down and stand so fast my chair skids.

Elena glances up from her desk. “Hey, are you okay? You look pale.”

“I—headache,” I blurt out. “I think… I need to go home. Just for a bit.”

“Yeah, sure. Go. I can cover.”

I give her a grateful nod, grab my bag, and move. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I just walk.

I don’t even remember getting to the pharmacy. One second I’m on the street, and the next I’m staring at a wall of pregnancy tests like I’m choosing a weapon I have no idea how to use.

My hands tremble as I grab two boxes. Not one. Two. Because if I’m losing my mind, I want at least a backup.

I pay without looking at the cashier, without hearing a single word she says. It all blurs.

The moment I get to my apartment, I lock the door behind me like I’m trying to keep the world out. My heart is pounding so hard I feel it in my teeth.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Just… do it.”

I take the test to the bathroom. I follow the instructions. I set it on the counter.

And then I stare at it like it might detonate.

Two minutes. The longest two minutes of my entire life. My stomach twists, cramps, flips. My fingers won’t stop trembling. I pace. I stop. I breathe. I fail. I sit on the edge of the bathtub.

I check the test.

Nothing yet.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Just—just tell me.”

I don’t even know what I’m hoping for. Relief? Confirmation? A miracle?

One more look.

My breath catches.

The lines appear slowly, like the universe is dragging it out on purpose.

And then they’re there.

Clear.

Unmistakable.

Pregnant.

Oh God.

My vision tunnels for a second.

Pregnant.

The word slams into me so hard I grip the counter to stay upright. My breath stutters, breaks. My vision blurs at the edges like I’m going to pass out.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, no, no—this can’t—”

I feel my heart beating in my throat, in my palms, everywhere. My stomach twists so violently I have to bend forward, trying to breathe through it.

I’ve been with Elias for what… two weeks? No. Our first sex was two or three weeks ago.. Days. Days of stolen moments, of fire and tension and adrenaline and danger and wanting him so much I forgot everything else.

We never talked about a future. Not really. Not about a life together. Not about… this.

My chest tightens until it hurts. I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, both hands shaking in my lap.

I always thought my life would go a certain way: get engaged, get married, buy a house, then — then — maybe kids. Planned. Expected. Normal.

Not this.

Not “I’m sleeping with my best friend’s father during an active investigation and now I’m staring at a pregnancy test on a random Tuesday.”

And Elias—oh God, Elias.

He already has a daughter. A grown daughter. Practically my age. He lived his whole life already. He built everything already. He raised a kid already.

Would he even want to do all of that again?

My heart drops, heavy and sick.

Would he resent me?

Would he think it ruins everything?

Or worse… would he think I trapped him?

The fear hits like a wave so strong I cover my mouth, choking on the sound that almost escapes. Hot tears burn behind my eyes, and I blink hard, because crying won’t change the terrifying lines on that stupid plastic stick.

“Oh God,” I whisper again, voice trembling. “What is he going to say?”

What if he shuts down? What if he pulls away? What if he decides it’s too much, too complicated, too dangerous?

What if this ends everything before it ever had a chance to become something real?

I stare at the test again, even though it feels like staring at the sun.

Pregnant.

I press a shaking hand to my belly. There’s nothing there yet — nothing to feel — but the reality is already heavy, sinking deep.

“I’m not ready for this,” I breathe. “We’re not ready for this.”

A strangled, nervous laugh escapes me, half hysteria, half disbelief.

Two weeks. Days. And now… this.

My phone buzzes from the kitchen — another message from Elias, probably something teasing, something that would’ve made me smile an hour ago.

Now it feels like a countdown.

I don’t move. I can’t. I just sit there, frozen, terrified, hugging myself as if that will hold me together.

Because I have no idea how I’m supposed to tell him.

Or what happens when I do.

Chapter 36

POV: Nora

I try to breathe.

I really do.

I sit on the bathroom floor with my knees to my chest, the pregnancy test on the tile in front of me like a grenade that already went off.

I wipe my face.

My hands won’t stop shaking.

I need to tell him.

I hate that I know it. I hate how much I wish I could hide for just one more hour.

I pick up my phone. Start typing.

Nora: hey

Nora: can we talk later?

Then I delete it.

Try again.

Nora: everything’s fine

Nora: you don’t need to come here

Nora: really.

My voice sounds like someone else’s when I call him.

He answers instantly.

“Are you okay?”

His tone slices straight through me. Serious. Alert. Already moving.

“Yes,” I lie. “I—I just had a headache. I’m resting. You don’t need to leave work.”

A beat of silence.

“Nora.”

Just my name. Low. Suspicious.

“Are you home?”

“Yes. But—”

“I’m coming.”

“No, Elias—”

The line goes dead.

I close my eyes and lean back against the wall.

Fantastic. Perfect. Exactly what I needed — Elias in full military mode while I’m one existential crisis away from throwing up again.

It doesn’t take long.

A firm knock explodes through the apartment.

My heart jumps so hard I almost drop the test again.

When I open the door, he’s standing there in his uniform — sharp, imposing, warm eyes shadowed with worry. His hair’s a mess like he dragged a hand through it a thousand times today. His jaw tight. His breathing controlled, but barely.

“Nora?”

He steps inside without waiting.

“What happened? Why are you crying?”

I didn’t even notice I still was.

He cups my face, thumb brushing the wetness there, eyes scanning me like he expects to find a wound.

“Talk to me,” he says, voice low, command slipping through.

I swallow.

The words claw up my throat and get stuck.

He frowns, more anxious now. “Are you hurt? Did someone—”

“No,” I whisper. “No, nothing like that.”

I look down, because I can’t look at him while saying it.

“I’m…”

My voice cracks.

“I’m pregnant.”

The world stops.

He goes still.

Completely, utterly still.

Like someone froze him.

His eyes widen just a fraction, but the rest of his face stays unreadable. Controlled. Too controlled. His breathing slows, sharpens — he’s doing that internal bracing thing he does before walking into something explosive.

I place the test in his hand.

It feels like handing him dynamite.

He stares at it.

Then at me.

Then at it again.

His Adam’s apple moves in one hard swallow.

“Pregnant,” he repeats under his breath.

Not questioning.

Just… processing.

Trying to wrap his mind around it.

I feel something inside me unravel.

“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. Too fast. Too shaky. “I—I didn’t know. We didn’t plan this, I know. We barely had time to breathe these past days and I don’t expect you to— I mean, you already raised a daughter, you’re done with all of this, you don’t need to do it again, I know it’s a lot, and I know it’s not fair, and if you—”

“Nora—”

“And if you want to leave, I understand,” I keep going, because I can’t stop now, the panic is a tidal wave. “I know this complicates everything, your life, your work, the age difference, Ava—oh God, Ava—she’ll hate me forever, and maybe you’ll be angry too, or disappointed, or—”

“Nora,” he says again, firmer.

But I can’t look at him.

If I do, I’ll break.

“I just— I don’t want you to feel trapped. I don’t want you to think I did this on purpose or that I expect something from you or—”

“Nora.”

His voice softens.

Painfully.

Like he’s fighting something in himself.

I finally lift my gaze.

He looks… wrecked.

Not angry.

Not cold.

Not distant.

Just overwhelmed.

Shocked.

Breathless in a way I’ve never seen.

His fingers flex around the test like he doesn’t trust his grip. He exhales, long and slow, running a trembling hand through his hair — the first time I’ve ever seen him actually lose his composure.

He whispers, almost to himself:

“Pregnant…”

Then he looks at me again.

And it’s… too much.

The emotion there. The weight of it. The fear of hurting me. The fear of saying the wrong thing. The absolute loss of footing from a man who’s always been carved from control.

He steps closer, but slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile.

“I’m not leaving you,” he says quietly.

A promise.

A vow.

One he hasn’t fully figured out yet.

One he’ll grow into.

One he means without hesitation.

He’s still overwhelmed.

Still shocked.

Still catching his breath.

His thumb is still on my jaw when his phone rings.

Sharp. Urgent.

The kind of ringtone only men like him use — the kind that means stop breathing and answer right now.

He closes his eyes for half a second, jaw clenching before he brings the phone to his ear.

“Elias.”

I watch his whole posture change.

His spine straightens.

His shoulders lock.

That commander presence drops over him like armor.

“Yes,” he says, voice clipped. “I’ll be there in ten.”

He ends the call, breath shaky, and looks at me with something… conflicted. Like being pulled in two directions at once and both of them are life-or-death.

“I have to go,” he murmurs. “It’s… something I can’t ignore.”

My heart cracks so quietly I’m not sure he hears it.

“Oh,” I say, and my voice is too small. Pathetic. “Of course. It’s fine.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything.”

Lie.

I’m thinking everything.

He steps forward like he wants to say more, wants to reassure me, wants to touch me again — but he stops himself. Instead he leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead, soft and warm and completely opposite of the distance I suddenly feel.

“I’ll come back,” he says.

Then he’s gone.

The door closes.

The silence devours me whole.

For a moment I just stand there, staring at the floor, the test still in his hand printed into my memory. My brain spirals like someone cut the brakes.

He left.

He left right after finding out.

He said he wasn’t leaving but—

God, maybe this is too much.

Maybe I’m too much.

Maybe he needs space.

Maybe he’s reconsidering everything—

Maybe—

I pace the living room.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

The fear sinks into my bones, heavy and cold.

A baby.

His baby.

With me.

This wasn’t the plan.

He barely had time to breathe with me.

We’ve been together—what? Days? Weeks? Not enough.

Not enough for this.

Not enough for him to choose this.

My chest tightens.

My throat burns.

I lie back on the couch, pressing a hand against my stomach like I can calm something down — but it just makes it worse.

He left.

He left.

He said he’d come back but—

My thoughts are a storm with teeth. And they’re eating me alive.

When the knock hits the door, I freeze.

My heart slams into my ribs.

He came back.

Of course he did.

Of course—

I rush to the door, almost tripping over the rug, breath catching as I pull it open—

And the world tilts.

Because it’s not him.

It’s Ava.

Ava — with her blond hair in a messy bun, her bright but furious blue eyes, her backpack still on one shoulder like she ran straight here. Her expression is hard, but also wounded, torn, complicated, everything all at once.

“Oh God,” I whisper, because I wasn’t ready.

Not for this.

Not now.

Not when I’m already cracked open.

She looks at me like I’m the last person on earth she wanted to face.

And the only one she needed to.

Her face is stone. Not even cold. Just… set. Like she had to glue herself together to stand here.

“We need to talk,” she says.

I nod, because what else do I do? Slam the door and hide behind a couch cushion like a toddler? No. I step back, let her in, and the lock clicks shut with a sound that feels too loud in my skull.

“Ava, I want to talk to you, I swear, it’s just— it’s not the best moment right now—”

Her laugh isn’t a laugh. More like air escaping a wound. “Yeah. It wasn’t the best moment for me either when I caught you in that doorway.”

My stomach drops. My cheeks burn. Shame crawls under my skin like a second pulse.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, but my voice cracks. “I really— I wasn’t expecting you to— I wanted to tell you. I always wanted to tell you. I just thought I’d have more time, that I’d figure this mess out first—”

“You should’ve left,” she snaps. “The second you realized who he was. You should’ve run, Nora. Run and never looked back.”

“I know,” I breathe. God, it scrapes coming out. “I know. You’re right. I should’ve.”

The words sting because they’re true. Because I told myself that same thing a hundred times while pretending I wasn’t waiting to see him again.

“And you were coworkers,” she throws. “You had every chance to ignore him. Stay away. Set boundaries.”

I laugh. Hysterical. Quiet. Kind of pathetic. I press my fingers against my eyes.

“Ava… it was inevitable.”

She scoffs. “Inevitable is a storm or gravity, Nora. Not sleeping with my father.”

Something inside me snaps. Not loud. Not violent. Just… a thread pulled tighter than skin finally giving way.

“I love him,” I whisper.

Her shoulders go rigid.

“I love him,” I say again, louder this time, because the truth tastes like blood and I can’t swallow it anymore. “And I never— never —felt anything like this in my life. Not even close. It’s like he walked in and— God, Ava, I tried fighting it. I swear I did.”

She looks at me like she’s trying not to cry or scream or break the nearest lamp over my head.

“Well,” she says, breath shaky, “you should have fought harder.”

My chest twists. Something hot builds behind my ribs and suddenly everything hurts — all the shame, all the fear, the exhaustion of holding this secret alone.

“Ava, I’m doing my best,” I say. “I know it’s not enough. I know I hurt you. But I’m— I’m drowning here, okay? I’m barely keeping it together and—”

A sharp pain slices through my abdomen.

I stop. Mid-breath. Mid-sentence. The room tilts.

Ava’s eyes narrow. “What?”

I fold forward, hands bracing on my knees. “It’s nothing, I— I don’t know—”

The pain pulses again, low and deep and wrong.

Ava steps closer, all her anger cracking into something else. “Nora? Are you okay?”

“No,” I say, because I can’t lie, not with this heat radiating through my stomach, not with the cold sweat breaking across my skin.

My gaze drags — slow, unwilling — to the coffee table.

To the pregnancy test lying there like a loaded gun.

Ava follows my eyes.

She freezes.

Then— “Oh my God.”

I don’t breathe. I can’t.

She stares at me, then the test, then me again, and her voice cuts through the air, soft but sharp as glass.

“Nora… you’re pregnant?”

And that’s where the world stops.

Chapter 37

POV: Nora

“I’m pregnant,” I manage, the words scraping out of my throat like I’m confessing some kind of crime. “I… I just found out. Literally just—”

Ava sucks in a breath, hands flying to her mouth. The fury in her eyes flickers — confusion, fear, then something softer sliding in despite herself.

“Does he know?” she whispers.

“I—” My voice breaks. “He figured it out and left.”

For one full second, Ava goes perfectly still.

Not angry. Not cold. Just… thinking.

Then she shakes her head, briskly, decisively. “He could be a lot of things, Nora. Stubborn, intense, intimidating as hell, emotionally constipated—” She stops herself, then looks me straight in the eyes. “But he’s not a coward. He doesn’t run from things like this. If he left, it’s because he had to. Not because of you.”

I breathe out, shaky, because I want so badly to believe her.

Then another cramp hits — sharper. Deeper.

I gasp and grab the arm of the couch.

“Nora?” Now her voice drops into something I’ve never heard from her before. Serious. Steady. Controlled. Doctor mode. “Where is the pain?”

“I— low belly,” I choke out. “It keeps… tightening.”

She doesn’t waste a second. Phone already in her hand. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“What? No— Ava—”

“We’re going.” She’s already helping me up, already sliding my shoes toward me. “I’m calling Liam.”

My heart jumps. “Liam— your Liam?”

“Yes,” she says, guiding me toward the door with firm, confident hands. “My fiancé. Gynecologist. Who is doing a specialization at the hospital down the street. That’s why we were close. Perfect timing, right?”

“Oh. That’s… lucky.”

“Lucky? Please. That was divine intervention.”

“Ava— I’m scared.”

“I know.” Her fingers squeeze my arm. “But we’re not wasting time.”

She hits call. It rings once.

“Liam?” Her voice is calm but urgent. “I’m bringing someone in. Early pregnancy, abdominal pain. Yes. Get a room ready. We’re ten minutes out.”

My chest tightens again — but this time it’s pure terror.

Ten minutes.

Pregnancy.

Pain.

Hospital.

Baby.

The word echoes inside me like a bell I wasn’t ready to hear. A thing I didn’t even know I wanted until the fear of losing it claws up my throat.

Ava’s hand finds mine as we rush to the elevator. “Hey. Look at me. You’re okay.”

“I— I don’t know if—” My voice shakes uncontrollably.

“You’re okay,” she repeats, firmer. “We’re going to figure this out.”

By the time she gets me in the car, I’m shaking so hard my teeth chatter. Ava drives like a woman possessed — the kind who absolutely will bully traffic into submission if needed.

I clutch the seatbelt with both hands, breathing too fast.

“I was just panicking because I’m pregnant,” I whisper, voice cracking. “And now— now I’m terrified I’m losing it. I didn’t— I didn’t even think about wanting a baby and now—”

“I know.” Ava reaches over and squeezes my knee without looking away from the road. “But don’t jump to the worst-case scenario. You’re in pain. That means we check. That’s all it means right now.”

“What if it’s too late?” I whisper.

“Nora,” she says, sharp. “Stop. You don’t know that. I don’t know that. That’s why we’re going to Liam. He’s the best. You’re not alone.”

She says it with so much conviction that I swallow hard.

When we screech into the hospital parking lot, she’s out of the car before the engine even settles, opening my door, helping me out.

Inside, everything is bright and cold and moving too fast. Ava storms to the front desk like a force of nature.

“Patient for Dr. Carter,” she snaps. “He’s expecting her.”

Two nurses appear almost instantly with a wheelchair.

And that’s when it hits me — truly hits me — that this might be real.

The pregnancy.

The pain.

The possibility of losing something I didn’t even realize I was already clinging to with both hands.

My throat closes and tears sting my eyes.

“Ava,” I whisper. “I’m scared.”

She kneels in front of me as the nurses start wheeling me back.

Her anger is gone. Completely. All that’s left is the girl who sat with me when my mother died. The friend who always shows up, even when she’s hurt.

“I’ve got you,” she says softly. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither is your baby until Liam checks everything, okay?”

I nod, trembling.

Ava squeezes my hand.

“We’re going to get you both through this,” she tells me, and for the first time since that bathroom this afternoon, I almost believe her.

. One second I was gasping over the counter, Ava’s hand on my back; the next I’m lying on an exam bed with too-bright lights above me and Liam snapping on gloves.

My whole body is trembling—deep, ugly trembles I can’t hide.

Ava keeps her hand wrapped around mine, squeezed tight like she can anchor me to the earth.

I’m not sure she can.

My stomach cramps again—sharp, twisting—and I choke out a sound I didn’t know I was capable of.

“Oh God,” I breathe. “Oh God, please—please—”

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” Ava says, leaning in. She wipes my cheek with her thumb; I don’t even know when I started crying. “You’re okay. We’re here. Liam’s going to take care of you. Just breathe.”

My breath stutters, tears running hot and relentless.

“I want this. I want this baby. I didn’t know until right this second but—God—Ava—”

Her face twists like something breaks open inside her, all the anger and hurt tangling with something softer.

“Shh,” she whispers. “I know. I know, Nora.”

“And I—I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry. We were supposed to talk and you were mad at me and then I—this happened—”

“Nora,” she says softly, “angry or not, mad or not, yelling or not—I’m here. I was always going to be here.”

Another cramp. I cling to her hand, desperate.

She keeps talking, voice thick and steadying.

“You were there for me when I fell off my bike and scraped both my knees and begged you not to tell my mom. You carried me home. You cleaned the wounds. You didn’t let anyone laugh at me ever. You were always on my side.”

Her hand slides to my cheek.

“So I’m here on yours. Always.”

I sob—actually sob—because it hits me all at once:

I might lose everything.

Or I might not.

And I want the not with every bone in my body.

Liam’s voice breaks the moment.

“I need you still for a second, Nora. I’m checking for bleeding.”

I nod, but I’m shaking too hard to actually be still.

Ava holds tighter.

My heart is pounding so loud I barely hear the commotion outside the room—voices, hurried footsteps, something metallic dropping.

And then—

The door slams open.

Elias.

Still in uniform.

Still breathless.

Still wild-eyed.

He looks like the monster they talked about—

a torn monster who ran straight out of hell to find me.

His gaze hits Ava first, then lands on me, and the pain in his face almost knocks the air out of my lungs.

“What’s happening?” he demands, voice rough, barely holding together. “Someone tell me what’s happening—Nora—”

Ava steps aside just enough for him to reach me.

He’s on me in a heartbeat, cupping my face with both hands, his thumbs shaking against my skin.

“Baby—talk to me. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I— I had pain, and Ava brought me here…”

My voice cracks. I glance at Ava, and she gives me a small nod to keep going.

“Elias, I don’t know if you want this baby, but I do, and I’m so scared of losing it now and—”

The words crumple.

I start crying so hard I can’t even look at him, my whole body panicking, spiraling.

His command voice cuts through the fog—firm, grounding, absolute.

“Hey. Nora. Look at me.”

And God help me, my body obeys.

It always does.

He holds my gaze, steady and burning.

“Of course I want this baby,” he says, low and raw. “I want everything that comes with you. I want a life with you. I just…”

His voice cracks the tiniest bit.

“I never allowed myself to even dream about this.”

“I—” my throat closes. “I thought—I thought you left.”

His eyebrows pull together sharply, like the sentence physically wounds him.

“Left?” he breathes. “Nora—no. God, no.”

He leans forward, presses his forehead to mine for half a second like he needs me to breathe.

“The CIA called. It was urgent. Top-level briefing—president-level. I had to answer. But I came as soon as I could. I ran out of the building before the call even ended.”

“Oh.”

My breath shatters.

“I—I thought—”

He exhales like he’s been punched.

“I’d never walk away from you. Not from this. Not from you.”

Another cramp hits—I whimper—and he grabs my hand instantly.

“Liam is working on this,” Ava says quietly.

Elias nods once, jaw clenched.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs, voice dropping back into softness. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With my free hand, I reach blindly for Ava.

She squeezes immediately.

I’m surrounded by Falkners.

Their warmth. Their steadiness. Their strength.

“You know,” Elias says suddenly, eyes flicking to Ava with a hint of forced levity, “this baby will be amazing because I actually make really amazing kids.”

“You really do,” I manage, shaky, and we wait together.

Liam hooks up something to my IV, giving me medication.

The room dissolves into the syncopated beeping of monitors and my own heartbeat slamming inside my ears.

Elias strokes my arm.

Ava wipes my cheeks again.

Liam’s touch is so gentle I almost sob harder.

Finally—finally—Liam pulls off his gloves.

The silence is a blade.

He steps closer.

“The embryo is okay.”

My whole body sags.

Ava gasps.

Elias curses under his breath, relief cracking his voice.

“It’s very early,” Liam continues, tone careful but kind. “And Nora, you did the right thing coming in fast. That made all the difference.”

He softens.

“You’re not miscarrying. The cramps are stress-induced, probably. Have you had stress lately?”

I almost laugh and choke all at once.

“I had a blind date, realized it was the wrong guy—who then turned out to be the father of my best friend. Then I was recruited by the Army to work on a profile that ended up being a CIA investigation about my not-dead ex-boyfriend. Then he kidnapped me. Then I was saved. And my best friend caught me wearing her dad’s shirt after sex.”

I laugh on the last bit, shaky.

“And I did a workout yesterday. Could it be… that?”

Liam snorts.

“Yeah. It’s… all of that. But we’ll take care of you, and you two are going to be okay.”

My hands fly to my mouth, and I cry—loud, messy, uncontrollable—because the baby is okay.

Ava’s hand covers mine, squeezing tight.

“Thank God,” she breathes. “Thank God.”

I look at her.

“You saved us.”

She smiles, eyes full of tears.

“Of course I did.”

Elias bends down, kissing my forehead, the corner of my mouth, my cheek—like he can’t pick one place to love me.

Then, in that low, husky voice that melts every bone in my body:

“I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

I grip his torn uniform, I hold on as tight as my shaking hands allow.

And for the first time today—

I breathe.

Chapter 38

POV: Elias

I knew something was off.

Nora wasn’t herself.

Not with me.

Something in her went quiet. And I hate quiet on her.

The kind of fine that’s a lie screaming under the surface.

I should have pushed harder. I should’ve stayed.

Instead I tried to give her space, thinking maybe she needed it.

God, I’m an idiot.

But my work was consuming me inside out. Not that any of these mattered more than her.

Nothing mattered more than her.

Then she called.

Her voice…

Her voice was wrecked. Shaky. Not Nora.

I didn’t even breathe between the words and me getting in the car.

When I knocked on her door and she opened it, pale and wide-eyed, I knew.

Not consciously.

Not in a logical, put-together way.

Something primal inside me just — clicked.

“Nora, what’s going on?” I asked, stepping inside, already reaching for her, already searching her face for whatever the hell was hurting her.

And then she said it.

“I’m pregnant.”

Everything inside me stopped.

Everything.

My heart, my breath, my thoughts — frozen mid-air.

Pregnant.

With my child.

I swear the floor shifted beneath me.

For a second, all I could do was stare at her.

The woman who turned my entire world back on again.

The woman who laughs like she doesn’t know she lights up every room.

The woman I thought I’d only get for the present — not for a whole damn future.

I always wanted to be a father again.

I never admitted it to anyone.

Not even to myself.

After Olivia died…

After everything we went through…

The dream died with her.

And I buried it deep. So deep I forgot it was still beating.

But hearing Nora say those words —

the dream clawed its way up with so much force it hurt.

I was going to be a father again.

With her.

And then — the universe gave me the finger.

My phone buzzed. CIA. High clearance. Urgent. Mandatory. President.

Wrong moment. Worst possible moment.

Nora was looking at me with fear — real fear — and I had to leave.

I had to leave her.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, hating myself. “I have to take this. I’ll come as soon as I can. Don’t move. Don’t stress. I swear I’ll come back.”

Her eyes filled with tears and I felt something inside me tear in half.

Walking out of her apartment was the hardest thing I’ve done in years.

I felt like I was abandoning her.

Like I was failing her and the baby before I even had a chance to prove I wouldn’t.

The whole time I was gone, I wasn’t thinking about national security or intelligence reports or strategic protocols.

I was thinking:

Please, let her be okay.

Please, let our child be okay.

Please.

And then Ava called.

“Dad, don’t freak out.”

Of course I freaked out.

“Dad, we brought Nora to the hospital.”

I stopped breathing.

“She had some pain.”

Pain.

That single word nearly dropped me to my knees.

I don’t remember grabbing my keys.

I don’t remember driving.

I don’t remember anything except the single, overwhelming terror ripping through me that I was about to lose the two things I never thought I’d get again — love and family.

By the time I reached the hospital, I wasn’t a man.

I was something raw. Primitive. Barely holding it together.

Seeing her lying in that bed…

Seeing Ava holding her hand…

Seeing Liam adjusting monitors with calm professionalism…

I swore to myself right there, right then:

I will not lose them.

I will not fail them.

I will not let anything take this away from me again.

My child.

Her.

Our future.

I didn’t dare dream it before.

Now I’d burn the world to keep it.

Liam had just finished explaining Nora’s care plan — slowly, clearly, the way you talk to someone who’s terrified and pretending not to be. I kept her hand in mine the whole time. Probably squeezing too hard. Probably hovering like some deranged hawk. I didn’t care.

Then Ava stepped in.

“Dad,” she murmured, giving my arm a little squeeze like she was grounding me for once, “come here for a sec.”

She handed Liam a coffee like she owned the hospital, then nudged me toward the hallway.

I followed, glancing back at Nora one last time.

She gave me a small smile.

Still pale.

Still scared.

God, I hated walking away from her even for a second.

Ava led me just outside the door, to a quiet corner with a plant that was definitely fake. Then she pressed a coffee into my hand.

“Drink. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

I was absolutely not fine.

She raised an eyebrow. “Sure. And I’m a traffic cone.”

I snorted despite myself.

She gets that from me — the sarcasm, the sharp humor.

It hits me right in the heart every time I see it.

We stood there for a moment, just sipping and breathing.

Then Ava shifted her weight.

And I recognized the move — her thinking posture.

Which meant I was about to be grilled.

“So…” she started slowly. “You’re dating my friend.”

There it was.

The words I’d been bracing for since the beginning of this whole thing.

I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Yeah. I am.”

She stared at me for a second, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Dad, you know this is so weird, right?”

“Trust me,” I muttered, “I am painfully aware.”

“Like… she’s Nora. My Nora.”

She flicked her fingers dramatically in the air.

“And you’re you. My dad. It’s like the universe glitched.”

I sighed, leaning back against the wall.

“I didn’t plan any of this.”

“No kidding.”

“She just—”

I shook my head.

“Your friend is impossible to ignore.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

We fell quiet.

Not awkward — something softer.

Like she was shifting through her thoughts, lining them up before firing.

When she finally looked at me, her eyes were shiny.

And that… that nearly knocked me flat.

“I was really angry,” she said quietly. “When I found out.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“And I felt… betrayed. I guess.”

She shrugged, like she hated admitting it.

“You’re my dad. She’s my friend. You two sneaking around felt—”

She inhaled through her nose.

“Wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

And it came out rougher than I meant.

Because I meant it.

All of it.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.”

She swallowed.

“And it was a shock. And I hated it. And I hated you a little.”

That punched me right in the ribs, but I let her say it.

“But,” she continued, voice softening, “I don’t hate you now.”

Her lips trembled into a smile.

“Because I’ve been watching you with her.”

I blinked. “Oh?”

“Dad… I’ve never seen you like this.”

She nudged my arm.

“You’re in love. Like… actual, stupid, embarrassing love.”

I groaned. “Ava—”

“No, no, don’t try to macho your way out of this.”

She pointed at my face.

“You look at her like she hung the moon.”

God help me, she was right.

Ava inhaled careful, emotion tightening her voice.

“And she looks at you like she finally found someone who sees her.”

Silence pressed between us.

Heavy.

Warm.

Then she stepped closer and put her hand over mine on the coffee cup.

“You are the best dad,” she said quietly.

Her voice broke.

“And you worked a lot, yeah. But you still were the best dad.”

My throat burned.

“I tried,” I whispered.

“I know.”

Her eyes shimmered.

“And you’ll be the best dad again.”

I exhaled shakily — a breath that felt like it had been locked in my chest for years.

Ava gave a small laugh, wiping at her cheek.

“God, Dad, you’re going to have a baby. With Nora. My best friend. My brother or sister is going to be the kid of my best friend. I can’t even—”

She laughed harder, leaning her forehead against my shoulder.

And for the first time all day, the fear loosened its grip on my ribs.

I wrapped an arm around her.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured into her hair.

She squeezed me back.

“I forgive you,” she whispered. “And I’m happy for you. Actually happy.”

I pulled in a breath.

“Thank you,” I said, voice low. “That means more than you know.”

She leaned back, slapped my chest lightly, and sniffed.

“Okay. Now stop being emotional. You’re freaking me out. Let’s go back before Nora tries to escape.”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s not escaping.”

Ava smirked. “Dad. She’s literally Nora. She’ll try climbing out the window to avoid bed rest.”

…She had a point.

We went back in together.

And for the first time since the world flipped on its axis —

I felt like everything was settling into place.

Chapter 39

POV: Nora

And the moment I do, everything inside me collapses at once. The adrenaline drains out of my bones so fast I swear I melt into the bed. Elias stays there, forehead pressed to my temple, one hand around mine, the other gripping the rail like he needs something solid to keep from falling apart too.

Ava exhales shakily and finally drops into the chair beside me, like her knees gave up.

“Okay,” she mutters, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Okay. Everyone can stop acting like we’re in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy now.”

I laugh. A broken, humiliating snort-laugh that turns into another tear.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, because my brain is still stuck in apology mode. “I ruined everything. You were mad at me and now you’re here holding my hand while I cry on your shirt like a toddler.”

Ava scoffs. “Nora. I’ve been cleaning your messes since we decided to make soup out of dirt and hose water. Believe me, you cannot scare me.”

I let out a wet laugh and cover my face.

“And for the record,” she adds, pointing a finger at me, “you didn’t ruin anything. You scared me. Different things.”

Her voice cracks on the last part.

That’s what finally breaks me.

“I didn’t know I wanted this,” I whisper. “Not until I thought I was losing it.”

Elias stiffens—just a fraction—but it’s enough that I feel it through my spine.

He shifts closer, brushing my cheek with the back of his fingers like I’m something fragile.

“You want this baby,” he murmurs, “and I want you.”

He pauses, breath shaking.

“And I want this—us—more than I have ever allowed myself to want anything.”

My throat thickens again. I grip his wrist to steady myself.

A soft knock interrupts the moment.

Liam steps back in with a tablet, wearing that gentle smile that somehow doesn’t clash with the fact he’s terrifyingly competent and literally just saved my future.

“Alright, Nora,” he says with practiced calm. “I’m going to keep you here for a few hours of monitoring, okay? Precaution only. Fluids, rest, no stress. At home, I’ll prescribe medication, and we’ll keep weekly appointments, alright?”

Ava snorts. “We should bubble-wrap her.”

“Please do not bubble-wrap her,” Liam says, barely suppressing a laugh. “But yes—no stress, no heavy exercise, no overthinking. And absolutely no—”

He glances between me and Elias.

Oh God.

“—strenuous activities,” he finishes diplomatically.

Heat slams into my face so hard I could power the hospital generators.

Elias clears his throat. Innocent. Too innocent.

“Define heavy activity?”

I bury my face in my hands. “Oh God, Elias…”

Liam visibly tries to disappear into thin air.

“You’re talking about sex, right?” Elias asks, because of course he does.

“Yes,” Liam says tightly. “You two can… do it. But it needs to be light.”

“I don’t do light,” Elias says instantly.

I groan. “Oh my God, please stop. I want to leave my body.”

Liam rubs the back of his neck like he’s questioning every life choice that led him here.

“I get it,” Elias adds, smirking like a devil. “We’ll behave.”

Ava shoots him a look that says liar so loudly it should echo.

Liam softens again. “You’re both okay. That’s what matters.”

And he leaves us with that.

The door closes.

And suddenly the room is… quiet.

Too quiet.

Like we survived a storm and only now realize how close it came to drowning us.

Ava squeezes my ankle. “I’m gonna get water. Need anything?”

I shake my head. She gives my hand one more squeeze before slipping out.

And then it’s just—

Elias and me.

The air thickens.

The room shrinks.

Everything feels sharper, heavier, like the world is holding its breath with us.

He drags the chair closer, sits, and lowers his forehead to our joined hands.

For a long time, we don’t speak.

We just breathe the same air…

still shaky, still recovering, still here.

Then, softly—like the words hurt to say:

“I’m sorry you were scared,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you found out. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you panicked.”

My throat tightens. “I’m sorry I thought you left.”

He lifts his face.

God.

His eyes.

Wrecked.

Red.

Raw.

Like he’s been fighting for me long before he reached this room.

“Nora… if you ever think I’d abandon you again…”

His voice breaks.

He cups the side of my neck with a trembling hand.

“Sweetheart, I will spend the rest of my life proving you wrong. I would rather die than leave you.”

My heart flips over itself and crashes into my ribs.

I nod, because if I speak, I’ll fall apart all over again.

He leans in—slowly, carefully—giving me every chance to pull away.

I don’t.

He presses his lips to my cheek, the softest kiss he’s ever given me—

not hungry,

not desperate,

not claiming—

but something deeper.

Reverent.

Like he’s kissing the bruise fear left behind.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lower than breath.

“I’ve got both of you.”

His hand slides down, warm and steady, brushing my lower belly.

My fingers find his, guiding them, covering them, holding them there.

“I know,” I whisper.

And for the first time since the pain hit—

for the first time since the world tilted under my feet—

I believe it.

They discharge me a few hours later.

Well—technically they discharge me.

But Elias acts like the hospital released a rare, endangered animal into the wild and he’s personally responsible for the rest of my species’ survival.

He has one hand on my lower back, the other hovering in front of me like he’s ready to catch me if gravity decides to betray us.

“Nora, careful. There’s a bump here.”

“It’s a line on the floor, Elias.”

“It could be slippery.”

“It’s literally dry tile.”

He glares at the tile like it insulted his mother.

Ava walks ahead of us with my discharge papers, rolling her eyes so hard I’m afraid they’ll get stuck.

“Dad, for God’s sake, she’s pregnant. Not made of glass.”

“She is made of glass,” he mutters. “A very precious, breakable, carrying-my-child type of glass.”

I snort, and that earns me a warning look too, as if laughter might jostle the embryo.

Outside, Ava and Liam slip automatically into caretaker mode. Ava organizes everything like a general commanding troops—bag, meds, instructions, follow-up dates. Liam points at each item like he’s teaching a class.

Elias just stands there absorbing information like the world’s hottest sponge.

Liam even gives him a sheet of recommendations and Elias nods with the intensity of a man receiving nuclear codes.

“No stress for a month,” Liam says.

“I’ll remove all stress from the country if I have to,” Elias answers.

I rub my temples. “My job gives me no stress—just everything else did.”

Ava squeezes my wrist. “Yeah, being kidnapped, discovering your ex was alive, CIA stuff, oh and sleeping with your best friend’s father—tiny things.”

I groan. She smirks.

When we arrive at my apartment, Elias sets me on the couch like I’m a wounded knight and he’s my dramatic squire. He brings me water. A blanket. A pillow. My slippers. My phone charger.

At one point he asks if I need “support snacks.”

Ava laughs so hard she chokes.

“Dad, calm down. She’s not in labor.”

He narrows his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Dad—”

“That’s how babies start. One minute everyone’s calm, then boom.”

“Dad.”

“What?”

She pushes him gently toward the kitchen. “Go read Liam’s list again.”

He goes. Actually goes.

And Ava finally drops onto the couch beside me with a soft, exhausted sigh.

For the first time since this morning, it’s quiet.

Just me. And her.

And this strange, fragile peace stretching between us.

She pulls her legs up and faces me. “Nora…”

I swallow hard. “I know. We need to talk.”

Her eyes soften, and the anger I saw earlier—sharp, cutting—has melted into something else. Something warmer. Sadder.

“I was… hurt,” she says simply. “Angry. Shocked. Betrayed. All of it.”

“You have every right,” I whisper. “I would’ve felt the same.”

She nods, looking at her hands for a moment.

Then she lifts her gaze again—wet, but steady.

“But I don’t want to stay mad at you.”

Something inside my chest unclenches—slow, careful, like peeling off a tight bandage.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I breathe. “I just… everything happened so fast. I didn’t even know it was him at first.”

“I know.” Her voice breaks. “And when I saw you today, scared out of your mind… there was no part of me that could walk away. Not from you.”

Tears sting again.

She nudges my shoulder. “Also, my best friend is pregnant with my sibling. I mean—what the fuck? I need time to adjust.”

A laugh bursts out of me—ugly and wet.

Ava laughs too.

“Seriously,” she says. “I’m gonna be twenty-seven with a brother or sister who could be born with a full set of teeth at this point.”

“Shut up,” I giggle. “Don’t curse my uterus.”

She grins. “I just… I want my dad to be happy, Nora. And he is. I’ve never seen him like this. I didn’t even know he could be like this.”

I press a hand to my mouth, trying not to fall apart again.

Ava leans her head on my shoulder.

I lean mine on hers.

We stay like that until Elias pads back into the room quietly.

Ava stands, gives him a soft smile, and goes to Liam’s waiting car—leaving me and Elias alone again.

He closes the door behind her and turns to me slowly.

The air shifts.

His eyes roam over me—gentle, hungry, terrified, reverent, all at once.

“Light activities only,” I tease weakly.

He arches a brow, stalks toward me like a slow-moving storm.

“I can be light,” he says, voice dropping, “if you beg.”

My breath catches.

“That’s… not what Liam meant.”

He kneels in front of me, hands sliding up my thighs, slow and warm.

“Well,” he murmurs against my skin, “I’m following medical guidance.”

I punch his shoulder.

He kisses my knee.

And suddenly the fear is gone, replaced by laughter, heat, and the kind of soft intimacy I never imagined I’d have with him.

And it feels like the real beginning

of something big.

Something ours.

Chapter 40

POV: Nora

Elias didn’t ask me to move in.

He announced it.

Like it was a public safety initiative.

“You’re coming to my place,” he said after Ava left that night, arms crossed, voice firm in that way that makes my bones obey him before my brain does. “I’m not leaving you alone for a second.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

He raised a finger.

“No.”

And that was that.

So now… here I am.

In his house.

Sleeping in his bed.

Wearing one of his shirts that’s so big it hits mid-thigh.

Taking half-shifts at work because he insists on driving me there and picking me up like I’m a princess with no concept of public transportation. Every time I lift even a mildly heavy folder, he materializes behind me to take it out of my hands.

He flinches when I bend down too fast.

He glares at chairs like they’re plotting against me.

He straightens rugs. Removes table corners. Adjusts the water temperature before I shower. Makes sure there’s a snack in the car. A granola bar in my coat. A bottle of water in my purse.

He does all of it with this fierce, quiet intensity that makes something warm bloom in my chest.

And also makes me want to tackle him to the mattress like a deranged koala.

But we’re… taking it easy.

Doctor’s orders.

And he’s actually following them.

Two, almost three days with no sex.

Honestly, it should be listed as a medical miracle.

Tonight, after dinner and one of his Very Strict Nutritional Lectures™ about “protein balance,” we settle into bed. He sits against the headboard, reading something on his tablet, one arm automatically curling around me as soon as I scoot close.

I didn’t even have to ask.

I tuck myself against his side, head on his shoulder, my hand resting lightly on the cotton of his shirt. His heartbeat thumps steadily under my cheek. He smells like soap and peppermint tea, and also… him.

My eyelids flutter.

“Sleepy?” he murmurs without looking away from the screen.

“No,” I lie, because I’m stubborn.

His fingers trace idle circles on my arm. “Hmm. You’re blinking like you lost the instruction manual.”

I pinch his ribs weakly. “Shut up.”

He smirks — I feel it before I see it. “You know, if you’d just admit you’re exhausted, I’d hold you properly.”

“I’m already being held properly,” I mumble into his shoulder.

That makes him still.

Then he turns off the tablet, sets it aside, and shifts down in the bed so he can lie flat, guiding me with him. He pulls the blanket over us and positions me right on his chest, arm around my waist, cheek against his warm skin.

No hesitation.

No teasing.

Just… holding me like it’s the most natural thing he’s ever done.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“You know,” he says softly, fingers brushing my back, “I’m proud of you.”

My breath catches. “For what?”

“For letting yourself be taken care of,” he answers simply. “For staying here. For not pretending you’re fine when you’re not. For letting me… be here with you.”

God.

I don’t cry.

But I come close.

His other hand slides into my hair, gentle, slow. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

I mumble something — I think it’s “I love you,” but it comes out like a tired croak.

He chuckles. “You can tell me again when you’re awake.”

I shift, finding that perfect spot on his chest, his heartbeat loud and steady under my ear. My legs tangle with his. His thumb strokes the curve of my hip in these lazy, soft sweeps.

Warm.

Safe.

Full.

This isn’t sex.

This is… something deeper.

Something that feels like we’re already a family and the baby isn’t even the size of a blueberry yet.

Just before I drift off, he whispers, voice low and amused,

“Three days without touching you is torture, you know.”

My lips curl sleepily. “Doctor’s orders.”

He groans dramatically. “He’s enjoying this.”

I laugh — a weak, sleepy puff — and he tightens his hold just a little.

I fall asleep there, wrapped around him, feeling his chest rise and fall under me…

And for the first time in weeks, I don’t dream of anything bad.

Just him.

Just us.

Just home.

I should have known he wouldn’t last.

Three days of “taking it slow” for medical reasons, two nights of sleeping wrapped around each other like we’d forgotten how to breathe separately, and Elias pretending he was totally fine with it?

Yeah. No way.

Tonight, though… tonight feels different. He’s been hovering all evening — cutting my fruit, checking my water bottle, kissing my forehead every ten minutes like he thought I’d crack open if he stopped.

But now, in the dim light of his bedroom, with his fingers laced with mine and his eyes tracing over my face as if he were memorizing me all over again… something in him softens.

And something in me melts.

“Come here,” he murmurs, voice low, chest warming my back as he pulls me closer.

He isn’t rushing.

He isn’t pinning me, flipping me, eating me alive the second we touch — which is usually our routine.

No, tonight he kisses me slowly. Carefully. Almost shy.

It undoes me more than any roughness ever has.

His lips brush mine once. Twice. Three times. Like he’s tasting the moment, not just me. His thumb strokes the side of my jaw, and when he deepens the kiss, it’s with a gentleness that makes my throat tighten.

“Elias…” I breathe, overwhelmed and aching.

He smiles against my lips, that wicked, dangerous curve softened by something warm. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m being light. Isn’t this what your doctor ordered?”

“Yes, but you don’t usually obey medical instructions,” I tease.

He huffs a laugh. “I’m making an exception. For you. For our baby.”

My heart… God. It actually hurts.

His hand slides under my shirt — not grabbing, not claiming, just stroking. Slow circles. Warm palm. Reverent.

I’ve never seen him like this.

And I’ve never wanted him more.

When he finally undresses me, he does it like he’s unwrapping something precious. No hurry. No impatience. Every inch of exposed skin gets a kiss, a whispered curse, or a breathless “beautiful…”

He’s killing me softly.

Elias lies beside me instead of over me, one hand supporting my hip, the other cupping my cheek. Our foreheads touch. His eyes stay on mine.

“You tell me if anything feels off,” he murmurs. “Anything at all.”

I nod, lips trembling — not from fear, but from how safe I suddenly feel.

He pushes into me slowly, inch by careful inch, and the gentleness makes my whole body shiver. He’s never been afraid to set a pace, to take control, to ruin me — but right now?

Right now he’s giving me the choice.

The space.

The tenderness.

And it turns me inside out.

“Still okay?” he whispers, voice thick, breath uneven.

I nod again, burying my face in his neck as tears sting my eyes from the overwhelming mix of pleasure and emotion. “Yes. More. Please.”

He kisses my temple, then moves — slow, deep, rhythmic. Every thrust deliberate. Every sound he makes hushed and intimate, like the room isn’t big enough to hold the way he feels.

His forehead drops to mine.

His nose brushes my cheek.

His fingers thread with mine.

And he whispers things he’s never said during sex before.

“Love you.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I break first — with a quiet, choked moan and my whole body trembling as pleasure rolls through me like a warm wave instead of a wildfire.

Elias follows seconds later, stifling his groan against my shoulder, pulling me impossibly close as if he could pour every last emotion into the way he holds me.

When it’s over, he doesn’t move.

He stays inside me, arms wrapped tight around me, breathing like he’s finally found a place to land.

After a long moment, he lifts his head and kisses my forehead.

“So?” he murmurs, smirking softly. “Light enough?”

I laugh — breathless, still shaking, deeply in love. “Light for you. Which means absolutely devastating for me.”

His smirk deepens. “Good.”

He kisses me again — sweet, slow, full of everything we never said before.

Soft.

Safe.

Together.

Our real beginning.

Chapter 41

POV: Nora

If someone had told me months ago that I’d be sitting on an exam table four months pregnant with a Falkner baby and Ava and Liam acting like my personal medical entourage, I would’ve laughed in their face.

Now?

Now I’m trying not to breathe too hard because my baby is apparently practicing kickboxing against my ribs.

Ava is beside the ultrasound machine, tapping the screen like she’s defusing a bomb.

Liam is holding a tablet and nodding like a proud golden retriever doctor.

And Elias—

My God.

Elias looks like he’s about to pull a fire alarm just to clear the building for “safety protocol.”

“Baby, sit,” I tell him for the tenth time.

“I am sitting,” he says.

He is absolutely not sitting.

He’s hovering behind me, hands on my shoulders, breathing down my neck like a worried dragon.

Liam clears his throat. “Alright, ready to see the little one?”

My heart flips. “Yes.”

Ava gels up my belly with freezing goo. I hiss, and Elias growls, “Is that necessary?”

“Dad,” Ava deadpans. “She survived being kidnapped. She can survive cold gel.”

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like still unnecessary.

Then the image appears.

A blob at first.

Then shapes.

Tiny limbs.

A beating heart pulsing like a miracle.

My throat closes.

Ava smiles at me. “Okay… ready to know?”

Elias squeezes my shoulder. “If you want to,” he murmurs. “Only if you want to.”

I nod.

Ava zooms in, taps a little area, and grins.

“It’s a boy.”

A boy.

A boy.

My vision blurs instantly.

Elias goes rigid behind me.

Liam chuckles under his breath. “There it is.”

“There what is?” I ask.

“The moment he short-circuits,” Liam says.

Ava snorts. “He’s been praying for this.”

Elias finally finds words.

“A boy,” he whispers like it’s holy. His hand finds my belly, cups it gently. “A son.”

I swear his eyes actually shine.

And then—because he is Elias Falkner and cannot help himself:

“I should start thinking about military academies.”

“HE’S THE SIZE OF A PEACH LAST MONTH,” I say.

“Still important to be prepared,” he mutters.

Ava throws her head back. “Oh my God, Dad, breathe.”

“He’ll need structure.”

“HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE BONES FULLY FORMED.”

“He’ll have discipline.”

“He doesn’t even have a name,” I remind him.

Liam clears his throat. “Speaking of names…”

I inhale, wipe my cheeks.

“My dad’s name,” I whisper. “Arthur.”

Silence.

Elias’ hand tightens around mine.

“Arthur,” he repeats softly, reverently. “Yes. Yes… that’s perfect.”

Ava’s eyes go watery. “I love it.”

Liam smiles. “Strong name.”

And suddenly it’s real.

Arthur.

Our boy.

Our son.

---

I always imagined labor would be dramatic.

Pain. Screaming. Movie chaos.

I was right about the chaos part.

Because Elias is the chaos.

The General called monster is the chaos.

“I’m timing the contractions,” he says, pacing the bedroom like a soldier waiting for deployment. “Four minutes apart. Exactly four. Liam said call at five. We’re calling.”

“Elias,” I say through a contraction, “if you call Liam one more time he will revoke your visitation rights.”

He ignores me and calls Liam.

Ava arrives first.

She bursts through the doorway holding a backpack and a coffee.

“Is she dying?”

“No!” I say.

“Maybe,” Elias says at the same time.

“DAD.”

“WHAT? SHE’S IN PAIN.”

I swear labor might kill me but this man will finish the job.

Another contraction hits.

I squeeze Elias’ hand.

He flinches.

“HOLY— baby— are you trying to break my bones?”

I growl. “YOU DID THIS TO ME.”

Ava laughs so hard she snorts.

Everything is a blur.

Liam arrives like a calm, competent angel.

“Alright, Nora, let’s get you checked.”

Elias is glued to my side, jaw locked, hand firm in mine.

Every time I wince, he curses under his breath.

Every time I breathe hard, he whispers, “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

At one point I cry—full-on cry—and he pulls my face to his chest.

“You’re doing perfect,” he murmurs. “I’m here. I’m not leaving. Ever.”

Ava wipes my forehead.

“Breathe, Nor. I got you.”

Family.

All around me.

Holding me together.

When it’s time to push, Elias turns into some half-military-half-prayering hybrid.

“Okay— okay— baby— you’ve got this— you’re stronger than anyone I know— you can do anything— holy shit— Liam is that normal?”

“Dad STOP,” Ava yells.

“I’M CHECKING.”

I scream into his hand.

He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my hairline, anywhere he can reach.

“That’s it— good— you’re incredible— come on, Arthur— come on—”

And then—

A cry.

Sharp.

Beautiful.

Unreal.

My son’s cry.

Arthur.

I collapse back against the pillows, sobbing.

Elias freezes.

Not moving.

Not breathing.

Liam places the baby on my chest.

And Elias breaks.

Completely.

He sinks to his knees beside us, hands trembling as he touches Arthur’s tiny head.

“Hi,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Hi, buddy. I’m your dad.”

Tears fall onto the sheets.

Ava cries into Liam’s shoulder.

Arthur curls against my skin, warm and small and perfect.

I look at Elias.

He looks at us like he’s witnessing a miracle.

And maybe he is.

---

I used to think the hardest thing I’d ever do was finish my field certification and not get myself killed in the process.

Turns out the real challenge is wrangling a toddler Falkner with my DNA and Elias’ everything else.

Arthur is a storm in sneakers.

Soft curls, pudgy hands, a laugh that melts every bone in my body — and a stubborn streak that could level buildings.

I stayed home the whole first year, completely obsessed with every sneeze, every wobbly step.

But eventually the profiler division called me back, and I missed it — the adrenaline, the puzzles, the team.

Now I split my week between work and the little chaos gremlin currently climbing the couch like he’s training for Everest.

“Arthur,” I warn him, one hand on my hip, the other holding his discarded stuffed dragon for the fiftieth time. “You know you’re not supposed to—”

He looks me dead in the eye and jumps.

Straight into my arms, laughing like he owns me.

And the worst part?

He does.

“Your son is reckless,” I call toward the hallway.

Elias appears, shirt half buttoned, hair damp from the shower, looking like temptation built in a lab.

“He’s adventurous,” he corrects, scooping Arthur from my arms like it’s nothing. “He takes after me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He smirks. “You didn’t seem to think it was unfortunate last night.”

“ELIAS.”

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence and failing spectacularly. “I’m just saying you were—”

“Don’t finish that sentence in front of our toddler.”

Arthur babbles something that sounds suspiciously like “again,” and I nearly choke.

“See?” Elias murmurs, kissing my temple, “he’s already brilliant.”

I roll my eyes so hard it physically hurts.

A knock lands on the door — two fast taps, one slow.

Ava.

Their signature Falkner family-knock, because they’re incapable of behaving like normal people.

She steps inside without waiting, scooping Arthur into her arms before she even says hello. Liam follows, armed with snacks, emergency wipes, and a paternal fondness he tries very hard to pretend he doesn’t have.

“Hi, baby!” Ava coos, already spinning Arthur around until he squeals. “Are you ready for Auntie Ava and Uncle Liam’s weekend of questionable choices?”

Liam sighs. “We talked about phrasing.”

“Right, right. Educational bonding time,” she says. Then winks at me.

Arthur is already hugging her neck like he’s been rescued from a war zone.

Traitor.

“You packed the bag?” Liam asks.

“I did,” I say.

“You triple-checked for snacks?” he asks Elias, because apparently I am not trusted.

“I quadruple-checked,” Elias answers.

Ava snorts. “Dad of the year. Again.”

Elias pretends he’s immune to compliments, but his chest puffs out like a smug bear.

They leave with Arthur — literally five seconds and our living room is quiet.

Too quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

Then I feel Elias’ hands at my hips.

Slow.

Purposeful.

Possessive.

“Finally,” he murmurs against my neck.

“Elias,” I warn, though my skin shivers instantly. “We have— a whole afternoon— I should— I don’t know, do laundry—”

He turns me gently, pinning my lower back against the counter, eyes dark and unbearably familiar.

“You can do laundry later,” he says. “Or tomorrow. Or never. I don’t care.”

I try to breathe normally.

I fail.

He traces a slow line from my waist to my ribs, not shy, not eager—just patient.

Dangerously patient.

“You’ve been running around all week,” he says. “Working. Raising Arthur. Carrying half the world on your shoulders.”

His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, sending a pulse straight through me.

“Let me take care of you for a while.”

I swear my spine melts.

“That tone,” I mutter, “should be illegal.”

His grin is wicked. “You love that tone.”

“Maybe.”

“You do.”

He leans in, lips grazing mine—but barely, maddeningly barely.

That teasing tension that’s always been ours, sparking like a fuse about to hit a detonator.

His mouth grazes my jaw, his breath warm.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, low and dangerous, “how hard it was not to drag you upstairs every second?”

I laugh, breathless.

“I didn’t do anything.”

He lifts an eyebrow, like I’ve personally offended him with that lie.

“You walked around our house,” he says, fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt, “with that outfit. And you kept pretending you didn’t know I was watching.”

His voice drops even lower.

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Old shorts and a t-shirt?” I raise a brow.

“My t-shirt, Nora. My fucking t-shirt that looks perfect on you. You know what it does to me.”

God, I do.

And I love every second.

Before I can tease him back, he leans in and catches my bottom lip between his teeth—gentle but claiming—and something inside me melts instantly.

We always make time for each other, even as parents… but these moments alone?

God, they feel decadent.

He pulls back, eyes dark.

“Upstairs. Now.”

My legs move before my brain does.

But I don’t even reach the bedroom—halfway down the hall, he hooks an arm around my waist and tosses me onto the couch like I weigh nothing. My breath leaves me in a sharp rush.

“Stay right there.”

His voice thickens.

“Legs open. Hands where I can see them.”

I obey—instantly, embarrassingly fast—and his mouth curves in that wicked smile that ruins me every time.

“Good girl.”

Heat floods my cheeks.

He kneels between my thighs, slow, deliberate, like he’s preparing for something sacred. His hands trace the inside of my legs, barely touching, just enough to make me tremble.

“Elias…” I breathe.

“Quiet.”

His tone sharpens, but it’s warm underneath.

“You’ll get what you want, sweetheart. But you get it on my rhythm.”

My pulse stutters.

His rhythm is torture.

Perfect torture.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and pulls them—and my panties—off in one smooth movement, dropping them to the floor. His gaze drags over me, slow, possessive, hungry.

“Look at me,” he says.

I do.

I always do.

Then he leans in and puts his mouth on me.

I swear I stop breathing.

He starts slow—teasing strokes of his tongue, soft pressure, pulling back every time I try to chase more. His hands slide under my hips, holding me still when I squirm.

“Already shaking?” he murmurs against me, his voice vibrating through my body.

“You’re going to fall apart for me, and you know it.”

“Elias—please—”

His grip tightens.

“Not yet.”

He goes deeper. Harder. His mouth seals over me and I gasp so loud the neighbors probably hear it. His tongue moves with that impossible precision he always has—like he knows exactly how I’m wired.

My hands clench the couch cushions. My legs tremble.

And then he slides two fingers inside me, and my vision blurs.

“Elias—”

He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes.

“Not without my permission.”

I’m gone.

Utterly gone.

When he takes me into his mouth again, I’m already on the edge, and he knows it. He growls—actually growls—and the sound sends heat flooding through me.

“Now, sweetheart,” he orders, voice dark and commanding.

“Come for me.”

And I break.

The orgasm slams into me.

My body arches, my breath shatters, and his hands hold me through every second of it. He keeps his mouth on me until the last wave hits, until I’m shaking, boneless, ruined.

When he finally pulls back, he wipes his mouth with his thumb and laughs softly.

“I’ve waited all day to taste you.”

I’m still trying to breathe when he leans over me, caging me with his arms. His smile is pure arrogance. Pure Elias.

“You think we’re done?”

I can barely speak.

“I… thought—”

He pulls off my shirt first, then his, then his pants and boxers in one impatient movement.

He grabs my waist, flips me onto my stomach with effortless military precision, and pulls my hips up against him. My breath stutters.

I’m on all fours for him.

“Sweetheart,” he says in my ear, “that was just to make sure you’re ready for me.”

I feel him press against me—hard and exactly where I want him.

My whole body sparks.

“Elias—”

“Tell me you want it.”

I don’t even hesitate.

“I want you.”

His hand slides into my hair, gentle but commanding, guiding my back against his chest.

“That’s my girl.”

He positions us at the perfect angle.

Then he pushes into me.

The stretch steals my breath.

He fills me slowly, deeply, deliberately, watching every reaction. My fingers dig into the couch as a moan tears out of me.

He holds me there—not moving—just letting me feel him.

“God,” he breathes against my ear, “you’re still perfect for me. Every. Damn. Time.”

When he starts moving, it’s slow at first—controlled—but the tension in his body is unmistakable. Years together, and he still holds me like he’s obsessed.

His hand slides to my hip and grips hard.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “My fucking perfection.”

The words punch straight through me.

He thrusts deeper.

My vision blurs.

“Elias—”

“Say my name again.”

“Elias—”

“Louder.”

“Elias—!”

I fall apart a second time—harder, deeper—my body clenching so sharply he curses into my shoulder and pulls me tighter.

He thrusts through it, riding every tremor until I collapse forward, shaking.

And then he buries himself in me with one final, deep, perfect thrust and goes still, breath hot against my skin, hand locked on my waist, his whole body pressed to mine.

He doesn’t move for a long moment.

Just breathes.

Just holds me.

When he finally lifts his head, he kisses the back of my neck.

“I told you,” he murmurs. “I’m always going to take care of you.”

I smile into the couch.

“You’re terrible at being gentle.”

He laughs, low and pleased.

“I was gentle.”

He kisses my shoulder.

“That was my gentle.”

God help me—I believe him.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I fucking love you,” he answers against my skin.

Chapter 42

POV: Nora

EPILOGUE

Arthur is five years old and currently running through the backyard wearing nothing but one sock and a superhero cape Ava bought him.

Elias stands at the porch, hands on his hips, pretending he’s not two seconds from going full military drill-sergeant on our chaotic toddler.

“Arthur,” he calls, voice firm but amused, “come here. Now.”

Arthur shrieks with laughter, does the opposite, and sprints straight into the grass.

I lean on the doorframe, belly hurting from how much I’m laughing.

“Your genetic copy,” I tell Elias. “One hundred percent you.”

He gives me that look—the one that says don’t even start—but he can’t hide his smile.

“Sweetheart, I was never this feral.”

“Elias, Ava told me you set a neighbor’s mailbox on fire when you were five.”

He opens his mouth. Pauses.

“…Okay. Maybe a little feral.”

Arthur trips on the cape, rolls, pops back up, and announces proudly, “I FLYING!”

“Sure, buddy,” I say. “You’re terrifying but adorable.”

Elias walks to him, scoops him up effortlessly. Arthur giggles and wraps his arms around his father’s neck. And God… nothing on earth hits me like that sight.

Not even the sex.

(…Okay, maybe tied.)

I go to them, brushing my fingers through Arthur’s curls.

He lays his cheek on Elias’s shoulder. Pure sunshine, warm and heavy and safe.

“My boys,” I whisper.

Elias kisses the top of Arthur’s head, then mine.

“My whole world.”

And that simple sentence melts something in my chest every single time.

The sliding door opens.

Ava and Liam walk in, holding a tiny box between them like it contains nuclear codes.

“Okay,” Ava says, eyes bright and slightly teary. “We have news.”

Arthur wiggles out of Elias’s arms and runs to them. “Ava! Liam! Look! I cape!”

“You do,” Ava says, kneeling so he can barrel into her. “Very heroic.”

“We have news,” Liam echoes, slightly more calmly, but he’s clearly vibrating.

Elias lifts an eyebrow. “Good news or ‘someone broke a bone’ news?”

“Good news,” Ava says, then shoots me a look that’s so full it makes my throat warm.

She opens the little box.

Inside is a tiny white onesie that says:

NEW INTERN — ARRIVING SOON

My hand flies to my mouth.

“Oh my God.”

Ava nods, tears forming instantly.

“Yes. We’re pregnant. We are having a baby.”

Arthur gasps dramatically and pats her stomach like he’s checking for physical evidence.

“Baby?”

Liam laughs, looking like he just won every award on the planet. “Yes, buddy. A baby.”

Elias takes a long breath.

It’s soft.

And a little shaky.

The kind of exhale he only does when his heart gets too full.

He puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

“I’m happy for you. Really happy.”

Then he looks at Ava. Softer.

“You’ll be an incredible mother.”

Ava tries to hold it in. Fails.

Throws her arms around her father.

“I learned from the best.”

My heart just… dissolves.

She hugs me next, gripping tight. “You knew, right? You felt it?”

“I suspected,” I laugh. “My job is literally read people, and…You’ve been glowing.”

“I thought it was the moisturizer,” she mutters, wiping her eyes.

Liam wraps his arms around both of us, and for a moment it’s just pure family chaos and warmth and love.

Messy. Noisy. Perfect.

Arthur squeezes into the hug pile, yelling, “ME TOO! ME TOO!”

“You too,” I say, picking him up. “You’re the luckiest big cousin in the world. Or…” I pause, brow scrunching. “Wait. Ava is your big sister, so technically this baby will be your niece or nephew.”

Elias lets out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Okay, sweetheart, I think we’ve officially broken the normal family structure. Age-wise, this makes no sense.”

We all crack up.

Our family tree looks like someone drew it after three glasses of wine, but it’s ours — messy, weird, stitched together in the most unconventional way.

And honestly?

It’s perfect.

Arthur rests his head on my shoulder, suddenly sleepy and soft in that toddler way that feels like a tiny miracle.

Elias touches my back lightly, thumb brushing my spine.

A quiet, private gesture that still makes heat curl low in my stomach even after all these years.

“You okay?” he murmurs in my ear.

I look at him—my partner, my chaos, my safe place—and nod.

“I’m perfect.”

Ava and Liam start talking about due dates and baby names, Arthur babbles about capes and flying, and the sunset floods the backyard with gold.

I lean into Elias’s side.

His arm slides around my waist automatically.

And for a moment, I get to breathe in everything I never thought I’d have:

A son.

A family.

A man who loves me like a certainty.

A future I didn’t dare dream.

Elias kisses the side of my head.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, “this is just the beginning.”

I smile, closing my eyes for one long, blissful second.

“I know.”

And I believe it.