All Chapters of My Brother's Best Friend's Secret Baby: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Aiden's POV "What do you want?" he asked. "With Lucy, I want..." "Not Lucy," he cut in. "I already know what you want with Lucy. What do you want with Rosie?" I lowered my eyes to my coffee. I could've played it smart. Chosen my words carefully. Given him the thoughtful, measured answer that acknowledged how complicated everything was, respected everyone's feelings, and paid proper tribute to how fragile the situation still was. I already had that answer prepared. Deep down, I'd known this question was coming. I'd been getting ready for it long before I was willing to admit it to myself. Instead, I threw the script away. "I want to earn back the right to ask if she'll let me be part of her life again," I said. "That's it." I held his gaze. "I'm not going to pressure her. I'm not going to rush things, use Lucy as leverage, or make her wonder if every conversation comes with an ulterior motive. "I just want the chance to show her who I am now, not the asshole I was wh

He was back in less than two minutes. "There's no one here," he said. "Come on up." I followed him. The apartment looked almost normal. That was the first thing that struck me. Almost. There was no sign of a break-in. No room torn apart with belongings scattered everywhere and drawers dumped onto the floor. Everything was exactly where it belonged, as if someone had taken extraordinary care to erase every trace of their presence. But they hadn't been careful enough. I could tell because I knew this place by heart. The kitchen junk drawer where I kept takeout menus, scissors, and all the random things that never had a proper home was closed, but the corner of an envelope was sticking out. I never shut that drawer with paper caught in it. The file binder on the entryway console, where I kept my important documents, bills, Lucy's custody agreement, and her school forms, had been moved. It always sat flush against the wall in the corner. Now it was slightly crooked, angled outwar

Rosie was quiet for a long moment. "What does she plan to do with those photos?" she finally asked. I considered my answer before speaking. "I don't know exactly," I admitted. "But none of the possibilities are good." I sat across from her. "She could use them to build a completely false narrative. Edit them, take them out of context, use them to support her lies about your lifestyle or the way you're raising Lucy." I kept my voice steady. "Or she could study Lucy's routine. Figure out where she goes to school, what her schedule looks like, the places you take her." I paused. "Or maybe she just wants them because it gives her another way to control the situation." Rosie lowered her gaze to the table. "She stole seven years of my daughter's life," she said flatly. There was no emotion in her voice. Just a statement of fact. "Yes," I said. She looked back at me. "Can you get them back?" "I'm working on it," I said. "But I need a stronger case before I make my move. Right

He had looked up the formula. He had set up her little art table, settled beside her with a book while she painted, and helped her mix the colors. I called him that evening. He answered on the second ring. "The art show is in two weeks," I said. "Thursday night. Lucy has a project on display, and she really wants you to be there." "I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said. "This is for Lucy," I clarified immediately. "I want us to be clear about that." "I know." I'd called to pass along information. I'd done that, and there was nothing else that needed to be said. The practical part of the conversation was over. "She mixed brown with a touch of red," I said instead. "For the eyes in the painting. She told me you showed her how." A different kind of silence settled between us. "The brown in the watercolor set wasn't right," he explained. "It was too dull. Her eyes aren't dull." "No," I admitted. "They aren't." "She spent two hours on it," he continued. "She kep

I felt his hand in Lucy's, and Lucy's hand in mine, and for the first time, I stopped worrying about the picture we presented to the world. Her painting hung on the wall between two of her classmates' pieces. It was a watercolor of a family. Three figures with brown eyes, each shade carefully mixed and layered. Lucy stopped in front of it and stood perfectly still. Then she straightened a little. It was pride. Real pride. The kind that came from creating something, sharing it with the world, and believing it deserved to be seen. I knew that feeling. I'd experienced it myself lately, on a much smaller scale. But seeing it light up my daughter's face was something else entirely. "It's extraordinary," Aiden said. He was really looking at the painting. Studying it the way someone studied a work of art, without pretense. His gaze traveled over the composition before lingering on the warm brown of the figure on the right. "You got the color exactly right," he told Lucy. "I know