Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

LIANA

I stared at the ceiling of my tiny bedroom, where the paint peeled in thin, curling strips—like a silent warning that things don’t last forever. The fan above creaked with every rotation, an old companion to my sleepless nights, but tonight the sound grated against me. It was a ticking clock. A countdown to the moment my life would change forever.

Marriage.

To Ethan Wolfe.

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of my heart. But it was no use. The anxiety was alive, a wild thing thrashing in my ribs. I was about to walk into a union with a man I barely knew, one I didn’t love—a man whose world was polished, powerful, and dangerous in ways I couldn’t yet name. I should’ve felt relief. Ethan had offered me a lifeline. Emma’s hospital bills would be paid. We'd finally have a roof that didn’t leak and food without counting coins. Stability. Security. A future.

But instead, I felt like I was trading one prison for another—this one just had silk sheets and marble floors.

My eyes drifted to the nightstand, to the cracked frame that held Emma’s fifth birthday photo. Her smile was all missing teeth and pure joy, her tiny hands clutched around a balloon shaped like a unicorn. I remember that day so clearly. She’d declared with absolute certainty that she would grow up to become a unicorn.

I whispered to the photo, “What if I’m making a mistake?”

The silence that followed was louder than any answer.

Unable to stay still, I got up and padded to Emma’s room. She slept soundly beneath her favorite unicorn blanket, the fabric slightly threadbare from too many washes. Her little chest rose and fell in the rhythm of peace I hadn’t felt in years. Her stuffed bunny—ears drooping, one nearly torn—was tucked under her chin.

I crouched beside her bed, brushing a curl away from her cheek. “I have to do something scary tomorrow,” I whispered. “But it’s for you. It’s always for you.”

I didn’t mean to fall asleep there, but I stayed until the fear in my chest melted into a heavy resolve—and somewhere in the warmth of her room, I dozed off.

Morning came too quickly, like it always did. I rose before Emma, moving on autopilot. I scrambled eggs, toasted bread, and packed her lunch in the pink unicorn lunchbox she adored. I’d already laid out her favorite dress—the pink one with the silver stars—hoping it would soften the day for both of us.

“Emma, breakfast is ready! Mommy is running late!” I called from the kitchen.

Silence.

I sighed, wiping my hands on a towel, then walked toward her room. I found her standing in front of the mirror, smoothing her dress with delicate fingers.

“Do I look okay, Mommy?” she asked, eyes wide with hope. Her curly hair was tied into puffy twin buns, her grin crooked from the front tooth she’d recently lost.

“You look like a princess,” I said, crouching to adjust her shoes. “The sparkliest one in all of New York.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Even more sparkly than the one in the park with the purple boots?”

I chuckled. “Even more than her.”

We headed downstairs to eat. She munched happily while I went over the details in my head for the hundredth time. Afterward, I grabbed her backpack and we walked the familiar path to Mrs. Jenkins’s house—her babysitter, neighbor, and occasional life-saver.

Emma held my hand tight. But just before I rang the bell, she tugged at my arm.

“Please, Mommy. I want to be with you today. Just today,” she pleaded, eyes already pooling with tears.

My resolve cracked.

I tried to say no. I really did. But one tear slipped down her cheek and I was undone. I told myself Ethan could handle a five-year-old for twenty minutes.

“Alright,” I sighed. “But only if you promise to be on your very best behavior.”

She straightened with pride and held out her pinky. “I promise.”

We sealed it with a pinky swear.

Wolfe Enterprises looked even more intimidating in the daylight—gleaming like a cathedral to ambition. The glass facade reflected the sky, pristine and untouchable. Inside, the lobby was all marble and gold accents. The air smelled like lemon polish and the kind of money that never had to check a price tag.

Emma’s hand slipped into mine as we stepped in. Her head tilted back to take it all in.

“Is this a castle?” she whispered.

“Something like that,” I murmured.

I walked to the front desk where a perfectly put-together receptionist sat behind a sleek counter.

“Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Wolfe.”

She offered a tight smile and picked up the phone. “He’s in a meeting. He asked that you wait a few moments.”

I nodded. “This is my daughter. She’ll only be with me briefly.”

Her expression softened when she looked at Emma. “Welcome, sweetheart.”

Emma grinned. “Hi! Do you have snacks?”

I shut my eyes for a moment, but the receptionist laughed. “Not at the desk, but I think Mr. Wolfe might.”

Emma beamed at me. “Told you grownups hide snacks.”

Before I could respond, the elevator dinged and out walked a man I hadn’t expected to see.

Damon.

Of course he worked here. I’d forgotten in all the chaos.

His eyes locked on mine. Then they dropped to Emma. Then back again. Recognition hit—and with it, disgust.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped. “Haven’t you caused enough mess? Now you show up with my child?”

I instinctively moved in front of Emma, shielding her.

“You think too highly of yourself, Damon,” I said, voice icy. “You’re not the center of the universe.”

His face contorted. “Get out before I call security, you cheap—”

“Hey!” Emma shouted, stepping around me. “Don’t yell at my mommy!”

Damon blinked, stunned.

“You’re being mean,” she declared, arms crossed. “Mommy didn’t do anything.”

He looked around, flustered. “ She is my daughter and this is my workplace—”

“She’s mine,” I cut in, voice low and lethal. “You don’t get to claim her. Not now. Not ever.”

Before he could spit another insult, a smooth voice interrupted.

“Everything alright here?”

A tall man approached with an effortless kind of confidence. Mid-thirties, dark skin, sharply dressed in a tailored grey suit. His smile was disarming, his presence commanding.

“You must be Liana,” he said, offering a hand. “Ramon. Ethan’s legal magician. Though I prefer ‘miracle worker.’”

I raised a brow. “Is that on your business card?”

“Not yet, but I’m lobbying hard.”

Damian scoffed beside us. “She was just leaving.”

Ramon smiled, unfazed. “Actually, Mr. Wolfe is expecting her. Please excuse us.”

Damian groaned stared at us stared and walked away.

He crouched to Emma’s level. “And you must be the famous Emma.”

She studied him. “Are you one of the good guys or the bad guys?”

He laughed. “Depends who you ask.”

She nodded solemnly. “I’ll decide later.”

Ramon offered his arm and I took it. Emma clutched my hand tighter as we stepped into the elevator.

“Mommy, that man was mean,” she said softly.

“I know,” I whispered. “I won’t talk to him again.”

When the doors opened, Ethan was already standing there, imposing and unreadable as ever. His eyes shifted from me to the small girl holding my hand.

“She wouldn’t let me leave her,” I explained quickly. “We won’t stay long—”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting me off. “Come in.”

Emma’s jaw dropped as we entered. “This is a castle.”

Ethan glanced at Ramon. “Can she sit in the lounge?”

“I’ve got it,” Ramon said, already dialing something on his phone. “We’ve got juice and cartoons in the break room. Emma, how do you feel about Paw Patrol and a snack?”

“Do you have gummy bears?”

Ramon grinned. “We do now.”

As they left, I watched Emma skip beside him, her curls bouncing. I felt a pang of guilt—and a swell of gratitude.

“She’s spirited,” Ethan said behind me.

“She’s everything,” I murmured.

We sat across from each other. The contract was laid out between us like a map to a life I didn’t yet know how to live. I read it again, this time slower. I asked questions—about clauses, expectations, limitations. I pushed for clarity.

Ethan didn’t rush me. He didn’t interrupt. He just watched.

“Clause fourteen,” I said, tapping the page. “Public appearances. If I decline one, there’s no penalty?”

“There is,” he replied. “Maybe a deduction in your monthly allowance.”

“I can handle that.”

I turned a page. “Clause twenty-six. No expectations of intimacy. That stays?”

He nodded once. “Yes, you didn't think I would want to....He paused seeing I wasn't liking his joke.

"Unless you change your mind.” He said finally

I raised an eyebrow. “Unlikely.”

He didn’t smile.

Ramon returned, Emma now clinging to a juice pouch and a half-empty bag of gummy bears.

“Is it done?” she asked, crawling into my lap.

I kissed her forehead. “Almost.”

I picked up the pen. My hand trembled for just a second.

Then I signed.

So did Ethan.

Emma leaned in, voice barely a whisper. “I like him mummy, Is he going to be my new daddy?”

My breath caught. Ethan froze.

“No,” I said gently. “He’s just going to help us. Like a guardian knight.”

Emma considered that. “Like Sir Ethan.”

Ramon cleared his throat. “Congratulations. You’re now legally wed, emotionally unentangled, and publicly intriguing.”

I rolled my eyes, but for the first time that day, I smiled.

Ethan walked us to the elevator. “A car will take you home.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Emma waved up at him. “Bye, Sir Ethan!”

For a moment, just a moment, I saw something flicker in his expression—warmth, maybe. Or something dangerously close to it.

“Take care, Emma,” he said.

As the elevator doors closed, I held my daughter tighter.

It was done.

Signed and Sealed.