Family Secret

Chapter 30

Sunday mornings in the Atkins household had developed a rhythm. The twins were sprawled out on the living room rug in their pajamas, bowls of half-eaten cereal beside them, their eyes glued to the television.

The familiar theme song of Agent Wolf filled the air, the animated wolf in his sleek black suit leaping across rooftops while his fox partner trailed at his side, sly grin and all.

Ryan smirked as he leaned his chin into his hands. He couldn’t help but notice the way the show mirrored real life—at least, their life. A wolfish spy with a sharp wit and a calm exterior, partnered with a clever, secretive fox who carried shadows of her own. Neither character knew the other’s real secret, and yet somehow, together, they thrived.

“Sound familiar…” Ryan muttered under his breath, casting a glance toward the kitchen where Nate was pulling out ingredients for dinner, and the laundry room where Alexia was folding shirts in neat stacks.

Kyan nudged him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ryan whispered, but his smile said otherwise.

In the laundry room, Alexia hummed softly to herself, folding towels into clean stacks. The faint scent of detergent clung to the air, mixing with the smell of spices Nate had just started to pull out for whatever he planned to cook. The warmth of it—the normalcy—was something she hadn’t realized she craved until recently.

Then Nate’s phone rang, sharp and demanding. He glanced at the caller ID before answering.

“Dr. Atkins speaking.”

The tone of his voice shifted almost immediately, the casual calm dropping away into something clipped and serious. Alexia, even from across the hall, noticed the subtle tension in his posture.

“Yes,” Nate said, jaw tightening. “I’ll be there right away.”

He hung up quickly, sliding the phone back into his pocket. When he turned, his expression was neutral, carefully composed—but the heaviness in his eyes told a different story.

“An emergency at work,” he told Alexia, forcing his voice to sound casual. “I won’t be home until late. Just… order something in for dinner.”

Alexia paused in her folding, her dark eyes flicking up to meet his. She gave a small nod, saying nothing.

Ryan, however, was far from silent in his own head.

The moment Nate answered the phone, Ryan had slipped effortlessly into his mind. It was like opening a door no one else could see. He felt the weight of the words—not an emergency at work, but a mission. Classified, urgent, dangerous.

Nate shrugged into his coat, ready to leave, when something unexpected happened.

As if guided by instinct rather than thought, he leaned toward Alexia. His lips brushed her temple in a fleeting, gentle kiss.

The moment froze.

Alexia stiffened, her hands tightening on the folded shirt she held. Nate himself went rigid, his face blanching before heat flooded into his cheeks.

From the living room came the stifled giggles of the twins.

“Daddy kissed Mommy!” Kyan sang, unable to hold it in.

Ryan clapped a hand over his mouth, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

Nate’s face turned crimson, betraying him for the first time in years. He straightened abruptly, clearing his throat. It’s… it’s just part of the cover, he thought, almost convincing himself. Almost.

He didn’t dare meet Alexia’s eyes.

He turned to the twins, who were still snickering like little hyenas. “Behave for your mother,” he said firmly, his voice steadier than he felt.

And with that, he walked out the door, leaving Alexia standing in the laundry room with her heart racing, and the twins with enough teasing material to last them for weeks.

The drive through the city was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the silence Nate desperately needed. His hands gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, his jaw locked as he replayed what had happened back at the house.

The kiss.

It wasn’t even a real kiss. Just the barest brush of his lips against Alexia’s temple. Something so small it could be excused, forgotten. And yet it hadn’t been calculated, hadn’t been rehearsed. It slipped past his discipline, unbidden.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.

He told himself, again and again, that it was just part of the mission. Even behind closed doors, they had to keep the illusion airtight. A slip in the private moments could lead to a slip in public, and public mistakes were the kind that got people killed. That’s all it was—habit, precaution, instinct.

But no matter how many times he repeated the excuse, the heat of that fleeting moment lingered in the back of his mind, making his chest feel tight in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

By the time he reached the hideout, buried beneath the facade of an abandoned textile mill on the far edge of the city, he had his face set back into its mask. He was no longer Nate Atkins, father of twins and “husband.” He was Steele, Agent of The Order.

The sterile lighting of the underground facility hummed faintly as he pushed through the steel door. The place always smelled faintly of disinfectant and metal, stripped of personality, stripped of comfort.

Waiting for him in the briefing room were three familiar figures.

Kristen Martin stood at the head of the table, her red hair gleaming like fire under the cold lights. Her expression was as it always was—calm, detached, unreadable. She was less a person than a machine carved into flesh, her voice precise and clipped, her posture straight as a blade.

Beside her lounged Kevin.

And then there was Rose.

Brown hair, pale skin, and eyes so sharply blue they could cut. She was elegance wrapped around steel. She’d always carried herself with the kind of ease that suggested she could slit a throat without disturbing a hair out of place.

Rose turned when he entered, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Agent Steele. It’s been awhile.”

Nate gave a curt nod. “Rose. It has. How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” she said smoothly, though her eyes lingered a fraction longer than necessary.

Kristen broke the moment with her level voice. “Unexpected intel has come in. The Resistance is making a move tonight. They intend to break into The Order’s History Museum and destroy several artifacts.”

Steele’s jaw tightened. “How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

Her eyes didn’t flicker. “The source is strong.”

Cold words. No hesitation. No warmth. Just fact.

Nate gave a stiff nod, but something in his gut refused to settle. Traps were common. Leaks were rarer. And the Resistance didn’t waste resources unless the prize was worthwhile.

The agents began preparing—checking weapons, syncing comms, reviewing entry and exit points. The clatter of metal against metal filled the space, broken only by Kevin’s occasional whistle and muttered joke under his breath.

Rose moved toward Nate, her presence calm but deliberate. “So,” she began casually, “I heard you’re undercover as a family man now. And you took some random civilian as your ‘wife.’”

Nate didn’t glance at her, busying himself with loading a magazine. “That’s right.”

Her voice sharpened with an edge she tried to mask. “Why didn’t you ask me? Would have been easier.”

Nate shrugged. “It just… happened. She was being followed by the Secret Service. She needed a husband to keep them off her back. I needed a wife for the mission. It worked out.”

Rose’s jaw tightened. Her teeth pressed together behind her polite smile. “Does she know?”

“Of course not.”

She nodded, though her thoughts were anything but agreeable. If he’d chosen her, there’d be no need for lies. No cover inside a cover. No civilian in the middle of something bigger than she could ever handle. It would’ve been cleaner, simpler, better.

But Nate had chosen differently. And no matter how much she tried to bury it, the rejection cut deep.

“Ten minutes,” Kristen’s voice rang out, emotionless as ever. “We leave in ten.”

The room fell into silence but for the tightening of straps, the click of safeties, and the faint thrum of anticipation that came before every mission.

Nate slid his sidearm into place and exhaled slowly. Whatever the night held, he’d bury the temple kiss deep, where no one could touch it. Where it couldn’t touch him.

At least, that’s what he told himself.