Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Daniella’s Pov

The tiny grey wool shoes sit on our new kitchen counter like a quiet promise, and looking at them makes my chest tight in a way that feels like crying and laughing at the same time.

I remember the first day I met Kent. He stood tall, cold, and strict in the lecture hall, looking like a man made of glass and rules who would never let anyone get close. Now, holding a box of flat-packed crib parts in our new place, that cold professor is gone. He traded a billion-dollar legacy for a rolling cart with a cheap red toaster and tiny grey baby socks.

"We put the crib by the window," Kent says, pointing a screwdriver like he is planning a military base. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his dark hair is messy from sweat.

"No way," I laugh, walking over and poking his chest. "Baby needs fresh air and light, not a drafty glass pane. Put it against the solid wall."

Kent frowns, pretending to be mad, then rolls his eyes and moves the flat box. "Fine. Solid wall. You bossy thing."

We spend the next three hours turning a spare room into a room for a baby. We unbox a simple white crib. We argue over paint chips. Kent wants a dark navy blue wall with glowing painted stars like a high-class planetarium. I laugh and tell him babies do not care about astronomy, they just want clean sheets and milk. We settle on soft warm beige and a yellow floor rug that feels soft under bare feet.

As we screw the last bolt into the side rail, Kent stands up, brushing dust off his jeans. He looks around the small room with a look on his face that hits me hard in the stomach. Pure pride.

"Best room in the house," Kent says softly.

"It's just a room, Kent," I murmur, sitting down on the edge of the low mattress we laid out.

Kent walks over, dropping down on one knee right in front of me. He places his warm hands flat on my knees, looking straight up into my face with those dark, heavy eyes.

"It's not just a room," he says, his voice low and serious. "My kid deserves the best. Even if we started from zero today, I am going to build a world where our baby never has to wonder if they belong."

My throat tightens. The happy bubble around us wobbles, and the ugly shadow of my secret fears slips out before I can stop it.

I look down at my hands twisting in my lap. "What if I'm bad at it, Kent? What if I don't know how to be a mom? I grew up bouncing from foster homes and quiet panic. I don't know fancy recipes, or how to sing lullabies without crying, or how to fix a broken heart. What if I mess it up and ruin our kid?"

Kent doesn't tell me I'm silly. He doesn't say you'll be great like a cheap greeting card.

Instead, he slides his hands up to cup my face, his thumbs wiping the single tear that slips down my cheek before I even feel it fall.

"I don't know how to be a dad either," Kent admits quietly, his voice honest and rough. "I had a father who traded me like a stock option and a grandfather who measured my worth in compliance. We don't have a manual for this part, Daniella. We are going to fail at small things, drop bottles, lose sleep, and scream into pillows."

He leans his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my skin.

"We learn together," Kent whispers. "Every single day. I'm right here. We don't do orphan mode anymore."

A huge, hot wave of relief washes over me. I lean into his hands, closing my eyes, letting his steady strength pull the fear right out of my bones.

By evening, the apartment smells like garlic butter and simple roasted chicken. We sit side by side on the floor leaning against the couch, eating off paper plates because our real plates are still packed in cardboard boxes. The city outside is quiet. No flashbulbs popping through gates. No lawyers shouting down hallway phones.

Kent sets his paper plate down on the coffee table and turns to look at me, a strange, shy little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Next weekend," Kent says softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Next weekend?" I repeat, leaning into his touch.

"I'm taking you somewhere," he says, his dark eyes shining with quiet excitement. "Real dinner. Real restaurant with candlelight and bad jazz music. No security tailing us. No corporate spies. Just you and me, sitting across a table, looking like a normal couple on a real date."

My heart skips a beat. A real date. Dressing up nice, walking in front of strangers holding hands, pretending for one whole night that the world belongs to regular people who fell in love in a copy room.

"I'd love that," I whisper, a wide smile breaking across my face.

Before we can map out which neighborhood we want to go to, my phone buzzes hard against the hardwood floor.

Buzz.

I glance down. Bright blue light cuts the dim living room shadows.

An email notification pops up from the university main admin server. Sender: Office of Student Conduct & Ethical Compliance. Subject: Mandatory Disciplinary Hearing Notice — Case #884-V.

My breath jams in my throat.

Freya's complaint, my brain screams.

I reach down fast, my fingers shaking so bad I drop the phone once before grabbing it back. I tap the screen, opening the P*F attachment linked at the bottom of the formal dean's warning letter.

My eyes race past the formal legal paragraphs accusing me of academic boundary violations, unfair advantage claims, and improper personal entanglement during scholarship tenure.

Then my eyes drop to the witness list at the bottom of page two.

Witness for Prosecution / Deposition Lead: Dr. Kent Vance (Former Associate Professor / Respondent Affiliate)

I freeze. The blood drains completely out of my face, leaving my skin icy cold.

I stare at the letters spelling out his name right there on the official university complaint list. Listed as a central witness against the inquiry, or tied directly to the evidence vault.

"Daniella?" Kent’s voice cuts through the sudden room chill, sharp with instant alarm as he sees the color leave my cheeks. "What is it? What did they send?"

I slowly turn the glowing screen toward him, unable to speak, my heart pounding against my ribs as I watch the dark storm gather fast in his eyes.