Family Secret

Chapter 4

The café sat at the corner of a narrow cobblestone street, its wrought-iron chairs and round tables scattered beneath the shade of a striped awning. The clamor of the city surrounded it—steam hissed from nearby vents, carriage wheels clattered over uneven stone, and the faint hum of an airship drifted far above.

Nate sat alone at one of the outdoor tables, a folded newspaper propped neatly in his hands. His eyes skimmed the same paragraph again and again without actually reading it. The gesture was for appearances only. The cover mattered more than the content.

A server came by, placing a chipped porcelain cup on the table. Black coffee. No sugar. No cream. He gave the man a quick nod before taking a slow sip, the bitter liquid burning pleasantly down his throat.

A few minutes later, the chair at the table behind him scraped against the stone. Someone sat down, deliberately angling themselves so their back faced him.

Nate didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Just shifted his paper higher.

The woman behind him rustled a book open, the faint crack of the spine giving her away. Her voice slipped beneath the clamor of the street—low, precise, meant for his ears alone.

“Did the adoption go well?”

Nate flipped his newspaper as though searching for another article. “Not exactly,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m now the father of twins. The boy is brilliant, sharp-minded, but…” He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “He refuses to go anywhere without his sister. And she is… different.”

The woman—Kirsten—sipped delicately from her cup, the scrape of porcelain against saucer muffled by the chatter of the café. She turned a page in her book, her voice calm. “Different or not, will it increase the odds of the mission succeeding?”

Nate’s eyes flicked over the lines of print he wasn’t reading. “…Yes. In a way. He’s cautious. Protective. But if the boy stays tethered to her, it could complicate things.”

“Then it’s settled,” Kirsten replied, almost too lightly. “I’ll have forged birth certificates for both of them ready by morning. That will keep questions at bay.”

She paused, letting the words linger, before shifting in her chair. “And the matter of finding a wife?”

Nate’s fingers tightened against the edge of the paper. His jaw worked as though grinding down the words before they could leave his mouth. “I’ll start looking first thing in the morning.”

“Good.” Kirsten closed her book with a soft thump, her tone carrying an edge now. “You’d better get a move on. Time’s running out.”

She rose smoothly, her chair sliding back without a sound. The click of her heels faded into the crowd as she disappeared down the street, blending into the tide of strangers.

For the first time, Nate lowered his newspaper. He stared into the dark pool of coffee left in his cup, the bitterness suddenly heavy on his tongue. A sigh escaped him as he tossed a few coins onto the table, pushed his chair back, and stood.

Without another glance at the café, he melted into the city streets, the shadow of his double life pressing heavier with each step.

By the time the sun had dipped below the rooftops, Nate returned to the quiet house carrying a large cardboard box that smelled faintly of roasted cheese and spices. He’d read once—in a glossy article about family traditions—that pizza was the quintessential “first night in a new home” meal. Normal. Familiar. Something that built comfort where walls still felt strange.

He wasn’t sure he believed in that sort of thing, but he bought it anyway.

The dining room still looked bare, a simple wooden table set beneath a light that swung slightly from the ceiling fan above. He set the box down, flipped it open, and the rich aroma filled the room.

Ryan and Kyan were already seated, watching him with wide eyes.

“Dinner,” Nate announced flatly, taking out paper plates and sliding two slices onto each one.

He’d barely set them down before the twins attacked their food. They tore into the pizza like ravenous wolves, grease glistening on their fingers, melted cheese stretching between bites.

Nate blinked, his own slice untouched on the plate in front of him. He raised an eyebrow as Ryan devoured another piece, barely chewing, while Kyan stuffed her cheeks with a satisfied hum.

“Do you even taste it?” Nate asked, cutting his own slice into small bites with a fork and knife, the motion neat and deliberate.

Kyan looked up, sauce smeared across her cheek and chin. She grinned. “Pizza was only given to us on special occasions. And even then…” she licked her fingers with a giggle, “…we only got a sliver if we were lucky. Most of the older kids took it all.”

Ryan, his mouth full, reached for his glass of milk and downed it in a single breath. He wiped his sleeve across his lips, eyes sharp and serious. “Same with this. Milk. We almost never had it. Not unless it was a holiday. Even water…” his jaw tightened, “…wasn’t something we could count on.”

Nate froze mid-bite, the fork hovering near his lips. A pause stretched in the air. He hadn’t considered—not truly—what conditions the orphanage had been. He knew it had been rough, of course, but hearing it so plainly… seeing them devour food as if afraid it would vanish from the table…

For a moment, guilt flickered beneath his usual hard exterior.

Dinner ended quietly, the box emptied, plates cleared. The twins, satisfied for once, washed their hands and faces before shuffling up the stairs.

Kyan lingered at the bedroom door. She turned, her small frame silhouetted in the dim hall light. Without warning, she ran forward and wrapped her arms around Nate’s middle, her cheek pressing into his shirt.

“Night night, Daddy,” she said softly, voice sweet and unguarded. “I love you.”

Nate went rigid, breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if he was even supposed to answer. Before he could think of anything, Kyan giggled, spun on her heel, and darted into the room.

The door remained open a crack. Ryan stood there, watching him with a look that cut deeper than the girl’s affection. His eyes burned with suspicion, not trust.

“Good night… Father,” Ryan said firmly, each word heavy, deliberate. Then he pushed the door shut behind him.

Nate exhaled slowly, staring at the closed door, the echo of “Daddy” still ringing in his ears. He sat alone in the half-lit dining room, the cardboard pizza box empty before him, realizing that no matter how carefully he had planned this mission, nothing could have prepared him for this.

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan above and the soft murmur of crickets beyond the window. Nate sat at his desk, the glow of his laptop illuminating the dark room.

The browser tabs were filled with profiles from half a dozen “singles dating” sites. Rows of smiling faces, filtered photos, and glossy introductions lined the screen.

Lonely professional seeking true love.

Divorced, ready to start fresh.

Looking for someone to complete me.

Nate exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it with one hand.

Depressing. That was the only word for it. Depressing and desperate.

He scrolled further, scanning profile after profile with the same practiced efficiency he used to analyze mission intel. Only instead of enemy dossiers, he was sifting through women who wanted candlelit dinners, weekend getaways, promises of “forever.”

Forever.

That wasn’t what he needed. Not even close.

He needed someone practical. Detached. A woman who would understand the arrangement was temporary, transactional even. A marriage on paper, nothing more. Someone who wouldn’t demand affection, wouldn’t expect intimacy, wouldn’t cling to him once it was over.

But above all—someone who would stay for the twins. Someone who would keep them safe when his mission ended, so they would never have to see the inside of that hellish orphanage again.

Every page he clicked through chipped away at the possibility. These women wanted the fairy tale. They wanted the love story. They wanted him—or rather, the idea of him—to fill the aching void in their lives.

Nate closed his eyes briefly, dragging a hand down his face. His palm scraped across the rough stubble on his jaw, the bristle of it grounding him in the silence.

This wasn’t working.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a long moment, the glow of the laptop screen casting sharp shadows across his features.

How did people do this? How did anyone build something resembling a family out of strangers, out of expectations, out of need?

With a heavy sigh, Nate snapped the laptop shut. The sound was sharp in the stillness.

For the first time that night, the mission felt impossible.