chapter 23

Chapter 23 – Sierra’s POV

Sunlight. Real, gentle, morning sunlight streamed into the kitchen, painting the marble counters in warm gold. It felt like the first normal morning in a lifetime. Katie was at the table, meticulously sorting cereal pieces by shape, telling a detailed story to her stuffed bunny. The smell of coffee filled the air.

It was over.

The words echoed in my hollow head. Victor was gone. Exiled. The constant, gnawing fear that had lived under my ribs since the day he stepped into this hallway was just… gone. In its place was a vast, quiet space I didn’t know how to fill.

Louis came in, already dressed for the day in dark trousers and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He looked rested. The grim lines of fury around his eyes had softened. He went straight to the coffee pot, poured a cup, then came to me. Without a word, he bent and pressed his lips to my temple. It was a simple, domestic gesture that sent a shockwave of pure feeling through me.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

I nodded, not trusting my own voice. I had slept deeply, dreamlessly, for the first time in weeks, wrapped in the safety of his arms. But waking up felt like stepping onto solid ground after months at sea—the stillness was disorienting.

“Daddy Louis, look!” Katie held up a cereal piece shaped like a moon. “This one is for you. Because you’re the king of the castle!”

He took the cereal moon with utmost seriousness. “Thank you, Princess Katie. I shall guard it with my life.”

She beamed, the exchange so easy, so natural. This was the future we had fought for. This quiet. This peace.

So why did I feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop?

My phone buzzed. A notification from a news app. I glanced at it, then wished I hadn’t.

**TREVANE’S SECRET FAMILY: A MODERN FAIRYTALE OR CALCULATED PR MOVE?**

The article popped up with the photo from the press conference, Louis’s arm around me, my smile looking strained. The comments scrolled, a mix of awe, envy, and vicious speculation. *Gold digger.* *Where was she for five years?* *That child looks nothing like him.*

The peaceful morning shattered. The walls of the fortress were still up, but now people were throwing stones at them, trying to see inside.

Louis saw my face. He took the phone from my hand, read the headline, and his expression hardened back into the mask of the billionaire. He placed the phone face down on the counter.

“Ignore it,” he said, but the edge was back in his voice. “Adrienne is handling the narrative. This is just noise.”

“It’s noise about our lives,” I whispered, so Katie wouldn’t hear. “About our daughter. They’re questioning if she’s even yours.”

A dangerous glint lit his eyes. “I have the legal proof. We can release it.”

“And then we’re the couple so desperate to prove ourselves we release DNA tests to tabloids. There’s no winning, Louis. Only managing.”

He studied me, his anger cooling into something more thoughtful. “You’re right.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is the part I never considered. The aftermath. The scrutiny.”

“What do we do?” I asked, feeling helpless again.

“We live,” he said simply. He reached out and took my hand, his thumb rubbing circles on my palm. “We go to Katie’s school play next Friday. We hold hands. We smile. We show them a family so real, so unshakable, that the noise becomes background static. We give them nothing to exploit but our happiness.”

It sounded like a strategy. A new kind of performance. But as I looked at his hand covering mine, felt the steady certainty in his touch, I wanted to believe it could be more than that. That we could build something true inside this gilded fishbowl.

The day unfolded with a new rhythm. Louis went to work, but he video-called during his lunch break just to see Katie. I took her to the mansion’s indoor pool, her laughter echoing off the tiles, a security detail discreetly positioned at the door. I tried to bake in the professional kitchen, but my heart wasn’t in it. My bakery felt like a distant dream from someone else’s life.

In the afternoon, Nia Trevane returned. She found me in the library, pretending to read a book.

“The vultures are circling,” she stated, sitting gracefully in the armchair opposite me. “They smell a story. You cannot hide from them, Sierra. You must own the narrative.”

“Louis said we just live our lives.”

“And he is correct. But ‘living’ must be visible. Strategic.” She set her handbag down neatly. “There is a charity gala at the end of the month. For the new Katherine Hope Initiative. You will attend. On Louis’s arm. You will wear a gown that makes you look like a queen, not a… pastry chef.” She said it not unkindly, but as a fact. “You will give a brief, heartfelt speech about supporting families. You will be gracious, warm, and utterly unbreakable. That is how you silence the whispers.”

A gala. A speech. The thought made my stomach cramp. “I can’t give a speech.”

“You can. You will. Because the alternative is letting them paint you as a timid little mouse he dragged in from the gutter. Are you a mouse, Sierra?”

The challenge in her eyes was familiar. It was the same look Louis got when facing down a rival. I straightened my spine. “No. I’m not.”

“Good.” A faint, approving smile. “I will have my stylist come tomorrow. We begin your transformation. Not into someone you’re not. Into the version of yourself this world needs to see. The version strong enough to stand beside my son.”

After she left, I felt a strange surge of determination. This was my battle now. Not against a man with a gun, but against gossip columns and judging eyes. And I had a general in Nia Trevane, whether I’d asked for one or not.

That night, after Katie was asleep, I found Louis in his study. He was staring at his computer, but the screen was dark. He looked pensive.

“Your mother is preparing me for a gala,” I said, leaning in the doorway.

He turned, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Of course she is. She’s deploying the heavy artillery. You’ll be magnificent.”

“I’m scared I’ll trip. Or say the wrong thing.”

He stood and came to me, pulling me into the circle of his arms. “Then you trip. And I’ll catch you. And everyone will see how much I love you when I do.” He said the word so casually. *Love.* It hung in the air between us, new and terrifying and wonderful.

I looked up at him. “Is that what this is? Love?”

His gaze was unwavering, softer than I’d ever seen it. “What else could it be? This need to have you near me. This fury at anyone who hurts you. This… peace I feel when it’s just us, in this quiet room. I have never needed anyone before, Sierra. Not like this. It’s terrifying. And it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.”

Tears pricked my eyes. I didn’t let them fall. Instead, I rose on my toes and kissed him. It was a slow, deep, answering kiss. A promise. A confession of my own.

When we parted, breathless, he rested his forehead against mine. “Move in with me,” he whispered. “Properly. Not as staff. Not as a guest. Bring your things. Let Katie decorate her room. Make this your home. Our home.”

It was the final step. Burning the last bridge to my old, safe, struggling life. Looking up into his eyes, seeing the future he was offering—a future of galas and gossip, but also of this, of quiet moments and shared strength—the choice was easy.

“Yes,” I said.

One simple word that sealed my fate, our fate. The bakery girl was gone. The secret mother was gone.

In her place stood Sierra Trevane.

And she was ready to face whatever came next.