8
1605 Words
POV: Emerald
The rain came softly that afternoon, a quiet hush against the glass walls of the penthouse as gray light spread across the skyline. I sat cross-legged on the thick cream rug in the center of the living room, my laptop forgotten on the sofa behind me. All my attention was on the small boy lying on his stomach in front of me, crayons scattered around him, his tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth as he colored with fierce concentration.
Kelvin.
My son. My miracle.
He was five now—soft curls, bright eyes, skin that held the golden warmth of a sunbeam. He had a gentle heart and a stubborn streak I know too well. And right now, he was coloring a giant red dragon with a blue crown.
“It’s you,” he said suddenly, sitting up.
I blinked. “Me?”
Kelvin nodded solemnly and held up the drawing. The dragon was strong, with large wings, and it hovered over a small castle.
“You’re the queen dragon. And you protect the castle from bad guys.”
My heart squeezed.
“You think I’m a dragon?”
“A nice one,” he added quickly. “But you can breathe fire when you want.”
I smiled. “That’s...fair.”
Kelvin turned serious. “Will you always protect me?”
I leaned forward, brushing his curls off his forehead, my voice quiet. “Always. You’re my whole heart, Kelvin.”
He nodded, like he was tucking that truth somewhere safe. Then he climbed into my lap without another word, curling against my chest like he did when he was smaller.
I held him close, rocking slowly. Outside, the rain picked up. It was the kind of moment that slowed time.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know the world was whispering about him. About his face. His last name—or lack of one. He didn’t know people were comparing his photos to a man I hadn’t spoken to in five years. He didn’t know there was a war I was keeping outside the walls of this home, one headline at a time.
I wanted to keep it that way.
“Kelvin,” I said softly, “can I tell you something?”
He looked up with those wide, trusting eyes. “Is it a secret?”
“No,” I said, brushing my thumb over his cheek. “It’s a promise.”
He sat up straighter, listening.
“I promise that no matter what happens, no matter what the world says, or what people think they know… I will always tell you the truth when you need it.”
He tilted his head. “Like when I’m big?”
“Yes. When you’re big. And ready. I’ll tell you everything. About where you come from. About who loved you first. But right now…”
I kissed his forehead. “Right now, you don’t have to carry anything. That’s my job.”
He smiled, a little drowsy now from the rhythm of the rain and the warmth of my arms. “I like our castle.”
“So do I.”
A beat.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Are you sad sometimes?”
The question hit harder than I expected.
I didn’t lie. Not to him.
“Sometimes,” I said. “But not because of you. You’re my happy.”
He wrapped his arms around my neck and hugged tight. “Then I’ll protect you too.”
Tears prickled behind my eyes. I buried my face in his shoulder, letting myself feel the fierce, unshakable love that had carried me through the darkest chapters of my life.
I thought of the day I bled on the floor of a house that never loved me. I thought of the limousine doors closing around me and the arms that lifted me with care instead of cruelty. I thought of Donovan Hugo's steady hand, the warmth of a home rebuilt from ash.
I thought of Kelvin’s first cry.
His first laugh.
His first steps.
All of it. Every second.
He had saved me.
Now, I will save him.
From the headlines. From the whispering. From the cold reach of a man who only now remembered what he’d lost.
I wouldn’t let him confuse Kelvin with apologies.
I wouldn’t let him take credit for the light I fought tooth and nail to keep alive.
I would never be the woman on the floor again.
“Hey,” I whispered into my son’s hair. “Want to go bake cookies?”
Kelvin pulled back, wide-eyed. “With frosting?”
“All the frosting.”
“And sprinkles?”
“Rainbow ones.”
He bolted upright and ran to the kitchen, socks sliding on the marble floor. “I get the blue bowl!”
I laughed softly, standing slowly. My chest still tight, but fuller now. Stronger.
Let the world speculate.
Let Michael ache.
Let the past keep knocking.
I have better things to do.
I have cookies to bake.
And a little boy to raise who will never question if he was loved.
That is my truth.
And it was more than enough.
***
POV: Matthew
The gala was loud with clinking glasses and softer with guarded smiles. Every guest moved like a chess piece—one wrong word could cost millions. But I don't play games.
I spotted Michael the moment he walked in. Same tailored arrogance, same calculating gaze. I stiffened at the sight. The world had changed since the Michaelson divorce scandal resurfaced, but Michael still walked like his name held weight. Still believed money erased history.
But tonight, history was here to collect.
I adjusted my cufflinks and crossed the ballroom in long, purposeful strides. I cut through the music and murmured conversations like a blade. Michael was laughing stiffly with a politician near the terrace when I stepped in.
“Mr. Michael”
Michael turned. His smile faltered. “Matthew.”
“Step outside with me.”
Michael looked at the man he was speaking to, made some excuse, and followed me onto the balcony. The city lights cast long shadows. Cold wind swept through the gap in silence between us.
I didn’t waste time.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
Michael’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I turned to face him fully. “I know you married Emerald for a name. I know you served her divorce papers the day she told you she was pregnant. I know she bled on your marble floors while your girlfriend laughed.”
Michael’s mouth pressed into a flat line.
“I also know,” I continued, voice harder, “that for five years, she never said your name once. Not to us. Not even to your son.”
Michael flinched.
“Did you think she’d come running back the moment you saw the resemblance?” I asked. “That you could walk into her life again just because you finally decided to care?”
“I didn’t know,” Michael snapped. “I didn’t know about the pregnancy. I didn’t know they took her in. I didn’t know anything.”
“You didn’t want to.”
Michael fell silent.
I stepped closer, eyes burning. “We picked her off the sidewalk, Michael. Blood on her legs. Shaking. Refusing to cry. She was carrying a child and still looked us in the eye like she dared us to pity her.”
I paused, remembering. My voice dropped. “She became Emerald because she earned that name. She fought through everything you dropped on her shoulders and turned it into steel.”
Michael’s gaze flickered to the skyline. “I’ve made mistakes.”
“No,” I said. “You made a choice. Don’t insult her by calling it a mistake now.”
Michael turned back to him. “So what now? I stay away forever?”
“You stay the hell away until she decides otherwise,” I said. “And if that day never comes—you respect that too.”
Michael swallowed hard. “I want to know my son.”
“He already has a family,” I replied coolly. “You’re not entitled to him just because your genes lined up. That little boy knows peace. He knows joy. Don’t show up and confuse him because of your guilt.”
Michael’s fists curled at his sides. “He’s my son.”
“Then act like it,” I snapped. “Act like a man who doesn’t shatter the first thing he holds too tightly. Act like someone who puts him first, not your ego. You want to know him? Earn that right. And don’t you dare try to take anything from her again.”
A long silence stretched between us.
Michael’s voice cracked. “Do you think she hates me?”
I hesitated.
“No,” I said at last. “She doesn’t waste energy on things that don’t matter.”
Michael nodded slowly, and for the first time in years, he looked… smaller. Human.
“Thanks for the honesty,” he said.
I stepped back, adjusting my blazer. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t break that little trust you might still be able to earn.”
With that, I turned and walked back inside, leaving Michael alone on the balcony, lost in the cold night air and the weight of a life he no longer recognized.
Behind him, the gala carried on.
But in front of him? That was a future he had no claim to.
Not yet.
- Writer
