Kaelen’s POV

"Absolutely," I said. I pulled Elara into my side before she could react. My arm locked around her waist like iron. "We worked things out."

Elara went rigid against me. Every muscle in her body turned to stone. But she didn’t pull away. Not with Brenna watching. Not with Riley’s gentle, searching gaze sweeping between us.

"Isn’t that right, sweetheart?" I pressed my lips to her temple.

Her skin was ice-cold.

"Yes," she said. Her voice was smooth. Pleasant. Perfectly controlled. "We talked. We’re... better now."

Under the table, her fingernails dug into my thigh so hard I nearly flinched. Ten small crescents of fury, biting through the fabric of my trousers and into the skin beneath. I deserved every single one.

Brenna narrowed her eyes. "Talked. Just like that."

"Just like that." I smiled. Drew Elara closer. Rested my chin on the top of her head. She smelled like soap and something colder—anger, maybe. Or hatred. At this distance, they smelled the same.

"After searching for her all these years," I said, "I wasn’t about to let miscommunication keep us apart."

Elara’s elbow drove into my ribs. Quick. Surgical. Hidden entirely by the angle of our bodies. Pain bloomed hot across my side. I kept smiling.

Riley tilted her head. "It’s just... the last time we saw you two in the same room, Ela, you looked like you wanted to set him on fire."

"People change," Elara said sweetly.

"Do they?" Brenna leaned forward. Her dark eyes were sharp with suspicion. "Because years ago you left a letter that made me cry for a week, and now you’re cuddled up like newlyweds. Forgive me if I’m having trouble with the timeline."

Something flickered across Elara’s face. Gone before anyone else could catch it. But I caught it. Guilt. Raw and bleeding.

"It was complicated, Brenna." Elara’s hand found mine under the table. She laced our fingers together. Her grip was crushing. A warning. "But Kaelen found me. And we decided that our children matter more than old wounds."

That part, at least, was true.

Brenna studied us for another long moment. Then she exhaled. Sat back. "Fine. But if he hurts you again, I’m cutting something off him. Something he’ll miss."

"Noted," I said evenly.

Riley bounced Thalia on her hip, her sweet smile not quite reaching her observant eyes. "Such a sudden and intense reconciliation... I’m happy for you both, of course," she added, hiding her skepticism behind an innocent tone.

After they left, I took a deep breath.

Elara shoved me so hard I stumbled back into the counter.

"Don’t you ever touch me like that again."

Her voice was low. Shaking. Not with weakness—with barely leashed violence. Her ice-blue eyes burned with a fury so bright it was almost beautiful.

I straightened. Rubbed the spot on my ribs where her elbow had landed. "Would you have preferred the alternative?"

"What alternative?"

"Telling Brenna the truth." I kept my voice flat. Measured. "That I locked you in an inn room. That I was drunk out of my mind when I—"

"Stop."

"—when I forced myself on you."

The words hung in the air between us. Ugly. Irreversible.

Elara’s face had gone white. Her hands were clenched at her sides. Her breathing was fast and shallow.

"If Brenna finds out what happened in that room," I said quietly, "she won’t just hate me. She’ll blame herself for leaving you alone with me. She’ll tear herself apart over it. Is that what you want?"

She said nothing. Her jaw worked. A muscle jumped in her cheek.

"And Riley." I took a step toward her. She took a step back. "Riley will tell Cassian. Cassian will challenge me formally. Blood court. You know how that ends."

Still nothing.

"So yes," I said. "I touched you in front of your friends. I called you sweetheart. And I’ll do it again. Every time they’re in this house. Because the alternative is a truth that destroys everyone in this room, including our children."

Her eyes glistened. She blinked it away savagely.

"You’re disgusting," she whispered.

"I know."

The sound of small, rapid footsteps broke the silence.

"Father."

Valerius appeared in the kitchen doorway. His dark curls were disheveled. His gold eyes—my eyes—swept the room with an alertness that no child his age should possess.

"Lyra took Thalia’s doll," he announced. "The one with the blue dress. Thalia’s crying."

I exhaled. Stepped back from Elara. Put distance between us. "I’ll handle it."

"I already told Lyra to give it back," Valerius said. "She said no." He paused. Looked between me and his mother. His gaze lingered one beat too long. "Were you fighting?"

"No," Elara and I said simultaneously.

His expression said he didn’t believe either of us.

I went upstairs. Settled the doll dispute. Lyra pouted. Thalia hugged the doll to her chest and sniffled. By the time I came back down, Elara had started dinner.

Pasta. Lyra’s favorite.

We sat around the table like a family. Four chairs. Four plates. Steam rising from the bowls. Lyra had insisted on extra cheese. Valerius ate methodically, cutting his pasta into precise, even pieces—a habit he’d picked up from me, though he’d never admit it.

"Mommy, eat," Lyra said, nudging Elara’s arm. Her silver hair caught the lamplight. My wife—because she was still my wife, whatever she felt about it—was staring at her plate like it contained a riddle she couldn’t solve.

"I’m eating, baby," Elara murmured. She twirled a forkful. Put it in her mouth. Chewed mechanically. Swallowed like it hurt.

Across the table, Valerius watched us. His fork moved. His eyes didn’t.

He knew. Maybe not the specifics. But he knew the smiles were wrong. Knew the distance between our chairs was too wide. Knew that his mother’s laughter, when it came, stopped a moment too late—performed rather than felt.

I reached for the bread. My hand passed near Elara’s. She flinched. Covered it by reaching for her glass.

Valerius saw that too.

For family projection night, Lyra demanded a magical illusion sphere. She picked something colorful—bright lights, singing animals, a story where everything worked out in the end. The kind of lie children need.

We settled on the couch. Lyra climbed immediately into Elara’s lap, tucking her small body against her mother’s chest with the absolute certainty of a child reclaiming something precious. Elara’s arms wrapped around her. Tight. Almost desperate.

Valerius sat beside me. Not touching. Not quite leaning against my arm. But close. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him. After a few minutes, his head drifted sideways and came to rest against my shoulder.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe wrong. Just let him stay.

In the magical projection, an illusion of a fox was singing about finding his way home.

For one fragile, crystalline moment, it almost felt real. The warmth. The weight of small bodies. The flickering light. The illusion of something whole.

Then the projection sphere faded. The room dimmed.

Elara carried Lyra upstairs. I took Valerius. We tucked them in. Said goodnight. Performed the ancient rituals of parenthood—water, stories, one more hug, the hallway light left on.

I walked Elara to the master bedroom door. Our bedroom. The one we’d once shared. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

She stopped. Looked at the door. Then looked at me.

"No," she said. Quiet. Flat. Final.

No argument. No explanation. No negotiation. Just the single syllable, dropped like a stone into still water.

She turned and walked down the hallway. Past Valerius’s door. Past Lyra’s. To the guest room at the far end.

I heard the sound of the guest room door closing at the far end of the hallway. I walked alone back to the old master bedroom, sat on the edge of the empty bed, and buried my face in my hands.