07

Chapter 07

Third Person's POV

Sonia stood nervously outside Fabian's bedroom door, balancing a tray of coffee and light snacks in her hands. She knocked gently and waited for his response before entering.

"Come in," came Fabian's voice from inside.

She opened the door carefully and stepped into the spacious room. Fabian was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing reading glasses and holding what appeared to be a script. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower, and he looked more relaxed than she had seen him since her arrival.

"Sir Fabian," she called softly, not wanting to startle him.

He looked up from his reading and gestured toward the coffee table near the window. "Just set it down there, please."

Sonia carefully placed the tray on the glass surface, arranging the items neatly. "Have you eaten dinner yet, sir?" she asked, noticing that he looked tired and perhaps a bit stressed.

"I had a light lunch earlier," Fabian replied, setting aside his script with what seemed like frustration. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily.

"Actually, Sonia," he began, his tone becoming more hesitant, "are you busy right now? Could you possibly help me with this script? If it's not too much trouble, of course."

He let out a deep sigh, running his hand through his hair. "I'm having some difficulty with this new project, and I could really use another perspective."

Sonia simply looked at him, unsure how to respond to such an unexpected request. Fabian seemed to interpret her silence as reluctance and quickly added, "I'll increase your salary, of course."

"I'll agree to help you on one condition," Sonia said, surprising him with her response.

Hope immediately lit up Fabian's expression, and Sonia couldn't help but smile at how much he resembled France in that moment—the same eager anticipation, the same expressive dark eyes.

"You need to come downstairs and eat dinner with France and me first," she said firmly. "No more skipping meals."

Fabian blinked in surprise. "That's... that's your condition?"

"Yes," Sonia confirmed with a nod. "I don't want any additional salary. You and your family already give me more than enough. But I won't help you with your work if you're not taking care of yourself properly."

The concern in her voice was genuine, and Fabian found himself both touched and slightly amused by her maternal scolding. It had been a long time since anyone had worried about whether he was eating properly.

When they made their way downstairs to the living room, they found France humming softly to himself while arranging his toys, clearly waiting for Sonia to return so they could eat together. His face brightened immediately when he saw both adults approaching.

Fabian pulled out a chair and greeted his son warmly, while Sonia busied herself preparing two additional plates and serving the food she had kept warm for them.

"Did you get a chance to talk with my manager?" Fabian asked as they settled around the table. "He wasn't rude to you, was he?"

Sonia smiled and shook her head. "Not at all. He's very kind and easy to talk to, just like you. We didn't discuss much besides his suggestion that I return to the industry."

She spoke quietly, hoping to keep the conversation between the adults. Fabian seemed to sense her reluctance to elaborate and didn't press for more details, for which she was grateful.

Sonia was acutely aware that she couldn't hide her past forever, especially from Fabian and France who had welcomed her into their home. But she needed more time—time to find the right words, time to prepare herself for the inevitable questions and judgments that would follow. For now, she just wanted to focus on the present and the small family that had given her a reason to hope again.

After dinner, since France had no school the next day, Sonia accompanied Fabian to his room to help with the script. Of course, France insisted on coming along, refusing to be separated from his "Mommy" even for a short while.

When Fabian saw his son trailing behind them, he attempted to convince the boy to stay downstairs and play with his toys instead.

"France, why don't you go play in the living room while Mommy and I work on something boring?" Fabian suggested.

But France immediately clung tighter to Sonia's hand, his lower lip jutting out in a stubborn pout. "No! I want to stay with Mommy!"

Father and son engaged in a silent staring contest, both equally determined to get their way. Sonia watched the standoff with amusement before kneeling down to France's eye level.

"France, how about you promise me that you'll sit quietly and not move around too much while we're in Daddy's room?" she suggested gently.

"But I want to play too!" France protested, his voice rising with indignation. "Daddy is trying to steal my Mommy away from me!"

"I hate him!" he declared dramatically, crossing his small arms over his chest.

Fabian's jaw dropped at his son's bold declaration, while Sonia couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation—a grown man and a five-year-old boy competing for her attention.

"I have an idea," Sonia said, her voice taking on the enthusiastic tone she had learned worked well with children. "Since Daddy and I are going to be acting out scenes from his script, how about you act with us? Daddy can be Big Fabian, and you can be Mini Fabian. You'll copy everything Daddy does. What do you think?"

"Big Fabian and Mini Fabian?" Fabian repeated, clearly amused by her creative solution.

The suggestion seemed to work perfectly. France immediately began jumping up and down with excitement, his earlier anger forgotten in the face of this new adventure.

"Yes! Yes! I want to be Mini Fabian!" he exclaimed.

Sonia stood up and took the copy of the script that Fabian handed her, scanning the first few pages. As she read, her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. The scene seemed remarkably straightforward—almost too simple for someone of Fabian's acting caliber to be struggling with.

She looked up at Fabian, who was scratching his cheek with an expression that suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking.

The first scene required the male lead to approach the female character, grab her wrist, and pull her close while holding her waist. It was a classic romantic tension moment that appeared in countless dramas and films.

"Are we just going to practice the dialogue, or—" Sonia began.

"The conversation isn't the problem," Fabian interrupted quickly. "As long as we maintain proper distance, I can handle the character development just fine."

Sonia remained standing in front of him, studying his face carefully. "Then what exactly is the problem?"

Fabian swallowed hard, and she could see the tension in his shoulders. This confused her even more—she had watched many of Fabian's series and films, and he was renowned for his natural acting ability and on-screen chemistry with his co-stars. Whatever was causing his difficulty with this particular scene, it wasn't a lack of talent or experience.

"I'm not very good at explaining," Fabian said finally. "Maybe it would be better if we just started."

Before Sonia could respond, he had moved into character, his voice taking on the intensity required by the script.

"I told you we needed to talk!" he said, reaching out to grab her wrist as the scene dictated.

The movement brought their bodies close together, much closer than Sonia had anticipated. She could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, could smell the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with soap from his recent shower.

Fabian inhaled sharply at their proximity, and his hands trembled slightly as he placed them on her waist. The script called for him to look into her eyes with passionate intensity, but when their gazes met, something shifted in the air between them.

This wasn't acting anymore.

The realization seemed to hit them both simultaneously. Fabian's eyes widened, and he immediately stepped back, his hands falling away from her as if he had been burned.

"Should I put my face covering back on?" Sonia asked quietly, her voice carefully neutral.

She had removed the bandage that usually concealed her identity because Fabian had told her it wasn't necessary when they were alone in the house. But now she wondered if that had been a mistake.

Sonia touched her arm where his hands had been, certain that the awkwardness she had felt wasn't part of the scripted scene. The way Fabian had pushed her away, the shock in his expression—none of that had been acting.

"No, it's not that—" Fabian began, but he was interrupted by the sound of sudden, heartbroken sobbing.

Both adults turned to see France crying inconsolably, his small face red with distress and anger.

"France!" Sonia immediately rushed to his side, cupping his tear-streaked cheeks in her hands.

"Bad Daddy! I hate you!" France screamed, his voice raw with emotion. "You're hurting my Mommy again!"

Before either adult could react, France broke away from Sonia and began hitting Fabian's legs with his small fists, his words tumbling out between sobs.

"You're hurting Mommy! You're hurting Mommy!" he repeated over and over, his entire body shaking with the force of his cries.

Sonia stood frozen, unsure how to respond to the child's unexpected outburst. Fabian looked equally shocked, his face pale as he tried to process what was happening.

"France, I'm not hurting Sonia," Fabian said gently, kneeling down to his son's level and trying to catch the boy's flailing hands. "We were just acting, like in the movies you watch."

But France was beyond reason, lost in whatever memory or fear had been triggered by the scene he had witnessed. Sonia quickly scooped him up into her arms, holding him tightly against her chest.

"France, sweetheart, Daddy wasn't hurting me," she said softly, rocking him back and forth. "It was just pretend, like when we play games. Daddy would never hurt Mommy."

But France continued to cry and struggle, his small body rigid with distress. Sonia found herself backing toward the bed, her maternal instincts taking over as she tried to calm the hysterical child.

It was then that she noticed Fabian moving with practiced efficiency, retrieving what looked like a medical kit from his bedside drawer. He pulled out a small syringe and began preparing an injection.

"Sir! What are you doing?" Sonia asked, alarm clear in her voice.

She reached out to grab Fabian's arm, her protective instincts flaring. As far as she knew, France didn't have any medical conditions that would require emergency medication.

"It's just a mild sedative," Fabian explained, his voice calm but urgent. "If I don't give this to him, there's a much higher chance that France will hurt himself."

With gentle but firm movements, Fabian administered the injection while Sonia held France still. He also placed a soft towel between the boy's teeth to prevent him from biting his tongue during the episode.

Sonia watched in stunned silence, her hand unconsciously moving to her own arm. She wanted to ask questions—as France's caregiver, she felt she had the right to understand what was happening. But based on what she had just witnessed, she sensed that this wasn't the right time to demand explanations.

As the sedative began to take effect and France's struggles gradually subsided, Fabian looked up at Sonia with an expression that was both weary and knowing.

"You're probably thinking that I really do hurt France's mother," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of old pain.

Sonia pressed her lips together, unable to deny that the thought had crossed her mind. The child's reaction had been so visceral, so specific—it suggested a traumatic memory rather than simple confusion about what he had witnessed.

But even as the suspicion formed, she pushed it away. Who was she to judge someone she had only just met? If her own life had taught her anything, it was that appearances could be deceiving and that rushing to judgment often led to terrible mistakes.

Her marriage to Victor was proof enough of that. She had thought she knew him after years of courtship, had believed she understood his character and his capacity for love. She had been catastrophically wrong.

"I don't know what happened between you and France's mother," Sonia said finally, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "And it's not my place to make assumptions based on a child's reaction to something he may not have fully understood."

She looked down at France, who was now sleeping peacefully in her arms, his face still flushed but no longer contorted with distress.

"But I do know that France loves you," she continued. "And I know that you love him. Whatever happened in the past, whatever mistakes were made—that love is real. I can see it every time you look at him."

Fabian stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. "You're very generous with your trust," he said softly.

"Or maybe I'm just very familiar with the way people can surprise you," Sonia replied. "Both for better and for worse."

The room fell silent except for the sound of France's steady breathing. Outside, the evening was settling into night, and the soft glow of the bedside lamps created an intimate atmosphere that felt both comforting and charged with unspoken tension.

"I should put him to bed," Sonia said finally, adjusting her hold on the sleeping child.

"Sonia," Fabian called as she moved toward the door. She paused and looked back at him. "Thank you. For not... for giving me the benefit of the doubt."

She nodded once, then carried France out of the room, leaving Fabian alone with his script, his memories, and the lingering scent of her perfume in the air.

As she tucked France into his bed and settled into the chair beside him for what she suspected would be another long night of watching over him, Sonia found herself thinking about the complexity of the situation she had walked into.

This family was healing from wounds she couldn't fully understand, carrying secrets that ran deeper than she had initially realized. But perhaps that was exactly why she was meant to be here—not as someone who could fix their problems, but as someone who could offer them the same kind of unconditional acceptance that they had given her.

After all, they were all broken in their own ways, all trying to find a path forward from the wreckage of their pasts.