LOGINMorning arrived quietly. A pale ribbon of sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, stretching across the bed until it found Emma’s face. She scrunched her nose. “…Rude.” The sunlight, unsurprisingly, ignored her complaint. Emma cracked one eye open. The first thing she noticed was Rowan’s arm around her waist. She smiled. Carefully, she tried to slip out of bed. His hold tightened. “Nice try.” His voice was still thick with sleep. Emma glanced over her shoulder. “I thought you were asleep.” “I was.” “You don’t sound asleep.” “I woke up when someone started escaping.” “I wasn’t escaping.” “You were leaving.” “I was going to brush my teeth.” “I would’ve missed you.”
The drive back to Rowan’s estate was quiet. Not the awkward kind. The comfortable kind that only came after a day well spent. Shopping bags filled the back seat. Emma smiled to herself at a memory. “What?” Rowan’s eyes stayed on the road. “You know exactly what.” “You’ve been smiling for the last five minutes.” “I have not.” “You have.” She folded her arms dramatically. “I was simply remembering Stephanie.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Ah.” “What does ‘ah’ mean?” “It means she’s a bad influence.” Emma let out a soft laugh. “On me?” “Very much so.” “I think she’s improving me.” “I noticed.” She turned toward him. “That sounded suspic
The first mistake Rowan made was agreeing to “one last store.” He should have known better. “Steph,” Emma said, laughing as her sister slowed outside another boutique. “You promised.” “I did.” Stephanie pointed through the display window. “Then I saw that.” Rowan followed her finger. He closed his eyes. “…Right.” “I know that sigh,” Emma said. “It means you’ve accepted your fate.” “I’ve accepted bankruptcy.” Stephanie looked genuinely confused. “We’ve barely bought anything.” Rowan glanced down at the shopping bags looped over both arms. “I admire your optimism.” Emma laughed, the sound escaping before she could stop it. She reached for Rowan’s arm to steady herself. He looked down at her hand. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it.
The drive to Emma’s house was painfully quiet. The radio was off. Neither of them reached for it. Outside, the city carried on as if nothing had happened. Inside the car, yesterday still sat between them. Rowan kept his eyes on the road. Twice he almost spoke. Twice he thought better of it. Emma rested her elbow against the window, watching familiar streets pass by in a blur. Every now and then, she caught him glancing at her left wrist. The marks were already fading. His expression wasn’t. “It’s getting better,” she said softly. He nodded once. “I know.” Another stretch of silence. Then, almost too quietly to hear— “I’m still sorry.” Emma looked at him. He wasn’t looking for reassurance. He wasn’t asking her to tell him it was okay.
The nurse walked a few steps ahead of him. Dominic followed without speaking. “…Dad.” She had said it so naturally. As though the word had belonged to him all along. Dominic stopped for half a heartbeat. Dad. He drew a slow breath and continued after her. The automatic doors slid open. Warm air met the chill that had settled into his bones hours ago. Inside the neonatal intensive care unit, monitors beeped in quiet rhythm. Nurses moved from one incubator to the next with practiced hands, speaking softly enough that their voices barely carried. The nurse stopped near the window. She smiled. “Your son.” Dominic looked through the glass. Everything else disappeared. He’d imagined this moment countless times. Hearing that first cry. Feeling tiny fingers wrap around his own. Instead… A tiny boy lay inside an incubator that suddenly seemed far too big. A knitted blue cap covered most of his head. A tube rested beneath his nose. His little chest r
Dominic Sterling hadn’t moved from the chair outside the operating suite in over an hour. Someone had left a paper cup of coffee beside him. It was cold now. He hadn’t noticed. Doctors crossed the corridor. Nurses hurried past with charts tucked against their chests. Somewhere down the hall, a child laughed before being hushed by a worried mother. Life went on. His didn’t. His phone lit up again. Victor Reynolds. He stared at the screen until it stopped ringing. A second later, another call came through. His assistant. Then the board secretary. Then London. He switched the phone off. The company could wait. Nothing else could. The operating room doors swung open. Dr. Harrison walked out with two nurses close behind him, one carrying a clipboard. The doctor’s expression was calm. Too calm. “Mr. Sterling.” Dominic was already standing. Dr. Harrison didn’t waste time. “We can’t wait any longer.” The words landed with frightening clarity.
Morning in the Sterling mansion did not arrive with sunlight. It arrived with silence. Emma woke to stillness so complete it felt curated. The curtains were half drawn, the light filtered into something pale and artificial. The air smelled faintly of Dominic Sterling’s cologne….dark, expensive,
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear. Emma hated it. She went alone. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him. The white walls. The hushed footsteps. The way nurses spoke softly, as if grief might be contagious. She sat on the edge of the examination bed, hands folded in her
Dominic did not sleep. He stood in his study long after Emma locked herself in the guest bedroom upstairs. The house was silent, but the silence was wrong. Too heavy. Too distant. For four years, this house had responded to her. Her perfume in the hallways. Her voice instructing st
The elevator doors closed. And Emma collapsed. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just slowly ….like something inside her had unplugged. Her back hit the mirrored wall, and she slid down until she was crouched on the polished floor, heels digging into marble, sobs tearing out of her che







