[Serena’s POV]
The office during “family week” has been transformed into a carnival nightmare.
Children shrieking through hallways that should contain quarterly reports. Face paint smeared on executive leather chairs. And even a fucking petting zoo bleating in what was, until this morning, a conference room.
I'm hiding near the beverage station, clutching sparkling cider like it might save me, when I spot them.
Caspian and Aria. Together at the dessert table.
It's apparently become a thing over the past few weeks while I was forced to take her to my office another several times. This strange friendship that makes my chest constrict every time I witness it.
She critiques his tie choices with the brutal honesty only six-year-olds possess. He teases her about stealing cookies from his office.
They even have inside jokes I'm not part of, easy rapport that shouldn't exist but does.
Watching them together feels like drowning in slow motion.
"You're old," Aria announces, loud enough for half the room to hear. "Why don't you have kids?"
My heart stops. Actually stops, blood frozen in my veins.
Caspian laughs, but there's something careful in it. "I'm only thirty. That's not old."
"It's ancient." She's completely serious. "You should probably hurry up. Oh, maybe you could adopt me and move in? Then Mommy wouldn't cry at night anymore!"
The world holds its breath sideways and I see a few conversations in our vicinity die.
I watch Caspian's hand freeze halfway to his coffee cup. Watch the smile drain from his face as he processes what she just said, with the innocence of someone who doesn't understand the grenade she just detonated.
Aria skips away, oblivious, leaving us in silence so thick it feels like choking.
I should move. Should intercept this before it becomes something I can't contain. But my legs won't work, my body locked in place as Caspian turns toward me with an expression I can't read.
He walks over with deliberate slowness. Methodical. Like he's approaching something dangerous that might bolt.
"She's brilliant," he says finally, stirring his drink with precision that betrays nothing. "February baby, right? Winter birthdays are tough for kids."
His tone is too casual. Too studied. Every word chosen with the same care he uses in hostile negotiations.
My mouth goes dry. "Yes."
"February." He's still stirring, not looking at me. "That would make her conception… April? May?"
"May." My voice cracks on the word, before my brain can catch up. "I mean—"
"So May." He sets down his cup with infinite care. "Graduation was in May. I remember. You wore that black dress. Everyone was so drunk on that cheap champagne."
Oh god. Oh god, he knows. "Cas—"
"What was he like?" His voice has gone silk over steel, every word precisely weighted. "Aria's father. Tall? Pretty? Some gym bro you met at a party, perhaps?"
"Why does that matter…"
"Maybe he was from your college?" He's moving closer now, each step deliberate. "Someone you knew well? A friend?”
He pauses, and I watch something predatory slide across his features when my back hits the wall. I didn't realize I was retreating until there's nowhere left to go.
"Or maybe," his voice drops lower, intimate enough that only I can hear, "it was someone you didn't know well. One night."
I try to move past him, to escape this corner he's backed me into, but his hand catches my wrist. Not hard. Not restraining. Just enough to stop me.
"Come with me." It's not a request.
He pulls me into an empty hallway, away from the chaos, away from witnesses.
The door closes behind us, and suddenly we're alone in a space that feels too small, the air compressed with everything unspoken. He releases my wrist only to brace both hands on either side of my head, caging me against the wall.
Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of him. Smell that cologne that triggers memories I've tried to bury.
“May. The graduation night, the champagne, the way you were drunk out of your mind,” I want to punch him, to make him shut up. But I’m frozen. Terrified. “And you stumbled into Jason’s room. With me.”
My breath catches in my throat. I don’t want to talk about it, don’t want to acknowledge, don’t want to remember. But he doesn’t ask permission.
“And the next morning… we went our separate ways. Except—you knew something very important, Vale. Something that you decided not to tell me about. Didn’t you?”
My breathing has gone shallow, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
"Say it, Serena. Say it out loud."
"I don't—"
"Say it!"
The words rip out of me like something bleeding. "I didn't know. I didn't know it was you!"
Something in his expression cracks. Surprise, maybe. Or disbelief.
"I woke up alone," I continue, and now that I've started I can't stop. "Just this stupid medallion tangled in the sheets. I was drunk and stupid and I woke up to nothing except proof that it wasn't a dream!"
My voice breaks. "Two months later I found out I was pregnant. I had the medallion and no way to find you. No way to tell you that you had a—"
I can't finish. Can't say the word ‘daughter’ while he's looking at me like I've just confirmed something that changes everything.
"You didn't know?" It's not a question. He's processing, calculating, that brilliant mind working through implications. "All this time…"
"Not until the medallion. Not until you held it and I remembered…" The memory hits fresh, how fragments were clicking together into something devastating. "You left before I woke up."
We're both breathing hard, staring at each other across seven years of consequences and choices and a daughter who exists in the space between us.
"Mommy!"
We both turn to see Aria running down the hallway, her face streaked with blood from her nose, tears streaming. Maternal instinct overrides everything.
I'm moving before conscious thought, reaching for her, but Aria doesn't just reach for me. She reaches for Caspian too.
"Is my nose broken?" She's sobbing, scared in a way I rarely see her. "It hurts really bad and there's so much blood…"
Caspian drops to his knees immediately. His hands gentle on her face, tilting her head back with the kind of competence that suggests he knows exactly what he's doing.
"You're okay, brave girl. It's not broken, I promise." His voice is steady, soothing. "Noses bleed a lot but it looks worse than it is. You're the bravest princess I've ever seen."
Aria's crying subsides slightly. "Really?"
"Really. Want me to come with you to the bathroom? We'll get you cleaned up."
He's already moving to pick her up when I intervene, scooping Aria into my arms with more force than necessary. Putting my body between them.
"Mr. Rothwell is very busy with important boss things." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "He can't come with us."
"But Mommy—"
"I've got you, baby. We're fine."
I start walking, Aria's blood dripping onto my blouse, my arms tight around her small body. Around our daughter. Mine.
"This conversation isn't over, Serena." His voice carries down the hallway, low and dangerous. "Not even close."
The promise in his tone makes my steps falter. Makes something in my chest constrict with fear and something else I refuse to name.
I keep walking. Keep running, the way I always do.
But I can feel his eyes on me until I turn the corner, and I know—with absolute certainty—that everything has just irrevocably changed.