Dangerously Mine

Eighteen

FIONA

I don’t remember climbing the stairs.

I just wake up in my bed with a pounding headache and memories of last night crashing back all at once.

luna's party.

Flavian.

Sean.

Sean.

My eyes fly open.

So that wasn’t a nightmare.

The clock reads 8:02 a.m. My head feels stuffed with bricks. I force myself into the shower before Desiree drops Flavian off. Hot water helps, but not enough. Coffee will have to do the rest.

I’m halfway through my first mug when my phone rings.

Unknown number.

I answer without thinking.

“Hello?”

“If it isn’t the party girl.”

My stomach flips.

Flavian.

“Hi,” I say, suddenly more flustered than I was last night.

He chuckles softly. “How bad’s the hangover?”

“My head feels like I was run over.”

“ the best cure is real food. Don’t drown in coffee alone.”

“I was going to heat up some leftovers.”

There’s a pause — not awkward. Comfortable.

“Thanks for last night,” I say. “And for bringing me home.”

“I had your car dropped off this morning.”

I turn toward the window. My car sits in the driveway.

Of course he did.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

His tone shifts. “About flavian's father.”

'sean' i say

My shoulders tense instantly. “I am hoping last night was a fluke and he’ll disappear again.”

“Any contact since then?”

“Nothing. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

We talk a little longer, light things, until I tell him I need to clean up before Flavian gets home.

The doorbell rings minutes later.

A delivery boy stands there holding a café bag.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Fiona Carlisle?”

I take the bag.

Inside: muffins, croissants, sandwiches. A note tucked on top.

The best cure for a hangover.

I smile despite myself.

The day settles into normalcy. Cleaning. Laundry. Dishes.

Flavian gets home and chatters about the movie they saw. I’m halfway listening when my phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

A text.

I see you’ve got yourself a bodyguard now.

My blood runs cold.

Sean.

Stay away from me, I type.

You can’t keep me from my child.

I stare at the screen.

You wanted nothing to do with him. Remember?

No reply.

But the silence feels worse than an argument.

Monday comes too fast.

First day as Head Clerk.

I arrive early, nerves buzzing, only to see Mr. Hale is already in. I’m organizing my desk when his office door opens.

“Fiona. A moment.”

His voice is serious.

I step inside.

He’s holding a file.

And the look on his face makes my chest tighten.

“Fiona… do you know a man named Sean Fisher?”

The room feels smaller.

“Yes,” I manage.

He slides the document across the desk.

“I’m asking,” he says carefully, “because this filing states that Sean Fisher is petitioning the court for full custody of your son.”

The words don’t register at first.

Then they do.

And the floor drops out from under me.