DOMINIC Birthdays have always felt… performative to me. Another reminder that time moves, that expectations grow heavier, that the world is watching for cracks. My family loves their theatrics—yachts, champagne, candles that cost more than most people’s rent. I usually endure it, mask on, voice steady, ready to parry whatever passive-aggressive comments my siblings lob my way.But this year feels different and i am more happier..Because she’s here.Brooklyn. Sitting across from me at the low mahogany table in the lounge, the evening glow catching strands of her chestnut hair like they were lit with gold. Elliot tucked against her side, nibbling on a macaron she broke in half for him. My son in this fiction, my responsibility in reality. The boy who keeps peering up at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m the sort of man who stays or disappears.I sip champagne I don’t taste. My eyes keep wandering back to her lips. The way they curve faintly every time Elliot whispers something
DOMINIC Birthdays had stopped meaning anything to me years ago.As a child, they were parades of crystal glasses clinking, gold ribbons, a new toy polished and placed in front of me by servants I didn’t know by name. My parents tried in their way, grand dinners, gilded celebrations but even then I understood it was less about me and more about appearances.As an adult, they turned into business opportunities, an excuse for partners and shareholders to flatter me with gifts I didn’t want, while whispering behind their champagne about how many years I had left before my empire collapsed under its own weight.So when I woke this morning to silence, no staff, no family, no pre-arranged “celebration” I thought, for once, it might pass like any other day.But the bed was empty beside me.Her side of the sheets were already cool, as if she’d been gone for hours. I sat up slowly, scanning the room. The bathroom door stood ajar, light off. No trace of her. For one irrational moment, my chest
BROOKLYNThe ship was even larger up close. Its white hull stretched impossibly tall above us, decks stacked like a glittering crown against the fading sky. Elliot tugged me forward, practically dragging me, his hand hot and eager in mine.I tried to keep my voice calm, grounding, even though part of me was just as overwhelmed. “Slow down, El. The ship isn’t going anywhere without us.”He grinned back at me, eyes sparkling, cheeks still a little pale but flushed with joy. “I know, but Brook, it’s huge! Look! There’s a theater up there—two! And oh my god, that’s a movie screen!”I followed his pointing finger, biting back a laugh. His excitement was a balm, a reminder of why we were even here. For once, he wasn’t a boy recovering from surgery. He was just a kid again.Behind us, Dominic’s voice carried, low but steady as he continued directing staff with our luggage. His parents and siblings walked ahead in a cluster of poised elegance, like they’d done this exact trip dozens of times
BROOKLYNI woke up to warmth. Not the scratchy blanket the hospital had given me, but something steadier, firmer. A shoulder.Dominic’s shoulder.For a moment I didn’t move, my lashes still lowered, my cheek pressed against the fine wool of his jacket. His cologne lingered faintly, clean, understated, infuriatingly expensive. My body had betrayed me sometime in the night, giving in to exhaustion, leaning into him as if he were a safe harbor instead of the storm he so often was.When I finally stirred, I felt him shift ever so slightly. Not to push me away, but as if he’d been awake, waiting for me to notice.“Comfortable?” His voice was quiet, low enough not to disturb the room.I jerked back, cheeks warming, trying to pretend like my hair wasn’t an absolute disaster. “I—I must’ve dozed off.” I ran my fingers through my hair.He didn’t smirk or tease, which was somehow worse. Just that unreadable look, softened at the edges. “You needed it.”Before I could answer, a small voice piped
BROOKLYNThe phone rang at a time that already felt wrong.Too early. Too sharp. Too serious.I was halfway through folding one of Elliot’s T-shirts when I heard Dominic’s voice from the other room. Not his usual clipped, business tone… lower, urgent, controlled like he was holding something back.By the time I stepped into the doorway, he was standing rigid, phone pressed to his ear, eyes locking on mine.“...We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said. Then he hung up.“What is it?” My voice cracked before I could stop it.He didn’t hesitate, but his gaze softened, just slightly. “It’s about Elliot’s latest scans. The hospital needs him there now.”My hands went cold. “Why?”“They found something concerning,” Dominic said, already moving toward me. “We’ll talk on the way—”“Don’t you dare give me half-answers—”“Brooklyn,” he cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “We need to move. Right now. Go get Elliot."The air between us went heavy. I didn’t argue again.I rushed to the east win
BROOKLYNThe dress Dominic’s stylist picked for me was… dangerous. Not in the literal sense, but in the you could topple kingdoms with this look sense. Deep emerald silk that clung like it knew all my secrets, cut low in the back, the slit stopping just shy of indecent. The kind of dress that whispered instead of shouted, though the slit had a habit of shouting when I walked.My hair was in a sleek, side-parted wave, my makeup a masterclass in “effortless” that had actually taken an hour and two professionals. Dominic, of course, looked like he’d been poured into his midnight-black tux by the gods of arrogance themselves, impeccable, lethal, and very aware of it.When we stepped out of the car, the sound hit me first. Cameras, shouting, that collective roar of people trying to catch your name, your face, your attention.“Smile, Mrs. Blackwell,” Dominic murmured, offering his arm.The way he said Mrs. made it sound more like a title than a role. I slid my hand into the crook of his elb