"For staying." His eyes are clearer now, the frantic shine worn down into something softer. Tired, but not empty. "For waiting. For never making me feel like I have to earn the fact that you'll still be there when I finally remember to reach for you." Hismouth tightens before the rest comes out. "I'm sorry we don't make more time for this. For you."
There are several things I could say. That he doesn't have to apologize. That the house is full, and the children are small, and the pack's never been a place where love arrives in neat, scheduled hours. That I chose the edge of the room so often he learned to look for me there. None of it feels useful with him watching me like this, bare and sleepy and still brave enough to say the thing plainly.
"We're making it now," I tell him, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. "That matters."
His breath leaves him unevenly, and he closes his eyes for a second under my touch. I shift carefully, slow enough not to jar him, and reach for the wool blanket folded over the back of the sofa. Grayson helps only in the smallest ways, lifting one shoulder, turning into me when I settle beside him, tucking his head beneath my chin as if his body's finally remembered what rest is supposed to feel like. The room's cool, the leather colder where our skin's shifted away from it, but he's warm against my side, heavy in the best way.
I keep one arm around him and look toward the thin line of light beneath the door. Luther's out there somewhere, likely pacing between Blake's office and his own, taking calls he doesn't want and ignoring the ones that deserve it. Luca'll be checking the children twice before he lets himself sit down. Blake'll claim he's working on one small fix while three people watch his pulse. The day'll still be there when we open the door.
For now, the door's locked. The water's on the table. Grayson's breathing slower against my chest.
That's enough.
The handle turns quietly sometime later. Grayson doesn't stir. I open my eyes but don't move. The lock holds, and silence settles on the other side of the wood for a few seconds beforeI hear Luther's low exhale. He doesn't knock. He doesn't ask whether we're all right. After a moment, a folded blanket slides down over the threshold, blocking the strip of light from the hall, and the office outside clicks into darkness.
Luther's seen enough to understand.
I close my eyes again and tighten my arm around Grayson, careful not to wake him. For once, I don't listen for the next problem past the door. I let the dark stay dark, let Grayson's breathing pull mine into rhythm, and stay where he asked me to stay.
12
Luca
The hallway outside the main conference room at Keller Industries smells like floor wax, coffee, and the cold recycled air that lives in places where people argue politely about money. I shift the lunch bag higher in my arms, careful not to crush the sandwiches inside, and keep Rosalie close with one hand on the back of her sweater. Blake didn't answer Grayson's last two messages, which means he's either in a meeting, working through one, or ignoring his body with the intense focushe usually reserves for system failures. Grayson packed food anyway, sealed everything in neat containers, and looked at me over the kitchen island with the kind of patience that meant he expected me to succeed where texts had failed.
Samuel walks a few steps ahead of us with his hands folded behind his back because I told him three separate times not to touch the keypad near the development wing. James stays beside me, his notebook tucked under one arm, his gaze moving over the vents and ceiling panels with quiet concentration. He's been watching hands more lately, not faces. I don't think he knows he's doing it. I do. Rosalie holds her crown against her chest instead of wearing it, and every few steps she looks toward the conference room doors as if Luther might appear by force of wanting him enough.
I almost turn around before we reach the end of the hall.
The impulse comes without warning, sharp and bodily. My feet slow. My fingers tighten around the paper handles of the bag, and the warm weight of Blake's lunch presses against my ribs. There's no obvious danger. No raised voices. No scent strong enough to explain the cold prickle under my skin. The hallway's bright, the carpet clean, the office quiet behind glass walls, and the children are calm enough that leaving now would feel like teaching them fear before anything's happened.
So I keep walking.
"Papa," Samuel says, his voice lower than usual, "when we get to Blake's office, can I knock first?"
"Yes. Softly."
"Softly like with sleeping people or softly like with angry people?"
James looks up before I can answer, his shoulder brushing mine. "Those aren't the same kind of soft."
"No," I say, and I try to make my voice steady enough to hold both of them. "Today we use the kind of soft that lets people know we're here without startling them."
Rosalie makes a small sound and tucks herself closer to my side. I look down at her just as the conference room door opens.
Dorian Vale steps into the hall with a tablet in one hand and his suit jacket folded over the other arm. Victor's behind him, speaking to someone still inside, his attention already moving past us the way powerful men often look past rooms they assume belong to them. Dorian stops when he sees me. His expression shifts into something pleasant and measured, and there's nothing in it that anyone could reasonably call threatening. That's the first thing my body notices. How careful he is.
"Luca," he says, warm enough to be polite. "I didn't realize you were coming in today."
The elevator's behind him. The side corridor's to my left, past the conference room doors and too narrow to move through easily with three children and a lunch bag. Blake's office is beyond Dorian, down the hall and around the corner. Dorian doesn't step toward me, but he's already in the path I'd need most.
"We're bringing Blake lunch," I say, adjusting my grip on the bag before the handles can slip. "We didn't mean to interrupt."
"You're not interrupting." His gaze moves over the children briefly, soft enough to look kind. James presses his shoulder harder against my arm, and Samuel stops moving entirely. Rosalie turns her face into my sweater, her crown digging into my hip. Dorian's eyes catch each of those movements and return to me without a single change in his smile. "It's good to see the family side of the company. It explains some of the loyalty people have to this place."
Victor offers a brief nod from behind him. "Luca. Children." Then his focus returns to the conference room, to Luther orBlake or whoever he still believes is the proper person to receive his attention. "We'll have the revised schedule sent over this afternoon."
Dorian remains in the hallway after Victor moves away.
