She laughs again—my favourite sound—before saying, “You’ll tell me how it goes with Owen?”
“Of course,” I say, watching the rain smear across the window. “I’ll tell you everything. But for now? Just… stay on the line a little longer.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers. “I’m done hiding from you, and from how you make me feel, baby.”
My eyes close for half a second, my breath catching on the truth of it.
Because for the first time in months, it feels like we’re finally standing on the same side of the line ready to fight the same fight, together, and to hell with the consequences.
The taxi turns into the gated community most Points members live in, tyres hissing over wet pavement. Streetlights glint gold against the windows, and the familiar row of brick townhouses comes into view, the kind of place that looks safe from the outside. Warm and domestic.
The kind of place Lily deserves.
“We’re nearly at Owen’s,” I tell her, voice dipping soft again, like it always does when I don’t want to hang up.
“Mhm,” she hums, but there’s something fragile beneath it. “You’ll call me later?”
“Course I will.” My thumb rubs over the ridges of my phone like it’s her skin. “I’ll call before I crash. And if Owen tries to keep me up all night with his paranoid bullshit, I’ll call during that too.”
She snorts, and the sound melts straight into my ribs.
“I’ll let you get inside,” she says reluctantly. “Just… text me when you’re done.”
“Sweetheart,” I say gently, her doubt eating at me. “I’ll keep you in the loop, I promise. You’re the only thing that makes sense in all this shit.”
There’s a soft inhale on the other end, a shaky one. Like maybe she feels the same and has no idea how to hold it.
“Be safe, Matt.”
I swallow, something tightening under my sternum.
“Only if you promise to chase that investor,” I tease, trying to coax one last smile or laugh out of her.
“I’ll call them now,” she promises, and I can hear the tiny smile in her voice. I end the call before I can talk myself out of it, before I can ask her to stay on the line until I’m at the front door, through it, past the point of no return.
The house looks almost exactly as I left it—sun-washed walls, curtains fluttering in the afternoon breeze, the faint shapes of someone moving inside. But stepping toward it now feels different. Heavier. More intentional.
Because every choice I make from here on out is for her.
I’m only halfway up the path when the front door swings open, and Cora fills the frame—narrowed, assessing eyes, a messy bun barely holding together, and a jumper that looks like it’s been through sleepless nights, toddler tantrums, and the kind of pressure that comes with being Jonathan’s heir while keeping secrets from him.
Before she can speak, a blur in a pink tutu shoots past her.
“Uncle Matt!”
April launches herself at my legs, tiny arms wrapping around me with the force of a toddler missile. Her laughter bursts through the cold like sunlight—too bright, too clean to exist anywhere near the kind of shit we’re neck-deep in.
Christ. This blissfully unaware innocence isexactlywhat we’re fighting to protect.
I crouch, scooping her up and forcing a smile. “Staying up past your naptime again?”
Cora snorts, folding her arms but not hiding the softness in her face. “She’s been asking when you’d visit.”
I straighten, shifting April easily. “Oh yeah? My favourite girl missed me?”
“Don’t let Lily hear you say that,” Cora laughs, rolling her eyes but she’s smiling. She takes April back, settling her on her hip. “Come on. Owen’s in his office, and I’ll be up as soon as I get trouble here to nap.”
I watch them disappear down the hall—April’s tired giggle echoing after them—before heading toward the stairs with a weight settling behind my ribs.
