Chapter 6

Meanwhile the morning sun filtered gently through the ivory curtains, casting warm golden streaks across the room.

Outside, the estate grounds were already alive, the rustle of leaves, the soft hum of gardeners starting their day. But inside, everything was still.

Except for the sudden, soft thud of little feet pattering across hardwood floors.

Elara hadn’t stirred yet. She had been up until nearly 3 a.m., finalizing her next collection sketches under the dim glow of her desk lamp, pencil moving across paper like it was a lifeline.

That had always been her rhythm, insomnia turned into art.

Her phone was still silenced on the nightstand, a few missed calls from Julian that could wait until later.

But she didn’t need an alarm clock.

Because at precisely 7:14 a.m., like every morning, a small force of nature bounded into her quiet sanctuary.

“Mommyyyy!”

The two year old bundled herself onto the bed in a swirl of soft pajama fabric and tangled curls, burying her warm face against Elara’s side.

Elara stirred with a soft groan, the sleep clinging to her like a second skin. Then she opened her eyes, instantly awake in that particular way only mothers know.

“There you are,” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep, brushing a strand of dark hair from her daughter’s forehead.

The little girl blinked up at her with wide brown eyes, her eyes, but the soft curve of her lips and the shape of her cheeks? All unmistakably his.

Elara’s chest ached with the familiar contradiction: love and pain, fused together in the small heartbeat currently curled beside her.

“Why you still in bed, mommy?” the child asked, her voice laced with a toddler’s confusion and innocence.

Elara smiled, sitting up and pulling the child into her lap. “Because mommy worked late last night, my love. Remember? I told you we had to finish some beautiful dresses for next month.”

The girl furrowed her brows, then broke into a grin. “Did you make sparkly ones?”

“The sparkliest,” Elara promised, tapping the little nose with her finger. “You want to help me pick fabrics later?”

“YES!” the girl squealed, bouncing in her lap.

Elara laughed softly, her heart squeezing at how easily this tiny soul could light up even her most exhausted mornings.

This.. she... was the only good thing that ever came out of that night.

The only part of it that mattered now.

Elara had known she was pregnant two weeks after everything fell apart. After the whispering students, the shame, the isolation. After she left college and disappeared from the world she thought she needed to succeed in.

She remembered standing in a tiny bathroom stall in a rented flat she could barely afford, staring at the two pink lines. Hands shaking. Tears streaming down her face.

But when she felt her daughter move for the first time months later, she knew: this child would never grow up feeling like she was unwanted. Like she was the product of regret.

She was love. She was hope.

She was hers.

The little girl snuggled closer now, thumb finding its way to her mouth, eyelids growing heavy again.

“I’ll call Nan and have her make pancakes,” Elara whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head. “Extra blueberries?”

“Mmmhm…”

The toddler drifted again, small breaths warm against Elara’s chest.

Elara leaned back against the pillows and let her eyes close for just a moment longer, cradling the peace of this fleeting morning.

In this moment, it didn’t matter that Leonard Shaw was asking questions.

It didn’t matter that Julian had called twice.

It didn’t matter that the past was beginning to stir.

All that mattered was the tiny heartbeat against hers. The one person in the world who saw Elara not as a designer, not as a rising icon or a vengeful beauty, but simply as “mommy.”

But even as she clutched the moment, she couldn’t stop the creeping feeling beneath her ribs.

Leonard’s face at the gala. The unmistakable flicker of recognition.

And suddenly the silence wasn’t so safe anymore.

The warm breath of her daughter softened against her chest, rhythmic and calm, like a tiny lullaby in the silence of the room.

Elara held her a while longer, swaying gently even while seated, soaking in the one moment of peace she could claim before the day started hurtling forward.

But peace never lasted long.

Reality, like it always did, came knocking.

Her phone buzzed again. She didn't reach for it. She already knew it would be Julian.

Instead, she gently lifted the child from her lap and laid her back into the tangled sheets, pulling the comforter over her tiny body.

The little girl mumbled something inaudible, already floating back into slumber, one thumb still resting near her mouth.

Elara stood.

Her satin robe swept behind her as she moved toward the en suite bathroom.

The cool floor kissed her bare feet.

She splashed cold water on her face, trying to wake up fully, but the reflection that stared back was one of bone deep fatigue masked under flawless skin and careful care.

Her features were calm, poised, what the public expected. But her eyes… they always gave her away. There was always something haunted in them. Even now.

She turned off the faucet and reached for the towel, drying her face as footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Then came the familiar, clipped knock.

“Don’t tell me you’re still in bed?” came the familiar voice, firm and rich with the timbre of someone who had worked hard all her life and only recently learned how to breathe.

Elara stepped into the bedroom just as her mother, Lydia Hayes, opened the door and walked in, still holding her tablet in one hand and her coffee mug in the other.

She stopped in her tracks the moment she spotted the tiny bundle under the duvet.

“Oh.” Lydia’s voice softened, her frown dissolving. “So she beat me to it again.”

Elara chuckled under her breath and walked past her mother to open the curtains fully.