Ryan's POV.
Ryan sat there long after the words had faded, the soft hum of the air conditioner filling the silence between them.
The sunlight had moved across the room, spilling gold on the marble floor and painting Eve’s hair in copper tones. She looked fragile yet unbreakable, like glass that had survived fire.
For the first time in years, his mind wasn’t full of anger, suspicion, or the endless noise of strategy and control. It was full of her voice, soft, trembling, yet steady as she told him the truth.
Their baby.
His child.
He still couldn’t believe it.
He swallowed hard and turned to her, watching her thumb trace the rim of her glass absently. “Eve,” he said quietly.
She looked up, eyes cautious but not cold.
“Tell me about Westwood,” he said. “About the people you staye
