Bellamy’s POV
I hear Amelia's cries escalating from my post downstairs. Not the usual fussing—the irritated "I'm hungry" or "I'm tired" sounds I've learned to distinguish over the past weeks.
This is sustained screaming, the kind that tells me she's been crying for too long, that something is wrong beyond normal infant discomfort.
I take the stairs quickly, following the sound to the nursery. My training kicks in automatically—assess the situation, identify the threat, neutralize it.
Except the threat here isn't external. It's the two people who are supposed to be caring for this child.
Sophie stands by the changing table holding a wailing Amelia, face blotchy from tears. Adrian fills the doorway, jaw clenched, radiating barely controlled fury. The air between them feels combustible.
"How long has she been crying?" I ask, moving into the nursery.
Sophie's head snaps up. "I don't… Fifteen minutes? Twenty? I can't—" Her voice breaks. "She won't stop."
Adrian doesn't move from the doorway. Neither does he offer to help. He just watches with that cold, detached expression I've seen him use in negotiations.
"Let me see her." I step closer to Sophie.
"I can handle—" Sophie starts, but Amelia's screaming intensifies. "Okay. The pacifiers are up there, but I can't reach them and hold her at the same time."
I glance at the high shelf she's gesturing toward. "I've got you. Reach."
Sophie stretches upward on her toes, and I move behind her instinctively. My hands settle on her waist to steady her—just support, just practical, but the moment I touch her, something shifts.
I can feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her shirt—she's not wearing much, probably got dressed hastily after whatever confrontation just happened. The slight tremor running through her body transfers to my palms. She's shaking, whether from exhaustion or emotion or both.
Sophie gets the pacifier box, fingers closing around it with visible relief. Then instead of stepping away, putting distance between us like she should, she turns.
Pivots in my arms so suddenly we're face to face, too close, Amelia between us the only barrier preventing our bodies from pressing together completely.
Her eyes are still wet, tears clinging to her lashes. Lips parted slightly, breath coming too fast. My hands are still on her waist, thumbs resting against her ribcage just below her breasts.
I should move them. Should step back. Should remember every rule I've set for myself about maintaining professional distance.
But I don't move. Neither of us does. I'm acutely aware of every point of contact.
The way she fits against my hands like her body was designed for them. The small sound she makes—not quite a gasp, not quite a sigh—when my thumb accidentally brushes the underside of her breast.
My gaze drops to her mouth. I can't help it. Can't stop myself from looking at her lips and thinking about what they'd taste like, how they'd feel against mine, whether she'd make that same small sound if I kissed her the way I've been imagining for weeks.
Sophie's pupils dilate in response. I watch it happen—the black expanding, swallowing the blue-green I've memorized in unguarded moments.
Her breathing shifts, becomes shallower. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip in a gesture that's either unconscious or deliberately provocative. I don't know which. Don't care.
"What do you need?" Adrian's voice cuts through the moment like a blade.
Sophie and I separate instantly. She stumbles back, nearly losing her grip on Amelia. I step sideways, creating distance that feels wrong.
But Adrian saw. I can see it in his eyes—he knows exactly what almost happened.
I turn to face him directly, hold his gaze without flinching.
"She needed help," I say evenly. "You were standing in the doorway doing nothing."
Adrian's jaw tightens. "I was giving her space."
"She needed support, not space."
"And you're an expert on what she needs now?" His voice drops dangerously low. "Interesting how your duties keep expanding beyond security."
"Someone has to be present." The words come out sharper than professional. "Someone has to actually help instead of standing around watching."
Sophie's voice cuts between us, high and strained.
"Stop it. Both of you." She's pressing the pacifier between Amelia's lips, and the baby accepts it immediately. "Are you going to help or just stand there having a pissing contest?"
The question is directed at Adrian. He stares at her for a long moment, something dangerous flickering across his features.
Then without a word, he turns and walks away. His footsteps echo down the hallway.
His study door slams hard enough to make Amelia startle.
Sophie exhales shakily. "I'm sorry you had to…"
"Don't apologize." I keep my voice professional. "Just focus on her."
"I couldn't reach the shelf and Adrian was just standing there!" Sophie's words tumble out too fast, on the edge of breaking down again. "He wanted me to ignore her, to let her cry so we could—"
She stops herself, face flushing.
I don't need her to finish the sentence. I can piece it together from the evidence—her disheveled appearance, Adrian's barely controlled rage, the kind of fight that only happens when something physical gets interrupted.
"You made the right call," I say quietly.
Sophie looks at me then, really looks at me. Her eyes are still wet, lips still parted. "Did I?"
The question hangs in the air between us, weighted with meaning that has nothing to do with Amelia.
"Yes." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "You chose your daughter over him. That's always the right call."
Sophie's laugh is bitter. "I just destroyed what was left of my relationship for a baby I'm not even sure I love yet."
The admission clearly shocks her—like she didn't mean to say it aloud.
"You're exhausted," I tell her, gentler now. "You're doing better than you think."
She looks down at Amelia, who's finally quiet now, sucking contentedly on her pacifier. "Am I?"
I move closer without thinking. "You responded when she cried, you put her first. That's what matters."
Sophie's eyes find mine again. "You always know what to say."
"I just tell you the truth."
"Adrian used to do that." Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Before everything fell apart."
I should step back, maintain professional distance, rremember all the reasons this is dangerous.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am. "I'm not Adrian."
"No." Sophie's gaze drops to my mouth for just a second before jerking back up. "You're not."
The air between us thickens again. Charged, electric and dangerous.
Amelia makes a small sound—not distressed, just shifting in her mother's arms.
The moment breaks.
"I should…" Sophie gestures vaguely toward the door. "Put her down. She's finally calm."
"I'll stay until you're settled." It's not a question. "Make sure everything's okay."
Sophie nods, not arguing. Maybe too tired to maintain the pretense that she doesn't need me here.
I watch her lay Amelia in the crib with careful movements, adjusting the blanket, checking that the pacifier is secure. The tenderness in her actions contradicts everything she just said about not loving her daughter.
She loves Amelia. She just doesn't know it yet.
When Sophie turns back to me, exhaustion is written in every line of her body.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For being here, for…" She stops, signs. "For everything."
I want to say so much, to confess what I've been holding for too long, but instead I just nod once and step back toward the door.
"Bellamy?" Sophie calls for me all of a sudden.
I stop and turn back—how can I not when she’s the one asking?
Sophie's eyes are bright with unshed tears. "When does it get easier?"
"I don't know." The honest answer. "But you won't be doing it alone."
I leave before either of us can acknowledge what just happened. My hands are still warm from where they touched her waist.