[Serena’s POV]
I'm on my third coffee and second panic spiral when my doorbell rings.
Maya freezes mid-sentence, her laptop balanced on my coffee table between spreadsheets we're pretending are a plan on how to deal with Caspian. So far—it’s empty. "Are you expecting someone?"
"No." But my stomach already knows. Some part of me has been waiting for this since I walked away yesterday with Aria's blood on my blouse.
I move to the door, check the peephole, and there he is.
Caspian Rothwell, standing in my hallway like he belongs there. Tie loosened, hair disheveled, eyes shadowed with the kind of sleeplessness I recognize because I saw it in my mirror this morning.
"Don't open it," Maya whispers behind me.
But my hand is already on the lock. Because avoiding him yesterday bought me twenty-four hours, and we both know I can't hide forever.
I open the door six inches. Enough to talk, not enough to invite.
"We need to discuss—"
"No." The word comes out harder than I intend. "We don't."
His jaw tightens. "Serena—"
"You can't just show up at my home uninvited."
"You weren't at the office. You're not answering emails." Something raw flashes across his face. "What was I supposed to do?"
"Respect boundaries?" I'm gripping the doorframe so hard my knuckles ache. "Accept that you don't get to demand answers just because—"
“Because I’m her father?” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “Say it, Serena. We both know it’s true.”
The words hang like a blade.
“Biology doesn’t make you a parent,” I say, voice trembling. “Showing up does. Six years of fevers, nightmares, scraped knees—that’s what makes a father. Not DNA.”
“I would’ve been there,” he snaps. “If you’d told me—”
“You left!” The words rip out. “You walked out before dawn. No note, no word—just that stupid medallion you didn’t even know you’d lost!”
“I was twenty-three and terrified!” His control cracks. “I’d just slept with the one person who made me feel alive, and I didn’t know how to—” He breaks off, dragging a hand through his hair. “I messed up, I know. But you won’t even let me—”
“To what? Fix six years? Walk into her life like you have a right—”
“I have every right!” His voice echoes. “She’s my daughter!”
“She’s my daughter.” I step closer, forcing him to meet my eyes. “I held her when she was born. I taught her to read. I stayed up worrying while you were off building your empire—”
“An empire I’d have built differently if I’d known.” His voice cracks. “You think I wanted to miss those years?”
“Wouldn’t have what?” I shake, anger and exhaustion spilling over. “Felt trapped? Stayed out of guilt instead of—”
I stop. Love is too dangerous to say.
“I want a paternity test.”
The words hit like ice water—cold, clinical, everything I’ve feared.
“No.”
“Serena—”
“You don’t get to show up and claim her because biology says you donated DNA.” My voice is steel over panic. “You don’t get to turn my daughter into a legal case.”
“Our daughter.” He steps closer, that familiar cologne breaking my focus. “I’m not taking her from you. I just want—”
“What? Custody? Visitation?” Fear hardens to anger. “You have lawyers and money. I know how this ends—you’ll take her from me piece by piece until—”
“I’m trying to do the right thing!”
“The right thing was seven years ago!” I’m shouting now. “The right thing was staying!”
“I didn’t know!” His voice cracks. “You didn’t tell me, so we’re both—”
“I didn’t know it was you!” The words rip free. “I spent months trying to figure it out with nothing but a medallion and half-memories of—”
I stop. I can’t finish. Can’t admit how many nights I traced that medallion, wondering about the man behind it.
"When I finally figured it out," I continue, my voice dropping, "when I saw you again and realized—do you know what my first thought was? That she was better off not knowing."
The words hit him like a physical blow. I watch him flinch, watch something crumble behind his eyes.
"Because of who I am." Not a question. A realization that cuts.
"Because of what we are." The truth sits heavy between us. "We've been enemies since we were eighteen. We can't be in the same room without tearing each other apart. How do you think co-parenting works when we—"
"Maybe we figure it out." His voice is rough. "For her."
"By starting with lawyers and paternity tests?" I laugh, bitter. "That's your idea of figuring it out?"
"I need proof, Serena. Not because I don't believe you—" He stops, and something vulnerable crosses his face. "I need it to be real. To be official. So I can—"
"So you can what? Put her in your will? Add her to your insurance?" The cynicism is armor against the way his expression is cracking. "Make her another Rothwell obligation?"
"So I can be her father!" The words explode out of him. "So I can exist in her life as something more than Mr. Serious Boss Man who sometimes gives her cookies—"
"Mommy?"
We both freeze.
Aria's voice comes from inside the apartment, small and uncertain. "Who are you talking to?"
My heart stops. I turn to find her standing in the hallway, holding Mr. Whiskers—the stuffed cat she only carries when she's anxious.
"No one, baby. Just a work call."
But she's already moving toward the door, and I can't stop her without making it worse. She peers around my legs, and her face lights up when she sees Caspian.
"Hi, Mr, Serious Boss! Did you come to visit?" Then her expression shifts, that unnerving perceptiveness that misses nothing. "Why do you look sad?"
Caspian's entire demeanor changes. The anger, the frustration—it all drains away, replaced by something so gentle it makes my chest ache.
He crouches down, bringing himself to her level even though there's a door between them.
"Hi, Aria. I'm okay. Just talking about grown-up stuff with your mom."
"Boring stuff?" She's studying him with those grey eyes—his eyes.
"Very boring." His smile is real, but I can see the grief underneath it. The weight of six missed years. "You should go back to what you were doing. I'm sure it's more fun than this."
She looks between us, her small face serious. "Are you fighting? You look like you're fighting."
"No, sweetheart." I crouch beside her, pull her close. "Mr. Rothwell just had to talk to me about work. But he's leaving now."
It's a dismissal. Clear and final.
Caspian stands slowly, his eyes never leaving Aria. Drinking in every detail like he's trying to memorize her.
"See you later, Aria the Terrible."
"Bye, Mr. Serious Boss." She waves, then tugs my hand. "Can I have a snack?"
"Of course, baby. Go ask Aunt Maya—she'll get you something."
Aria disappears back into the apartment, and I'm left alone with Caspian again. The moment she's gone, his mask slips.
"This isn't over." His voice is quiet. Determined. "I'm going to be in her life, Serena. With or without your permission. With or without a paternity test. Because that little girl in there—" His voice cracks. "She's mine. And I've already missed too much."
"Then you should have thought about that before you left." The words are cruel and I know it, but fear makes me vicious. "Before you walked away without looking back."
"I'm looking now." He holds my gaze, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. "And I'm not walking away again."
He turns and, ironically, walks down the hallway, his shoulders rigid with frustration and grief. I watch him go, my hand trembling on the doorframe.
From the hall window, Aria’s voice drifts in: “Mommy, why does Mr. Serious Boss look so sad?”
I close the door, lean against it, and feel everything I’ve built start to crack.
Maya appears, expression grave. “That went well.”
“Shut up.” No bite behind it.
“He’s not wrong,” she says softly. “About being her father.”
“I know.” The words taste like defeat. “That’s what terrifies me.”