THE BLACKWOOD HEIR

Chapter 8-The Waiting Game

Lena

I woke to sunlight streaming through the library windows and the smell of coffee.

For a disorienting moment, I didn't know where I was. The ceiling was wrong—too high, too ornate, crossed with dark wooden beams that belonged in a cathedral, not a bedroom. The couch beneath me was too narrow, the blanket too heavy.

Then I saw Caleb.

He was still in the armchair, still in yesterday's clothes, a book open on his lap and his head tipped back against the cushion. Asleep. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, and his mouth was slightly parted, and he looked younger than thirty. Softer. Like the boy I had fallen in love with before the world hardened him.

I shouldn't have stared.

I stared anyway.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks, and Caleb's eyes opened.

He found me watching him.

Something passed between us—too quick to name, too heavy to ignore.

"You stayed," I said.

"You asked me to."

I had. I remembered now, the words slipping out in the dark, desperate and honest. Stay with me tonight. Not a command. A confession.

"I should check on Jonah." I sat up, clutching the blanket to my chest. "He sleeps like the dead, but if he wakes up alone—"

"He won't. Mrs. Holloway checks on him every hour. She sent me a text at six." Caleb pulled his phone from his pocket and showed me. Boy is fine. Still sleeping. Stop worrying and drink your coffee.

I laughed despite myself. "She's a treasure."

"She's been with the family for forty years. She knew my mother before she left. She knew yours before she... before she changed."

Before she became the woman who betrayed me. Celeste hadn't always been cold. I remembered a time, early in my childhood, when she had braided my hair and sung me lullabies. That woman had died somewhere along the way, replaced by someone who saw me as a pawn instead of a daughter.

I didn't know when. I didn't know why.

And I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

"Coffee?" Caleb offered, gesturing to a silver tray on the sideboard. Two mugs, a carafe, a small pitcher of cream. He had planned for me to wake here.

"You're very confident."

"Hopeful," he corrected. "There's a difference."

I poured myself a mug and added too much cream, the way I liked it. Caleb watched without comment, but I saw the recognition in his eyes. He remembered.

"You take yours black," I said.

"Some things don't change."

Some things do, I thought. I have.

We drank our coffee in silence, the fire crackling between us, and for a few minutes, the world outside the library ceased to exist. No Serena. No Celeste. No DNA test looming over our heads like a guillotine.

Just us.

Just this.

"Lena." Caleb set down his mug. "The test. I'm sending it today."

My stomach clenched. "I know."

"If the results come back negative—"

"They won't."

"But if they do." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on mine. "If they do, I want you to know it doesn't change anything for me. Jonah is my son. I know it in my bones. In my blood. In the wolf that hasn't stopped howling since I first saw his face."

"Then why do the test at all?"

"Because the world doesn't run on knowing. It runs on proof." His jaw tightened. "And I need proof to protect him. To protect you. To make sure Serena and Celeste can never take him from me."

Take him from me.

The words hit me like a physical blow.

"You think they would try?"

"I think they've already tried." He pulled out his phone and showed me a screenshot. A text message, sent to him at 3:15 AM. Same unknown number. Same chilling words.

The boy doesn't belong here, Caleb. Send them home before someone gets hurt.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"She sent this. To you. Last night."

"While you were sleeping on that couch." His voice was low and dangerous. "While I was watching over you. She was out there, in the dark, threatening my son."

"My son," I corrected automatically.

Caleb met my eyes.

Our son.

The unspoken words hung between us.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"Nothing. Yet." He stood and walked to the window, looking out at the snow-covered grounds. "I have a private security team arriving tomorrow. They'll watch the manor, monitor the property, make sure no one gets near Jonah without our permission. And I have someone digging into Serena's past. Bank records. Communications. Everything."

"You've been busy."

"I've been waiting seven years to fix my mistakes. I'm not wasting another day."

I wanted to be angry at him for taking charge, for making decisions without consulting me. But the truth was, I was grateful. I had been fighting alone for so long. Carrying every burden. Making every choice.

For once, someone else was carrying the weight.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Caleb turned from the window, surprised. "For what?"

"For not asking permission. For just... doing. I'm tired of being the one who has to decide everything."

He crossed the room and knelt in front of my chair, bringing himself to eye level. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his irises, the faint scar on his jaw from a childhood fall.

"You don't have to decide anything alone anymore," he said. "Not if you don't want to."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Not if you don't want to.

The door burst open.

"Mama!"

Jonah flew into the room, dressed in his pajamas and his too-big winter boots, Mrs. Holloway trailing behind him with an apologetic expression.

"He woke up and ran," she said. "I couldn't stop him."

"It's fine." I scooped Jonah into my arms, holding him close, breathing in the smell of his strawberry shampoo. "Good morning, baby."

"Why are you in the library? Your bed is in the blue room."

"I couldn't sleep. So I came down here to read."

Jonah looked at Caleb, still kneeling by the chair, and his eyes narrowed with six-year-old suspicion. "Did you read her a story too?"

Caleb smiled. "She didn't want one."

"Liar," I muttered.

Jonah giggled.

And for one bright, fragile moment, the darkness retreated.

---

Caleb

He sent the DNA kit by courier at noon.

The package went to a lab in Connecticut, one recommended by his family's attorney—a man who had worked for the Blackwoods for thirty years and had never once betrayed a confidence. The results would be ready in forty-eight hours.

Caleb watched the courier drive away and felt the weight of the world settle on his shoulders.

Forty-eight hours.

Then everything would change.

He found Lena in the kitchen, helping Jonah decorate sugar cookies with too much frosting and too many sprinkles. Mrs. Holloway stood at the stove, pretending not to watch them with tears in her eyes.

"Can I help?" Caleb asked.

Jonah looked up, a smear of blue frosting on his cheek. "Do you know how to make a snowman cookie?"

"I can learn."

He sat down at the kitchen table, across from Lena, and picked up a cookie cutter. Their hands brushed as she passed him the rolling pin, and neither of them pulled away.

For ten minutes, they made cookies. Imperfect, lopsided, ridiculous cookies. Jonah laughed so hard at Caleb's first attempt—a misshapen blob that looked nothing like a snowman—that he snorted milk out of his nose.

"Gross," Lena said, but she was laughing too.

Caleb looked at her, really looked, and saw something he hadn't seen in seven years.

Joy.

She was joyful.

And he had forgotten how beautiful she was when she smiled.

"Mama, can we go sledding?" Jonah asked, shoving an entire cookie into his mouth.

"After lunch."

"Can Caleb come?"

Caleb held his breath.

Lena looked at him. Really looked, the way she had in the library this morning, with walls half-lowered and something soft beneath.

"Yes," she said. "Caleb can come."

---

Serena

She watched them from the breakfast nook, hidden behind a pillar, a cup of tea growing cold in her hands.

Laughing. Decorating cookies. Playing family.

It made Serena's stomach turn.

She had tried to warn Lena off. The text had been clear enough. You should leave. But Lena hadn't left. She had stayed. She had slept in the library with Caleb, curled on the couch like a trusting fool.

And now they were going sledding.

Together.

Serena set down her tea and walked to her room, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She closed the door, locked it, and pulled out her phone.

Dr. Vance answered on the first ring.

"The samples arrived?"

"An hour ago."

"Good. And the originals?"

"In my possession. I'll destroy them as soon as I've fabricated the negative results."

Serena closed her eyes. "Do it tonight. I want the results by tomorrow morning."

"That's faster than—"

"I'll double your fee."

A pause. Then: "Tomorrow morning. You'll have what you need."

Serena hung up and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

She was still beautiful. Still wealthy. Still untouchable.

Lena had no idea what was coming.

But she would learn.

---

Lena

The hill behind the manor was perfect for sledding.

Gentle enough for a six-year-old, steep enough to be fun, with a long flat stretch at the bottom to slow down. Snow had fallen overnight, fresh and powdery, and the afternoon sun made it sparkle like diamond dust.

Jonah screamed with delight on every run.

Caleb pulled the sled back up the hill each time, patient and steady, never complaining about the cold or the effort or the fact that Jonah insisted on going again. Again. Again. Again.

I sat on a fallen log at the top of the hill, watching them, and felt something dangerous bloom in my chest.

Hope.

I had sworn off hope seven years ago. Hope was a trap, a lie, a promise the universe never kept. I had built my new life on hard work and practicality, not on wishing for things that could never be.

But watching Caleb with Jonah—watching him laugh, watching him teach my son how to steer the sled, watching him catch Jonah at the bottom of the hill and spin him around until they both collapsed in the snow—

Hope crept in anyway.

"Your turn, Mama!" Jonah called, racing up the hill with the sled in tow. "You have to go with Caleb. It's the rule."

"There's no rule."

"There is now. I made it."

I looked at Caleb, who was brushing snow from his dark hair, his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes bright.

"She's scared," he said to Jonah. "I can tell."

"I'm not scared."

"Then prove it." He held out his hand.

Jonah shoved the sled at us. "Go. Go. Go."

I took Caleb's hand.

His fingers closed around mine, warm even through our gloves, and he pulled me toward the sled.

"We don't have to," he said quietly, so Jonah couldn't hear. "If you're not ready."

"I'm ready."

I wasn't ready. Not for sledding. Not for him. Not for any of this.

But I was tired of being afraid.

We sat on the sled together, me in front, Caleb behind me with his arms around my waist. His chest was warm against my back. His breath was warm against my ear.

"Hold on," he said.

"I'm holding on."

"Not to the sled."

I didn't know what that meant. And then we were flying.

The wind whipped my hair. The snow sprayed up around us. Jonah's cheering faded behind us, replaced by the rush of speed and the thundering of my heart.

Caleb's arms tightened around me.

And for three perfect seconds, I let myself feel nothing but joy.

The sled stopped at the bottom of the hill.

We sat there, breathless, tangled together in the snow.

"Again?" Caleb asked.

I turned my head and looked at him.

His face was inches from mine. His eyes were dark and warm, and his lips were parted, and I wanted—

No.

I stood up, brushing snow from my coat, putting distance between us.

"Again," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

But as we trudged back up the hill, Jonah between us, I felt Caleb's hand brush mine.

And I didn't pull away.