Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I had to hand it to Brennan—Tyrrandor had good nightlife. He raved about it like it was why he moved here rather than the tall, handsome man I’d seen sneaking out of his apartment numerous times. Naolin Velasco. I hadn’t exchanged a single word with him, and Brennan had never mentioned him to me, but older brothers aren’t the only protective siblings in the family. Mira and I had done our due diligence—leveraging her military connections and my talent for guessing Brennan’s terrible passwords—to stalk him thoroughly.

The results? A year younger than Brennan, 29, a pediatric cardiologist at Lewellan Hospital, an only child, a spotless record, and, most importantly, very attractive. Suffice it to say, Mira and I were proud. We just wished Brennan would get the fuck on with it and admit he was dating—if not outright fucking—this man.

Not that it was my problem tonight. Brennan wasn’t out, which was a blessing because whenever he was, he had a habit of lurking in the background and scaring off any potential hookups by glaring at anyone who looked in my direction. Hopefully, he was busy with Naolin instead—preferably getting laid himself—so I could go home with whoever caught my eye without him breathing down my neck.

The bar I had chosen didn’t seem to provide many opportunities for this, I thought as I turned toward Rhiannon. She was leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with a pretty blonde woman with short hair. Fantastic. If Sawyer, Ridoc, and I wanted drinks, we were alone.

“Shall I go and get them, then?” I asked, but it was clear no one was listening. It was just my luck. On Friday, we celebrated a significant win—successfully finishing our internships at Basgiath Law Firm—the bar was full of women.

So much for a celebratory fuck.

It made me wonder what kind of voodoo magic Brennan had been dabbling in to ensure that the one bar I walked into—the only bar in this city otherwise swarming with men—was utterly devoid of them. Looks like I was going to have to turn to incantations as well.

I exhaled, resigned to an evening of cocktails and disappointment, when the door to the left banged open, slamming shut with enough force to startle the bartender. Given that everyone working and drinking here tonight seemed to be a woman, it wasn’t surprising that she looked up, momentarily distracted. Unfortunately, that distraction meant the Cruzcampo I’d just ordered sloshed over the rim of the glass, dripping onto the counter.

Conversations faltered. A shift rippled through the bar—the kind of subtle, charged hush that happens when someone, or rather someone worth looking at, enters the room.

Curious, I followed the change in energy, turning toward the entrance just as a group of men stepped inside.

Finally.

And not just any men. Tall, sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered—the kind of attractive that made you straighten your posture without realising it. They were dressed well, polished enough to stand out in a place like this, but not so much that they looked like they were trying too hard. Confident, relaxed, and entirely at ease as they moved through the room, clearly accustomed to being noticed and not bothered by it.

One of them caught my gaze—blond-haired, olive-skinned, built like he played professional sports or at least spent an intensely respectable amount of time in the gym. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he leaned toward the man beside him, murmuring something low.

That man turned his attention to me.

Oh.

Oh.

He was even better. Dark, nearly black hair and brown eyes that, in the dim lighting, took on a molten, golden hue. He was wearing suit trousers and a half-zip sweater, both perfectly tailored to him—expensive, understated, the well-dressed that suggested wealth but (hopefully) not arrogance. He didn’t just look good—he knew he looked good. And when our eyes met, he didn’t look away.

Interest flared low in my stomach.

Maybe this night wasn’t a complete waste after all.

The dark-haired man’s gaze flicked over me, slow and considering, as if he were assessing whether I was worth his time.

I arched a brow, tilting my head just slightly in invitation. Well?

Something shifted in his expression, the barest twitch of his lips—amusement, intrigue, maybe both. He murmured something back to the blond man, who chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder before turning his attention elsewhere.

I sipped my drink, pretending I wasn’t watching the dark-haired man weave through the crowd. He was closer now, still not looking away. My skin buzzed under the weight of his attention, a delicious thrill winding through me. Was he going to come over?

He stopped a few feet away, casually leaning against the bar as if he hadn’t just made a beeline straight toward me. Up close, he was even better—broad, lean muscle under that perfectly tailored sweater, sharp cheekbones, and a mouth that looked far too tempting.

I lifted my glass. “You keep looking at me like that; I might start thinking you have something to say.”

His lips curled into the ghost of a smirk. “And if I did?”

I pretended to consider it, setting my drink down with a soft clink. “Then I’d say you should buy me another one since my last one ended up all over the counter.”

The bartender—still frazzled from earlier—chose that exact moment to set another drink in front of me, brow raised. “On the house,” she said dryly, “for enduring whatever bad luck landed you here tonight.”

Bad luck, I nearly laughed. Not anymore.

The dark-haired man’s smirk deepened. “Looks like you’ll have to devise another excuse to keep me here.”

I matched his expression, the flicker of a challenge dancing between us. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

His smirk didn’t fade, but his eyes sharpened as if he were reassessing me in real-time. Good. I liked it when men had to adjust their expectations. I might be interested, but I wouldn’t be throwing myself at him; let him do the work.

I picked up my fresh drink, slowly sipping without breaking eye contact. He hadn’t moved closer, but he also hadn’t stepped away. We lingered in that charged space between interest and action, each waiting to see what the other would do next.

“I don’t think you told me your name,” he said, tilting his head slightly.

“That’s because you didn’t ask.” I arched a brow. “Maybe I was waiting to see if you were worth knowing before I divulged who I am.”

That earned me a full smile—slow, knowing he was enjoying this too much. “And?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

He hummed, rolling his glass between his fingers. “You always this much trouble?”

I leaned in slightly, just enough to see his gaze flicker to my lips. “Only for men who think they can keep up.”

The space between us felt smaller, even though neither of us had moved. I could hear the low thrum of the music and the distant sound of laughter from the other side of the bar, but none of it mattered.

He studied me, like he was turning something over in his mind, and then—“Do you do hookups?”

The directness of it sent a thrill down my spine. No pretending, no games, just the quiet confidence of a man who knew what he wanted.

I took another sip of my drink, drawing out the moment and letting him wait.

“Depends,” I said finally, setting my glass down. “Are you asking?”

His smirk returned, but this time, a spark of something darker was behind it. “Would you say yes if I was?”

I let the question hang between us for a moment, savouring the anticipation in his expression, the weight of his gaze on my lips, my throat, and my chest's slow rise and fall.

Then, to test him, I leaned in slightly—not enough to touch, but enough to make his fingers tighten subtly around his glass.

“That depends,” I murmured. “Are you the kind of man who asks because he wants an easy yes or enjoys the chase?”

His smirk deepened. “Maybe I just like knowing what I’m getting into.”

“And what exactly do you think you’re getting into?”

His gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate, and I swore I felt it like a physical thing. He didn’t answer immediately; he let the silence stretch and the tension build. Then, finally, in a voice low enough that I had to lean in to hear him correctly, he said—

“Trouble.”

I laughed, surprised by how much I liked how he said it, as if it weren’t a warning but a challenge.

“That’s an interesting assumption,” I said, swirling my drink.

His head tilted slightly. “Is it wrong?”

I held his gaze, letting the corner of my lips curve just slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

Something flickered in his eyes: amusement, intrigue—heat.

He set his glass down and took half a step closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a pleasant shiver down my spine.

“Tell me what you want, then.”

Oh, he was good. Dangerously good.

I let my fingers trail along the rim of my glass, dragging out my response just enough to keep him waiting. Then, meeting his gaze head-on, I said—

“Ask me again in an hour.”

His smirk was all sharp edges now, dark amusement curling at the corners. “An hour?”

I shrugged, reaching for my drink. “If you’re still interested by then.”

He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, but there was no frustration—just interest. Challenge accepted.

Then he tipped his glass toward me in something almost resembling a toast and said, “I’ll see you in an hour.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

I exhaled, finally allowing myself a small, satisfied smile. Oh, this was going to be fun.

I watched him go, resisting the urge to track his every move through the crowd. Instead, I took a slow sip of my drink, schooling my features into something extraordinary and unreadable, even as my pulse thrummed with anticipation.

An hour.

I’d challenged him to prove he was actually interested, and something told me he wasn’t the type to let it go unanswered.

“Who was that?”

I turned to see Rhiannon had finally pried herself away from the blonde woman at the bar, her dark brows lifted in intrigue as she slid into the space beside me.

“No idea,” I admitted, glancing toward the last place I’d seen him. “But he’s interesting.”

Rhiannon smirked. “Interesting how? Tall, dark, and brooding? Or tall, dark, and might-ruin-your-life-in-the-best-way?”

I laughed. “Hopefully, somewhere in between.”

She hummed, looking thoughtful. “You going to let him ruin your life, then?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” I said breezily, though my mind was still replaying the way he’d looked at me and leaned in just enough to make my breath catch. “He’s just a distraction.”

Rhiannon snorted. “Sure, just a distraction.” Then she nudged my arm. “Well, if you’re done flirting, get your head in the game—we need another round.”

I rolled my eyes rich of her to say so, but followed her back toward the table where Sawyer and Ridoc were already waiting, deep in a discussion that I only half-listened to as I let my gaze drift back to the crowd.

And there he was.

Standing across the room, glass in hand, talking to one of the men he’d come in with. But his body was angled slightly toward me, like even as he spoke, he was aware of exactly where I was.

The moment I caught him looking, he didn’t look away.

I arched a brow. Not backing down, then?

His lips quirked, the barest ghost of a smirk, and before I could stop myself, I was smirking back.

Maybe an hour had been too long.

Because I was already counting down the minutes.

I forced myself to turn away, feigning nonchalance as I focused on the conversation at the bar.

“…so obviously, I should be the one getting the next round,” Ridoc was arguing, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “Since someone”—he pointed at Sawyer—“chose the last drinks and failed spectacularly.”

Sawyer scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, did the free shots offend your delicate palate?”

“They were neon green,” Ridoc said flatly. “That’s not a colour alcohol is supposed to be.”

I snorted, shaking my head as Rhiannon flagged down the bartender. But even as I pretended to be engrossed in their bickering, I could still feel him watching me.

It was a delicious kind of attention—not demanding, not pushy. Just… present. A steady hum beneath my skin reminded me that he was still playing the game somewhere across the room.

I was going to make him wait a little longer. To see how patient he was.

When our drinks arrived, I had successfully ignored him for ten minutes. Which, considering the way my body buzzed under his gaze, was an achievement.

But he wasn't watching me anymore when I finally turned, drink in hand.

No—he was standing at the edge of the dance floor now, listening to something one of his friends was saying. But his posture was looser, more relaxed, and when a woman slid up next to him, touching his arm as she laughed at whatever he’d just said, he didn’t move away.

I felt the slightest flicker of something ridiculous and unjustified tighten in my stomach.

Not that I cared.

Of course, I didn’t.

I sipped my drink and turned back to the others, ignoring the voice that whispered, Maybe an hour was too long.

But before I could dwell on it, Rhiannon bumped my hip. “Let’s dance.”

I hesitated, glancing back toward him once more.

He wasn’t looking anymore. Looks like I might be winning, albeit at my own expense of seeing some action in bed

Fine.

I let Rhiannon pull me toward the dance floor, slipping into the press of bodies as the music thumped around us. If he wouldn’t pay attention anymore, neither would I.

Two could play this game.

The bass thrummed beneath my feet as I let Rhiannon drag me deeper into the crowd. The bodies were pressing in, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and something sharp and electric that felt like anticipation.

I tilted my head back, letting the music sink into my skin as I moved in time with the rhythm. My body swayed easily between Rhiannon and Ridoc, who had joined us.

“See?” Rhiannon called over the music, grinning. “Fun, right?”

I smirked, spinning slightly so my back was to her. “I never said it wouldn’t be.”

She laughed, but I barely registered it because—

There.

A presence at the edge of the dance floor.

I didn’t turn immediately, didn’t look, but I could feel him. The weight of his gaze, the shift in the air, the undeniable pull of something I hadn’t even realised I’d been waiting for.

I kept dancing, but now, every movement was more intentional. It's a little slower, a little more deliberate. It's not apparent, not desperate—just… aware.

I could almost sense the moment he decided to come closer.

The shift of air behind me.

The whisper of space narrowing.

And then—

Warm breath near my ear.

“You dance like you want to be watched.”

A thrill shot up my spine, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I turned slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

“And you watch like you don’t mind waiting.”

His lips quirked. “That hour’s almost up.”

I tilted my chin, letting my smirk deepen. “That depends. Still interested?”

Instead of answering, he stepped closer, his front nearly brushing my back, his hands still at his sides—but the suggestion was there. The promise of something if I let it happen.

My pulse quickened.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

I swayed against him just slightly, a test, and was rewarded with the subtle flex of his fingers. A sharp inhale.

Then, his voice, low and smooth—

“Are you?”

I turned fully now, facing him, the movement slow, deliberate. He didn’t step back.

My hands ghosted over his chest, barely touching.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

He smirked. “You give a lot of non-answers.”

I let my fingers linger just slightly before pulling away, tilting my head as I looked up at him.

“Fine,” I said, voice barely audible over the music. “Let’s make it easy.”

His brows lifted slightly.

I leaned in just enough that my lips nearly brushed his ear.

“I’ll be your hookup, no strings attached, stranger,”

His exhale was sharp, and his body went tense for half a second before he shifted. And he lowered his mouth to my ear.

And then—his voice.

“Now or would you like another hour?”

I turned, tilting my chin up, unsurprised to find him standing there, eyes dark, expression unreadable except for the hint of something lingering beneath the surface—something warm, something electric.

I let my gaze drag over him, slow and deliberate.

Then I smiled.

“Let’s go.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk but was holding himself back. He didn’t offer his hand, didn’t try to lead—just stepped aside, letting me go first, falling into step beside me as we made our way toward the door.

I barely heard Rhiannon’s laughter as we left, but I caught her parting words, called over the music—

“Try not to break him, Vi.”

Chapter Text

I laugh as we leave the bar, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat inside. The stranger’s arm is curled around my waist now—casual but possessive enough to make something sharp and electric settle low in my stomach.

“You’d better have somewhere to go,” I say, glancing up at him. And God, I hope he does.

His lips quirk in amusement. “I take it you don’t?”

I shake my head. “I’m staying with my siblings, so no, I don’t.”

He hums, tilting his head slightly. “Overprotective, are they?”

“There’s a ten-year age gap. You do the math.”

His steps slow slightly, his grip on my waist loosening just a fraction. “I see,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “And how old are you?”

I smirked, catching how he drew back just a little, as if he was reevaluating his life choices. “I’m twenty. You have nothing to worry about,” I assure him, watching the tension in his shoulders ease.

“Good to know,” he murmurs, a trace of relief in his voice.

“I’d show you my ID,” I add, tilting my head playfully, “but I did say you could only get my name if you made it worth my while.”

His eyes darken with interest, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a slow, knowing smile. “Then I guess I’ll just have to ensure I do.”

He doesn’t push for my name again, but the glint in his eyes tells me he hasn’t forgotten the challenge.

“Come on,” he says, steering me toward the curb where a sleek black car awaits. He opens the door for me, his hand brushing lightly against my lower back as I slide inside.

“Not a taxi,” I note as he joins me, settling into the seat beside me. The interior smells expensive—leather, a faint trace of cologne, and something distinctly him.

“No,” he agrees quickly, signalling to the driver. “Hotel, please.”

I arch a brow. “Presumptuous, aren’t you?”

He turns his head, watching me with quiet amusement. “Optimistic,” he corrects. “Would you prefer to pick the place?”

I think about it for a second, then shake my head. “Any hotel works.” It’s safer that way—neutral ground. No attachments. Just a night.

He studies me as if trying to figure me out. “Do you do this often?”

I meet his gaze, my lips curving slightly. “Do you?”

His answering smile is slow and deliberate. “You can’t answer every question with another question; I asked first anyway.”

I lean back against the seat, letting my eyes drift over him—the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his quarter zip clings just right. He’s handsome in an almost unfair way, but more than that, he carries himself like he’s used to being in control and getting what he wants.

“I don’t see anything wrong with sleeping around a bit, so long as you're not interested in pursuing a relationship,” I admit, though I don’t owe him an answer. “I don't want a relationship, so I do hookups.”

He hums, his fingers tapping idly against his thigh. “I like the way you think.”

The car pulls up in front of a five-star hotel, the kind of place with sleek glass windows and a doorman who barely spares us a glance. My companion steps out first, offering me his hand. I take it, a part of me wondering when the last time I was treated to something like this, letting him guide me inside, and I notice how his grip tightens just slightly—possessive, but not demanding.

The lobby is all polished marble and hushed conversations, where everything is designed to be discreet. The receptionist barely looks up as he murmurs something, sliding a key card across the desk.

“Penthouse,” he says as he takes it, then turns back to me. “You coming?”

I smile, stepping into the waiting elevator beside him. “Lead the way.”

As the doors slide shut, he shifts closer, one hand resting lightly against my hip. “Last chance to back out,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, more intimate.

I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. “I don’t say yes to things I don’t want.”

A flicker of something—approval, maybe—crosses his face before he presses the button for the top floor.

The elevator hums softly as it ascends, tension thickening with every passing second. Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to.

When the doors open, he doesn’t hesitate, taking my hand and leading me down the hall. The penthouse is at the very end, the key card sliding smoothly through the lock. The door clicks open, revealing a space that’s all floor-to-ceiling windows, low golden lighting, and an unmistakable air of indulgence.

I step inside, toeing off my heels as I take the view. “Nice place.”

He shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair. “It’ll do.”

I turn to face him, my pulse quickening as he steps closer, the heat of his body pressing into my space. His hands find my waist, fingers firm but unhurried, his thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles against my hips.

“Still not telling me your name?” he asks, voice low.

I smirk, fingers drifting up to the collar of his shirt, playing with the fabric. “No. But you can tell me yours—I don’t mind screaming it.”

His eyes darken. “Then I suppose I’ll keep mine to myself so long as you do, darling.”

And then he kisses me.

It’s firm at first, testing—giving me room to pull away. But I don’t. Instead, I push forward, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, and that’s all the permission he needs.

A low sound rumbles in his chest as his grip tightens, pulling me flush against him. He kisses with confidence and control, but there’s an edge to it—something rougher, something darker. His fingers skim along my spine, possessive and careful all at once, like he’s committing me to memory.

I don’t want to be careful.

I slide my hands down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the fabric, trailing lower until my fingers catch on the zipper of his trousers. I tug—slow, teasing.

He exhales sharply against my mouth, then pulls back just enough to look at me. His pupils are blown wide, and his breathing is uneven.

“You like taking your time, don’t you?” I murmur.

A slow, wicked smile tugs at his lips. “Only when it’s worth it.”

I hum, pretending to consider, but as I push his zipper down, my smirk falters. My fingers brush against nothing but the fabric of his boxers—heat and hardness straining against the material.

He’s big.

The thought sends a fresh pulse of heat through me, and before I can stop myself, my fingers close around him, firm and curious.

His breath hitches, grip tightening at my waist, but his expression remains maddeningly impassive.

“We’ll see,” I murmur, giving a slow squeeze. “I don’t think you’ll last that long.”

His hands slide lower, fingers grazing the hem of my skirt.

“Is that another challenge, sweetheart?” His voice is thick with amusement, his smirk turning razor-sharp. “You sure like dishing it out—but can you lick it up?”

Then he lifts me—effortless, like I weigh nothing—and carries me across the room. My back meets the cool glass of the window, and I suck in a breath as the city stretches out behind me, glittering and endless.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” he asks, voice rough.

I grin, curling my legs around his waist. “Not even a little.”

“Good.” He moves my legs from his waist and kneels before lifting one back onto his shoulder and pressing his mouth to my upper thigh, licking at the pale flesh. I let my head fall back against the glass,

His fingers slide beneath my underwear, gliding over my slick heat, and a moan tumbles from my lips before I can stop it. Whoever this man is, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, a low rasp against my skin. His mouth trails open-mouthed kisses down my thigh as his fingers curl inside me, stroking in slow, practised movements that send pleasure spiralling higher.

I dig my nails into his shoulders, my back pressing against the cool glass, the contrast making me shiver. I let out a shaky breath when he added another finger, sliding them together in a measured, teasing rhythm.

“More,” I pant, my breathing ragged as his pace quickens—controlled but relentless.

“Greedy little thing,” he muses, the words full of quiet amusement. “No patience either.”

The sudden withdrawal of one finger makes me whimper, my eyes snapping down to find him smirking up at me, head tilted like he’s enjoying my predicament far too much.

“Don’t pout,” he chides, shaking his head as if disappointed. And then he slides his finger back inside me, my muscles clenching around him instinctively before he adds another, pressing deep into my folds.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groans, working his fingers into me with steady, devastating precision. “You’re going to look so pretty taking my cock.”

“Oh, gods—” My hands scramble for leverage, pressing against the glass, but it’s too slick, offering no purchase. Instead, I reach for him, fisting my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. His lips brush my thigh again, teeth grazing, and then he curls his fingers just right, and I come undone.

My right leg nearly buckles beneath me, but he catches me with a quiet laugh, lifting it to join the other over his shoulders.

And then—

His thumb finds my clit.

A sharp cry rips from my throat as my legs tighten around his neck, my entire body tensing at the onslaught of sensation. I tug at his hair, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating against my skin.

“Let go for me, love.”

And I do.

Pleasure crashes over me in waves, my body shaking as he coaxes me through a second climax, his fingers still working me open, slow and deliberate.

When I finally slump back against the glass, spent and breathless, he shifts, standing with ease but keeping me wrapped around his waist.

He grins, wicked and knowing, then slides his fingers up to my lips, pressing them inside my mouth. I don’t hesitate, sucking them clean, tasting myself on his skin.

But I can’t resist—just as he’s about to pull away, I bite down.

His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Something dark.

I look up at him, batting my lashes, as innocent as I can manage.

His lips quirk. “You’re a violent little thing, aren’t you?”

I grin and reach for his jumper, yanking the zipper down, pushing the fabric up, and taking his T-shirt with it. The reveal is almost unfair—broad, tawny-golden skin stretched over muscle, firm yet soft under my touch. Beautiful.

I can’t resist. My lips find his skin, kissing, licking, tasting. He’s warm, solid, intoxicating.

“Fuck me,” I gasp, reaching for the waistband of his trousers, desperate to shove them down. But with my back still pressed against the window, his hips pinning me in place, I fumble, my nails scraping over his waist instead.

“Patience, Violence,” he murmurs, his voice a husky tease as he sets me down with a controlled ease.

I barely have time to catch my breath before he steps back, shoving his trousers and boxers down in one swift motion. The sight of him steals whatever air I have left. Thick, heavy, just as intimidating as I suspected.

He pulls a condom from his wallet, tears it open with practised efficiency, and rolls it on before returning just as quickly as he left.

Then he’s right there again, pressing me back into the glass, the head of his cock sliding against me. A sharp inhale rakes through me. I’ve already taken three of his fingers, already come twice, but—fuck—I’m still not sure I can manage this.

Still, I try. I tilt my hips, lowering myself onto him. He pushes forward an inch, and I gasp at the stretch, my nails digging into his shoulders.

His hands tighten on my waist. “Are you okay?”

“More,” I breathe, the only word I can manage.

He obliges, thrusting in.

A strangled sound escapes me, my head thudding against the glass as pleasure crashes over me in waves. He doesn’t ease me into it—he fucks me like he knows exactly what he’s doing, hard and fast, each thrust forcing me higher against the window. My breasts bounce with the motion, friction burning deliciously where our bodies meet.

I try to push back against him, desperate for more leverage, but the slick surface behind me offers no hold. All I can do is take it—take him—and he gives me everything.

Then his hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit, and the touch is enough to send me tumbling over the edge, a sharp cry spilling from my lips.

I don’t think he was expecting it so soon. His rhythm stutters before he recovers, only to pick up the pace faster, rougher. I meet him this time, rolling my hips up to his, and it gives him the leverage he needs.

His hands slam against the glass, the force of it rattling through my bones, shaking through every inch of me. He doesn’t stop—not until I’m spent and shaking, my body boneless against him, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

And that was only the first time.

We fucked four more times that night. On the floor, my back arching against the cool wood. Steam curled around us in the shower as water sluiced between our bodies. Bent over the side of the fancy four-poster bed—but never in it, never between the sheets like something softer, something more intimate.

Then, as dawn bled through the cracks in the curtains, I rode him until my thighs burned, until pleasure turned to exhaustion, and neither of us could take any more.

We didn’t linger after that. No post-fuck conversation, no cuddling, no promises of breakfast. Just quiet efficiency as we pulled on our clothes, adjusting rumpled fabrics, straightening hair.

I ordered an Uber.

“How are you getting back?” The stranger’s voice broke the silence as we descended the stairs.

“Uber,” I replied.

He nodded but didn’t leave, lingering at my side as we stepped onto the street. His presence was irritatingly steady and solid. I sighed. “You can go.”

“It’s three a.m.,” he said, tone as casual as if we weren’t standing outside a hotel that smelled like expensive sex. “All the clubs are shutting down, and the losers who didn’t get laid are about to flood the streets—drunk, desperate, and grabby.” He gave me a pointed look. “I’m not leaving you out here with them.”

He had a point. It didn’t mean I had to like it.

“I can take care of myself.”

“So I’ve seen Violence.” The nickname was starting to grate.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s getting old.”

He smirked and completely ignored me. “Violence you may be. I don’t think you're secretly a black belt, so I am staying shortie,”

I crossed my arms. “I’m five-three, for the record.”

He glanced down at my heeled boots. “That’s generous.”

Our back-and-forth carried on, the kind of easy sparring that should’ve felt familiar, comfortable—but didn’t. Not really. Because I didn’t know this man, I didn’t even know his name.

Then, suddenly, a phone was thrust in front of me. “Trade numbers with me.”

I arched a brow. “What happened to nameless?”

“I’ll happily take your name, Violence, and give you mine. It's you who insists on that rule.” He wiggled the phone expectantly. “Text me next time you go out drinking in Aretia.”

I hesitated. “And if I don’t?”

His gaze flicked down to my lips, then back up. “You will.”

Cocky bastard.

“I want your number in my phone,” he said. Hell, I don’t even need your real name. Just put yourself in there as Violent woman fucked in room 307, and I’ll know who you are .”

I scowled. “Charming.”

“Got to keep my contacts straight somehow.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You fuck women in these hotel rooms often? Surprised you haven’t slipped up and called on the wrong name.”

His smirk deepened. “Hilarious. I want to fuck you again, Violence, and you want me to.”

“Presumptuous,” I murmured just as my Uber pulled up.

I ran through the usual checks, then glanced back at him, licking my lips slowly before flashing a teasing smile.

“See you around, handsome.” I stepped toward the car, hand on the door. “Maybe next time, I’ll give you my number… and you can earn my name.”

“I already earned your name; you're going back on the deal,” he said, and I grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

Then I slid inside, leaving him on the curb as the car pulled away.

Chapter Text

3 years later 

Home turf. The tour had been a long one and gruelling at that, I’d lost brothers and sisters but I was glad to be home at least. People's families were gathering along the joint separating military and civilians alike. I watched Liam embrace his sister Sloane, Garrick and Imogen being greeted by their own families. Brennan walks to another gate to wait for his sister's plane to land. She was the doctor attached to the other company. 

Bodhi had waited for me at the bottom of the stairs, heavy-duty pack on his back and duffle at his feet. He picks it up and matches my stride as we leave for the main underground car park and load our stuff into my jeep. Before heading to our family seat in Aretia. We knew they wouldn't be here but it sticks in the gut anyway seeing the gates crowded with waiting families ours not in sight. I sort of don’t blame them either. Our family never forgave us for joining the military after what happened to them. Bodhi’s Dad died fighting in the barren border war and my dad lost the use of his legs. Our joining up was seen by them as tantamount to a death sentence. But what else could we do the Venin were threatening our very existence their perpetual terrorism striking fear into our society. 

It took about an hour on the motorway to get onto the backroads through Aretia that led to our estate. But the gates open on our arrival so they’ve been watching out for us. We've been gone for the past 15 months and were only home for a brief two-week period before we were sent out. 

I park on the drive and we climb out, barging unceremoniously into the house. my auntie comes rushing out to embrace us each but pauses as I am still in her hold and withdraws patting me on the shoulder instead. I press a kiss to her forehead so as not to offend her with my unwillingness to be touched. 

the living room holds my father in his chair and my granny each with a glass of wine in hand I lean over and kiss Granny’s forehead same as Auntie Aoefie, and take a seat next to my father.

“It’s good to have you back Xaden,” - “You too Bodhi,” he adds as he comes in from the kitchen and hands me a beer. We both nod and smile. It’s always been tense in the house around my dad ever since we joined his desperation not to lose his son and nephew to a cause he lost so many others to becomes all too obvious. 

“Fen,” Granny admonishes, “ they have been away for over a year the least you could do is look them in the eyes while you admit you missed them and were worried about them.” I catch my eyes with Bodhi as he smirks over the rim of his beer. A showdown with Granny and Dad is always one to remember and to get one the night we return is like Christmas has come early. Only she can make him behave. 

My father rolls his eyes at her like a 20-year-old and bemoans a world where he has to admit his feelings like he doesn’t run a charity advocating for veterans' mental health.

The evening is a nice one just the four of us for a family dinner, my Auntie and Granny questioning what were going to do with our leave. We have 3 months after such a long tour and then another 2 on base camp before we are likely to be sent back to the front. 

The answer is a simple one we're all roping in at Cordelia’s the boxing ring in town running self-defence classes, mixed martial arts, that kind of thing. It’s recently been inherited by Drake Cordella the fiancée of one of the Sorrengail’s who I was trained with.
 
Mira and Brennan have been like family since we met 6 years ago. Both slotted perfectly into our squadron when we were merged with the unit doctors after basic. Both of them recently got engaged and are getting married in the 3-month break Mira to Drake and Brennan to his long-time boyfriend Naolin. I’m the best man at Brennan’s wedding and one of the groomsmen at Drake’s as is Bodhi. Overall with Cordella’s Boxing ring and multiple weddings to attend bachelor parties as well, the 3-month break should be packed. 

No one else thinks so. 

“I was hoping you’d find time to go up to Riorson Enterprises, you know I’m hoping to retire in the next few years and after that, the foundation will be yours.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” is Bodhi’s immediate answer, he’s always been much more accommodating to the whims of our family than I have much more inclined to the legal side of the family than the active service side. 

“Xaden?” my father asks pointedly,

“I’ll be there, just let me know when you want me I’ll work around that.” It’s not that I’m not capable of running the foundation, I took business at university before I decided to enrol in the military and I’m good with numbers. But I’ve always been better suited to the practical. The idea of sitting cooped up in an office is my idea of hell, whereas I think Bodhi would happily retire from active duty and move into the military’s private sector like my dad did. 

The evening wears on with the same usual questions and answers. And at the end of the night after Auntie Aoefie and Granny have retired to bed. And I walk Dad back to his bedroom on the ground floor, more out of obligation than anything else. 

“I’ve got something for you,” he said. I follow him into the spacious room pale sage green with darker velvet accents on the bed and curtains. He stops his chair by the desk and turns to hand me an envelope. “You don’t need to open it now, and you don’t have to talk about it but just take it Xade,” 

With those words, I knew exactly what was in this envelope he’d mentioned during the two-week break from my last deployment and the time before that and before that. But those times he asked me to speak to him begged actually but I never did. I probably won't this time either but I can't tell him that. 

“Thank you, Dad,” I say looking down at the unopened envelope “I’m fine really,”

“You’re not fine, Xade, you can’t bear to be touched by your family, you have dreams of your friends in battle, and you need help, I’ll pay for as many sessions as you need, just go please.” 

Chapter Text

“Why did you come to the session?” The weathered face across the threshold asks.

“It was gifted to me by my dad.” 
 
“A gift?” He scribbles something down on a pad of paper, “why would he give you such a gift?” He looks at me pensively. 
 
“I couldn't possibly say,” I couldn’t speak the words admitting there's something fundamentally wrong with me I can’t.

“Is that facetious?” He probes again. I don't respond.
 
“Look, I don't need a session I came for a refund.”
 
“Sorry refunds aren't available at this practice I can move your appointment forward or hold it until you desire,” 

“No look I just don't need this can I just get my money back please,” 

“Shall we say a week today?” 

“No.” I turn on my heel and exit. I knew it was a long shot but... I couldn't have stayed in there any longer. To clinical too much like a hospital. I'd rather be in Mira and Brennan's tent, in the middle of the fucking desert. 

I wouldn't have bothered ordinarily, but I was in the area anyway for Brennan and Mira’s joint Bachelor and Hen do lunch meeting. They wanted joint to keep the cost down for us which was considerate given we would all have been invited to both. It's unusual I suppose to have women at a bachelor doo and men at a hen doo but I like it. There's an element of trust. 

“Abroad obviously,” Garrick chimes in, 

“Yes but where?” Bodhi responds, pen tapping incessantly on the paper. 

“Coachella?” Garrick quips
 
“I’d pay money to see the pair of them at Coachella they are some of the most uptight people I know!” Sloane says tipping her head back laughing! 

“Beach house somewhere exclusive ?” Liam says.
 
“don't you think that's a little boring” Imogen mutters.
 
“They not the most interesting people in the world are they,” 

“Xaden!” Bodhi admonishes me. 

“Name something they spend their time doing that doesn't involve work and boxing,” 

“Drinking” Sloane says raising her eyebrows at me.

“Doesn’t count, you see there always the first to be DD, and they only drink with us and let's face it we’re all work-related or boxing-related,” 

“Fuck sake they are the most difficult people to plan for!” Imogen says chucking herself back into the cushy chair. 

“Ready to throw in the towel?”Liam asks.

“We can't give up planning just because we can’t think of anything. That makes us shitty bridegroom mates” Garrick mutters. 

“Firstly what is a bridegroom mate and secondly that's not what he's talking about.” Bodhi Jabs back rolling his eyes at Garrick’s grumbles.

“What is he talking about?” Sloane questions.

“Reinforcements,” Bodhi says with a grin.

“There’s one other person who is part of the wedding party,” there are some raised eyebrows and mild shock “They have a little sister - Violet. She’s 10 years younger than the twins. That makes her 25.” 

Ahh Violet, I had heard of her. The irresponsible younger sister who seems to embody everything that Mira and Brennan aren’t. Mira always described her as the black sheep of the family. They're all military, be it doctors or infantry or even desk jobs the whole family has always served. Violet decided to go to law school - nothing wrong with that. But then she used her law degree to take her mother to court for what reason I don’t know. 

Then she disappeared Bren and Mira were heartbroken over what I don’t know they never expanded but when they did bring her up it was very sparingly and not too many of their friends i was lucky to know what I do. She was quite the polar opposite to them in multiple ways. Brennan and Mira were perfect spotlight children for the military. A mum who served and then went on to become Priminister and a dad who served and then went into dealing with some kind of intelligence analysis. The perfect civil servants with two picture-perfect twins who became military doctors by 25. 

Violet it seemed was kept out of the spotlight. She didn't thrive on the attention the way Mira and Bren did. She lashed out. When Brennan first mentioned a younger sister to me in our training days I looked her up and expected to see a privileged public schoolgirl. Instead, I saw a broody young woman with her head under a cap punching a paparazzi photographer. In general, her online presence wasn't favourable. And the fact she had taken her mother to court and won it made her quite the enigma. 

“Younger than a lot of us then, 10 years isn't a small gap, how well do you think she knows them?” Garrick would know he’s got serious middle-child syndrome.

“Why don't we ring her and find out,” Imogen says selecting a contact labelled Sorrengail 3.0 at Liam's raised eyebrow she adds “Come on she's probably just as neurotic. Correction just as robotic as her siblings,” That makes me smirk. If I've heard anything about the youngest Sorrengail it’s that she’s the reason her siblings are as neurotic as they are 

“Hello,” the voice is crisp through the phone with a sharp quality that is vaguely familiar to me.

“Hello, this is Imogen, we were just at lunch discussing the plans for Brennan and Mira, have you got any ideas before they get here?” 

“Oh right great to hear from you again, I suggest ignoring what they want because they're so introverted their idea of a night out is going to Sainsbury’s to buy a tray bake and eat it in the car park, let's fly them somewhere exotic we enjoy it, they pretend to enjoy it, then they'll warm up to it and never want to leave, it’s like a family holiday where the dog has to adjust to a new environment.” 

I can't help but laugh at her description of Bren and Mira i’m not the only one either. 

Nope, I've got it last Vegas or Monte Carlo anywhere I can hire a stripper for Brennan god hilarious! 

That has us all grinning and Garrick asking “Male or female,” and Violet replying:

“Both,”

Mira and Brennan show up to the lunch at this point and slip into the booths with their respective partners. 

“How come you never introduced us to your sister.” Sloane probes at them. 

“You’ve met Vi,” Brennan quizzes.

“No just chatted over the phone, lovely meeting we were just having I think we’ll take you to Wales for your bachelor and Hen do’s you know how you love the drizzle on you’re buzzcuts.”Violet’s snark crackles through the phone

“Little sister, you weren't invited,” Mira says with a laugh picking up the phone on the table and resting it between her and Brennan.

“I presumed my lack of a wedding invite was because you know I prefer to crash these sorts of events.” They didn’t invite her.

“It’s child-free,” Mira says as if that’s a viable excuse for not inviting a 25-year-old to a wedding. A sister no less. Who despite their differences both seem to adore. 

“Good job I have a fake ID,” the line crackles with her laughter and Mira and Bren join in like it’s some kind of private joke between them. 

“We’ll send over the details,” Brennan huffs.

“Bye Violet,” they say hanging up. 

“Who invited the little sister to be part of the wedding party,” Brennan asks smirking. 

“Sorry, Imogen says. I will. She is your sister, I just thought...” Imogen concocted this?

“Thanks for covering for us Im but there's no point now they know.” Naolin says his smirk angling up in response to Brennan’s. “ you’d have regretted it if you didn’t invite her.” Mira’s expression shifts as does Brennan’s. 

“Has it crossed you’re minds there’s a reason we didn't invite them?” Mira pipes in and suddenly I feel slightly like the rest of us shouldn't be here this is a domestic problem.

“Yes,” Drake barks. “ but does it matter, me and I haven’t even met this woman,” 

“Well, what does that tell you?” Mira quips fast. 

“It tells me you have a fractious relationship but that you still love her and she still loves you whatever happened between the lot of you. You still send each other birthday cards that say all.” 

“How does that say anything?” 

“You’re military neither of your fiancés are military not all your friends are but you still writing birthday cards to your wayward sister. You care.” 

“How do you know I send birthday cards to my sister?” Mira says stunned. 

“You must have written the wrong addresses on the cards. I received a birthday card full of thinly veiled insults written in what looked to be Latin on Google Translate and Violet received my letter which she forwarded with a phone number and note telling me who she was. She then proceeded to interrogate me like a prosecutor and I was on the stand.”

“What happened between. You don’t want to be in the same room as her?” Sloane asks eyes wide. Mira and Brennan share a look deciding whether to share or not,”

“We have nothing against her, it's her who is against us, she's the one who disowned herself.” This revelation was an interesting one. The Sorrengail family thou not one of the richest members of the upper-class elite a title my name could boast had something not many people have in today’s world. Class, legacy and connections. To walk away from all of that was an interesting one.

“Why,” Naolin asked. Though he didn't look in the least bit surprised by this revelation I suspected this piece of information he had known.

“She’s rash,” I think we all thought he’d expand on this but Brennan seemed perfectly happy to leave it at that as did Mira. 

“So what are you planning?” Mira posed this change of topic though it wasn't a very good diversion. 

“She’s rash? That's all?” It was Imogen who interjected this piece of brilliance.

“Why don’t you look it up I'm sure the social media pariahs have more knowledge of the spilt than we do,”

Chapter Text

There is something disarming about civilian life. I still get up at 0400 hours, shower and work out but the rest of the day spans before me void of any purpose. I’m sure others visit family and friends and enjoy a leisurely break but I've always been set in my ways. 

Drake’s working this week which puts me at even more of a loose end. I’ve never been one of those girls who can't function without her boyfriend, my job demands it, but when I’m at home I want to be with him so I can at least relax and enjoy the time we're not apart. Ordinarily, I’d go and teach a few classes at the ring in part because I enjoy it and also because I like being near him. Though I’ll deny it if asked. Drake knows I love him desperately and he’s the only one who needs to be privy to the extent of my desire to exist in his orbit. 

But not today, certainly not after last night. I need space to stew and be angry at the world before I face any of my friends.
Violet, the cause of last night's drama thought second-hand via my fiancee and Brennan’s. It’s strange thinking her name in my mind, it’s not as bad as everyone assumes we do talk occasionally but it’s a strained relationship part due to Brennan and I not knowing half of what went down five years ago. At the time we were finishing our medical degrees and transferring over to military training and no sooner as we had finished basic and were preparing for our first deployment shit hit the fan at home.

Five years ago Violet came to stay with us while she did her internship at a law firm, it was nice we were never close what with the age gap being so big, so sharing an apartment for a time allowed for some bonding that had never taken place when we were younger. 

My reminiscing was interrupted by an unceremonious barging through the door by my brother holding two cups of takeaway coffee and a bag presumably full of take-out doughnuts or some other such sugary delicacy. 

“Morning,” he grunted, despite his early morning coffee run Brennan was in no good mood. 

“Pleasure to see you too,” I replied reaching into the bag for some breakfast. I grabbed the freshly baked cinnamon bun and placed it on my upturned coffee mug like a Cinderella table before taking a bite. 
Brennan returned to the table then with plates and cutlery muttering about “hedonism,” as he confiscated my makeshift set-up and replaced it with a plate and a knife and fork he even dispensed the coffee into cups like a civilised human being. 

“How did you sleep,” he asked while abandoning his cutlery and eating like a more normal person. A star for effort though he tried to do the civilised breakfast thing.  

I smirked at him and he quickly and loudly proclaimed that “he did not need to know that shit Mira, thank you very much,” to which I laughed. 

“And you? Were you and Naolin getting it on last night?” He shook his head

“Nao had the night shift,” 

“Ahh so you wanke-”

“Yes thank you, Mira. No. I did some googling,” Not this again. But oh how full circle to her thoughts this morning. We were in our mid 20’s when Violet went ‘off the rails,’ to use the term. And we found out the worst way possible via social media, paparazzi, news you name it covering the various scandals and shit she’s got caught doing. Her name was run through the mud half of the people online mainly men adored her mainly because the shit she got herself involved in often ended up with paparazzi photos of her in short skimpy outfits that I’m sure ended up in far too many spank banks. She was sexualised by one set despite being underage at the time and hated by the rest. It upset me the mess she was getting herself into with drinking and drugs and men ‘men’ because they were all far older than her. It sent Brennan on a downward spiral of googling desperately trying to find reasons behind her behaviour he could have probably got himself a degree in psychology thanks to the amount he looked up. 

“Is that a good idea?” I couldn't help but hope he ignored my question and told me whatever he had found even in recent years Violet Sorrengail remained an enigma. 

“I want to know what happened and I want to know before my wedding.”

“You won't be withdrawing her invite then ?” It was a pointless question I knew that neither of us would consider telling Violet not to come partially because she probably would gatecrash but because we wanted her there, much as we wished to deny it. 
As if following my train of thought Brennan simply raised his left eyebrow at me and said: 

“Would you,” I didn't answer he could read me well enough, we had doted on Violet for the eight years we shared a home and beyond that at every conceivable opportunity until…

“What did you find then?” 

“That's the thing I found nothing. All the old articles on her, old social posts everything, even those appalling photos from the club,”  
I knew exactly what Brennan was talking about when he referenced that video. Eighteenth birthday we’d been deployed overseas with a very poor phone signal we didn’t know what was going on until a captain called us into an office for a phone call straight from the PM’s office. It wasn’t often our mother used her political connections to subvert military rules so we were expecting whatever it was that had happened to be bad. 

“There's a photo that's been leaked of your sister, this one isn’t her fault.” The preface of the conversation with that was what alarmed us 90% of the shit in the media was a direct consequence of her actions so whatever it was we knew it was bad that our mother was getting involved when she had previously for reasons known only to herself turned a blind eye to Violets behaviour up until this point. “It was taken when she was leaving a club in Calydr with the Tauri brothers, Isla Melgren and some other politically influential people’s children. The paparazzi were waiting outside and lay down on the ground to take pictures.” We knew what had happened then, the eighteenth birthday of course the mainstream media who had previously condemned our sister as a rebel without a cause had decided to switch over to sexualising her the second she was at legal age. “Others chucked themselves at them and two pictures are circulating from down her top and up her skirt,” it was then that another voice on the phone spoke a voice we recognised well from circulating in political spheres Alexi Tauri. His deep voice was stoic and calm but there was an edge of anger there clear to the ear, despite her shift in personality he had always been fond of Violet he seemed to take a similar approach as our father in that respect and separate the sweet bookish girl from the young woman she became “Halden attacked one of the photographers badly it’s uncertain if the photographer will survive the encounter and Isla broke the noses of three of the photographers lying on the floor by stepping on them.” He took a breath and silence filled the room once more. I remember looking and Bren and seeing my worry reflected right back. “They're out on bail at the moment as the photographers are filing on the grounds of assault,” the major stood in the room with us spoke next his grave voice sincere for once and with a touch of concern. “ there are journalists on the sight, and we need you to be prepared for this to possibly come up if they run into you, I am giving you authorised permission to refuse to answer any question even about the military business despite the usual approach taken,’ the usual being that the public is entitled to know a degree of what's occurring on the borders of their country. I remember nodding stiffly and Brennan asking if we could speak to Violet.

 Her voice was startlingly crisp and clear when she came to the phone after a few minutes of waiting, “hello, Miri, Bren.” 

Brennan spoke first I couldn't think what to say I was too busy plotting to go AWOL so I could join Halden and Isla in solidarity after assaulting several photographers myself and burning down the houses of those who’d printed the pictures 

“Vi. Are you alright,” 

“I’m fine, I'm far more concerned about the mess Isla and Halden have got themselves into than anything going on with me,” it was a strange call back to the girl we had known growing up sweet and innocent and kind. For a moment o remember wondering if this was an act in the face of political figures and immediately discussed it with myself Violet was capable of causing trouble and still being the conscious girl we were enamoured with growing up. 

I was brought back to the present by Bren, still muttering about whatever he found on Google. 
“Sorry, I missed that what did you say?” 

“I said there’s one picture of her, leaving Cam Tauri’s London apartment. She’s carrying who must be Willow on her hip but she’s covered her face in a coat, that's it Mira there's no evidence of anything it’s like the web has been wiped.” 

“Perhaps it has,” I said “It wouldn't be a bad thing for her or Willow not to have those images following them around.” 

“I did find a Reddit thread talking about her and her supposed disappearance from society, some speculation about her disappearance from the tabloids was updated last as of this year when that photo was taken the consensus is now that Willow is the child of an affair she had with with some MP.” 

I smile at the mention of Violet’s daughter, I admit that I don’t know Willow well at all. We were there for the birth which was lucky because Violet and our mother had just faced off in court for some unknown reason so we were the ones pacing the hallway as nurses rushed about the fear of imminent death hanging in the air. I was eminently against her keeping the baby but with Violet’s body being the way she was she had to be operated on immediately following the birth and it was my arms the tiny bundle was placed in I knew I’d do anything for her then much like I’d do anything for my sister now.  

“What exactly is your modus operandi here Brennan?” 

“I told you I want to know what happened between Mum and Violet five years ago,” 

“Yes but why? So much time has passed.” 

“Because last night I realised I should know why my sister took our mother to court and I want to know my niece. We’ve been deployed regularly for the past three years and now we have ample opportunity to do some digging,” 

“We? I’m being dragged into this am I,”

“You know you want to help me, Mira,” 

“Okay, I’ll bite what’s your plan of action?” 

“I think we should take a trip to visit our long-lost sister and her daughter,” 

“To what end?” 

“To reacquaint ourselves of course,” good god what the hell have I got myself into? 

Chapter Text

“Can you tell me one good thing that happened today Willow?” I ask as we make the last turning away from Fairrige Primary School it’s a good twenty minutes away from our house on the outskirts of Cambridge but I had my heart set on a small primary school for Willow i wanted to make sure that she wouldn't be overwhelmed by the large numbers of pupils after just me and her for so many years. But three-quarters into the year she’s loving it and I’m glad. 

“Me, Fern, Betty, Khiara, and Reagan played weddings, we married Jason and Grace and Cilo was the best man and he kept running away because Betty wanted him to marry Mrs Keylin. I don't think Mrs Keylin wanted to marry him either though.” 

“That sounds like fun, I don't think she’d want to marry Cilo either. what was your part in the welding?”

“I was a flower girl, I picked buttercups all lunch with Fern so we could throw them at the end, it was very pretty but then Fern started coughing, she has hay fever.” Willow nodded seriously and I smiled. “What did you do today mummy,” she raised from her seat in the back and I smiled wider. I loved this just chatting with my little girl on the way home from school made everything worth it. 

“Well, I had some meetings with Auntie Rhiannon, Uncle Ridoc and Uncle Sawyer, about a new client who I’m going to represent,” 

“What does represent mean?” 

“Rep-res-ent, it means to stand up for them, and speak for them,” 

“Like when Fern stood up for me when Sean said I looked dirty,” 

“Yes exactly like that,” I said gripping the steering wheel tighter. It had been only one instance and the boy in question had left the school quickly after the incident but it still set my teeth on edge. Willows's skin was a lovely golden tan, not as deep as her fathers had been but with the same undertone of warmth, it’s the kind of skin people lie on tanning beds for the kind I will never achieve. 

I had considered pulling Willow out over the incident but the school had acted so fast and so effectively and parents had been so supportive it hadn't been necessary. 

“Mummy why aren’t you married like we married Jason and Grace,” 

“Because I haven’t met someone who I want to marry yet?” Willow just nodded content to look at the storybook I brought her in the car. There were strictly no electronics in the car i want Willow to engage with the world she can't do that if she’s only engaging with a screen. That doesn't mean she never watches anything but there's a time and a place for it. 

I take the turn into our driveway and marvel. This home is everything I worked for, for Willow and me. A stunning Georgian property with just over 7 and a half acres, with an annexe and outbuildings Hardwick Farm is far too big for me a Willow really who could have managed in a two up two down, but I wanted the big house, with lots of lands, I wanted the best for my child and no one was going to get it for her but me. So I worked and I worked and I got us the life I dreamed we’d have. There were times were I scrimped and saved and stayed in hostels but this makes it all worth it. 

I pull up into the garage, to see a big black metal plate Volvo parked next to my work car and spy familiar features in the wing mirror. I park the Mercedes on the other side of the Volvo and am suddenly glad I’m dressed to impress thanks to my meetings today, There is always an element of power that comes with an outfit and today that power is mine. 

I step swiftly out of the car and reverse my ability to look confident is always hampered by the need to jump out of the car courtesy of my height. And walk around past Willows's door to rap on the window of the Volvo. 

The window draws down slowly revealing the features of the woman in the driver's seat. 

“Hello, Mother. How can I help you.” 

Lilith Sorrengail looks the same as she ever does, with short blond hair and an immaculate black suit teamed with all gold jewellery to add brightness to her hair and eyes. 

“Hello Violet,” she says stepping out of the car, she follows me around to my car where I unclip Willow and let her lead the way into the house. “Lovely place you have here,” 

“Thank you, I worked hard for it,” 

“I can see that,” I turn to look at her and see that perhaps she does, if anyone can recognise subtle wealth it’s Lilith Sorrengail. 

“Mummy, can I have a biscuit?” 

“Yes, baby,” 

“She’s very beautiful,” my mother says looking after Willow almost longingly for a moment before she covers the look, 

“She is,” I respond, 

‘Her father must have been an attractive man,” I laugh, it’s a reasonable statement. Willow and I don’t look alike, she has my stature and my capacity to break easily a factor that culminated in me getting a second service dog Andarna to aid Tairn. But she is beautiful and it’s undeniably not because of me. Her tanned skin and dark features are of a nameless man who appears far too frequently in my dreams.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Or is this not a social call?” With my mother, there is very little telling why she is here apparently even Willow can detect the unusualness of her visit. 

“Your my nanny aren’t you?” She asks from her position precariously balanced on top of the kitchen work surface to reach the fridge. 

“Yes, I am,” my mother says a strangely open expression on her usually placid face. 

“Do you like reading?” There's a light in Willow’s face at the prospect of someone new to make up voices for her favourite characters. It makes me very willing to drown my mother in the sink if she says anything to upset her. I will tolerate coldness to me but never Willow.

“Yes I do, what books do you like to read?” the immediate response even the follow-up question mildly surprises me and as a reward much like dog training I select the brand of tea my mother doesn't hate.  

“Dragons,” Willow responds reverently

“If you find a book on dragons we can read it together if you like?” There's an element of uncertainty in Lilith’s voice that I don’t think I’ve ever heard and Willows scampering off and I’m faced with my mother who for the first time in her life looks petrified.

“Has she run away?” She looks almost sad and I laugh as I explain that she’s gone to find a book as per her suggestion. 

She takes a deep breath and says “Everything made more sense when it was my children,” 

“Care to tell me why you're here then? I’m assuming it’s not to acquaint yourself with your granddaughter after five years,” 

“Mira and Brennan are home on leave,” 

“Yes, I am aware,”

“They dropping in here for a visit,” I take in a breath. Why has every estranged member of my family chosen a Friday afternoon to attack my well-ordered life? 

“And you came to warn me of this imminent attack of the siblings?” 

“I came to ensure that were on the same side,” oh good more family drama for me to get involved in.

“I stepped away from your military politics five years ago, I’m not interested.” That's a lie plain as anything. I’m still concerned about the backhanded deals going on behind the government but I’m no longer interested in getting involved with bringing them to light, I have Willow and I will quite happily watch my government destroy its citizens so long as she remains safe for as long as possible. I’ve seen what happens to the families of those that get too mouthy. 

“You want to protect your child I want to protect mine,” Lilith replies harsher. It’s a reasonable point of contention that Miri and Bren aren’t exactly safe in their jobs.

“I have no interest in dredging up the past.” She looks both surprised and relieved all at the same time before a cold indifference settles over her features. 

“You were willing to go to any lengths ten years ago,” she's not wrong, I've done many immoral things in the quest for the truth. 

“Ten years ago I had nothing to lose,” as if on cue Willow makes her appearance at the kitchen door and approaches my mother with a pure excitement that looks almost comical when directed at Lilith. 

“I’ve got dragon riders of Berk books 1 and 2 I couldn't decide and I don't have book 3 yet,” I watch as she hands the books to my mother who looks down at her with something strange in her hollow face.

“Where do you want to sit?” I’m surprised my mother is even asking i was half expecting her to make an excuse which would have ended with my heel digging into her calf. 

Willow leads her over to the kitchen table where my mother picks her up to my surprise and places her on her lap as she reads in a quite low voice so that only Willow can hear. 

I check the clock, well if Mira and Brennan are joining us I better start on dinner. 

I’m halfway through the preparation of a curry when there's the unmistakable sound of a car pulling onto the drive. Lilith looks up from her spot on the floor in the lounge where she’s evolved to playing farm yard in her Versace suit even taking off her blazer and the YSL heels. It’s a particularly unsettling sight because it was never one I saw growing up the woman I had known had never made time for me and this experience of her playing with my daughter is both a kick in my face and makes my heart swell. 

The door makes a gentle rapping sound and Willow jumps up. 

“I’ll answer it!” It seems however that this moment of over exuberance is too much for her and she stops staring at her legs having jarred them. Both Tairn and Andarna emerge on cue from their corner of the kitchen and use their bodies to support willow as she toddles off to the door i move the chilly heat as I go to follow her. Sweeping her up in my arms before she hurts herself too badly. 

I open the door to the unexpected visitors simply raising my brows and gesturing wordlessly for them to enter. They follow me along the entrance hall and into the kitchen where Lilith has finished off my curry and is plating it up she has to my mild amusement regained her heels and jacket. I’m starting to wonder if Lilith’s power suit armour is the same as mine, A complete facade.

I place Willow in her seat and Andarna sits dutifully at her feet while Tairn is pacing about behind me having detected the fatigue in me when I had to pick up Willow. 

“Sit down then” I direct at the two stoic statues just staring at Willow. 

“Brennan, Mira. Sit down,” Lilith directs. The repetition of the phrase forces some kind of ability to move into them and they take their seats at the dinner table. 

The meal was quiet with nether Brennan nor Mira adding to the conversation, much more inclined to stare at Willow who was babbling on about her lessons. She tried to ask Mira and Brennan who they were, but her memories of them were little to non-existent with them not having seen her since her infancy. But they couldn’t seem to speak and Willow then got very quite amused that she’d done something wrong. In the end, I gave Willow early bedtime if only to remove her from the scrutiny of my siblings so I could go and yell at them. 

“Care to tell me what that was about?” I start as I re-enter the kitchen where nobody’s moving just staring about possessed.

“No answer? Okay, I’ll speak. You don’t invite yourself over to my house. To sit at my table. Eat my food. And fail to converse with my daughter politely. It’s not har-” my tirade is cut short. 

“Do you know?” Mira asks voice shaking.

“What’s wrong with you? Not the slightest -”

“the father.” That has me in waves of fury immediately.

“I’m sure we went over this at the time. No, I don’t fucking know who her father is,” I pause for breath “I’m sorry it’s such a shock to you that I’m raising a child as a single parent, it does happen you know.” 

“You could have had an abortion,” my mother says a strange lilt to her voice. 

“I could never have aborted what was likely my one chance at being a mother. Easy for you to say with your perfectly functioning bodies, abortion was never an option for me when the chance that I’d ever even get pregnant was slim to none.” 

My mother looks strangely confused by this, I have thought for a while that she might be a sociopath capable of understanding human emotions but not particularly caring about them. “You’d have had more chance if you weren't a single mother, men don’t want an extra burden to carry around with them. You’ve read Othello the whole premise is cuckolding, men don’t want to raise another man's child,”  

“You just sat on the floor playing with said burden Lilith, fancy telling her what you think of her?”

“I don’t think that. I was providing an alternate view to your belief that you wouldn’t have had a family if you had had an abortion,” 

“Why are we having this conversation? We-” I gesture wildly at Lilith, “were having a lovely evening but the second these two show up, back to cold stone emotionless mother who feels the need to discuss my rights surrounding abortion again.”

“We weren’t trying to imply anything,” Brennan says quietly. 

“We just, well. She reminded us of someone we know and we weren’t sure…” 

The little air my lungs have retained during our argument evaporates. And I stood staring at Brennan and Mira waiting. Envisioning the dark handsome man who appears towering over me in my dreams, whose eyes i see reflected in my daughters face, whose smirk exists as a cheeky smile flashed over the kitchen counter.

“There two of them,” Mira enlarges “But well one of them’s gay so we're going to go with the other,’

Brennan pulls out his phone and starts swiping until he stops taking in a deep gulp of air and turns the image towards me. 

Chapter Text

He looks the same, hair slightly shorter and cropped to regulation military length, a few small lines around his mouth and eyes, but undoubtedly the same. His dog tags display the first significant piece of information about the man who fathered my child, his last name. The name I will undoubtedly be adding to Willow’s birth certificate - Riorson.

 It's a name I haven’t heard in a good 6 years but the memory of it is just polarising. Fen Riorson, the man who I cornered at family day during Brennan and Mira’s induction into the military, was the first person to who I ever admitted my concerns surrounding the war. The man I turned my back on to protect myself and my daughter resulting in the death of his brother-in-law and his wife. And his son? Or nephew? Is the father of my child. 

I can see now why Mira and Brennan couldn't form a complete sentence in front of Willow i’ve lost my speech and I’m only staring at a photo. Fen Riorson’s son or nephew is just as if not more attractive than my drink-addled memory remembers him. His dark features are enhanced by the glow of the sun on his tanned skin a shade or two darker than Willow’s, but undoubtedly the same face, the same shape of the nose, same high hollow cheekbones though Willow's remains partially rounded with baby fat. He’s more than I dreamed but equally as untouchable. 

I look up from the phone and stare. Brennan is already on the phone Mira looks slightly petrified across the room from me and my mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical Lilith clears off the second an emotional scene is likely to take place. 

“It’s urgent and… and I can’t explain it, but you have to come.” There's a pause and an unintelligible sound comes from the other end of the phone line. 

“The address is Hardwick Farm, Caxton Road, Great Gransden, Sandy, SG19, Xaden don’t crash your car if you're going to fucking speed. You needed in one piece,” 

Xaden. Xaden Riorson. Willow Riorson. Willow Sorrengail Riorson. Willow Riorson Sorrengail. Violet Rior- No. No, I can't go there and I won't this isn’t for me just like everything else in life. Willow comes first and she always will. 

Mira walks up to me and guides me through the door and down the hall into my living room. Seating me on one of the plush velvet settees arranging me so I’m curled up on the edge with a blanket thrown over me. 

“Where do you keep your alcohol?” She questions looking just as shaky as me despite her usual bolshy appearance. 

“I don’t.” Mira looks surprised by my admission and I don’t blame her, the Violet she once knew was a hedonist. But since the birth of my daughter, I cleaned up, the excessive drinking and partying had never been my style I was born a recluse but I found as I got older that the best way to get information on those getting up to untoward business is to appear to be up to untoward business yourself. Everyone is ironically far more trusting of you if you appear to be in as much shit as them. So that ‘Violet’ was born, the party girl, the model, the girl whose romantic exploits were pictured on most of the tabloids and Instagram feeds of 2010. It went too far at points but I always achieved my end goal by any means necessary; legal or illegal. 

Rhiannon often finds it amusing that someone who spent their teenage years getting up to the shenanigans that I did could ever find themselves in a position as a legal authority but she fails to understand that my finely developed understanding of the law wasn't just from textbooks but from circumventing it myself. This situation with the father of my child will be no different Xaden Riorson can play by my rules or I will bend them till they break. Nobody will take Willow from me. People have tried and failed already but I won't lose my daughter to her father. But more importantly, I won't lose my daughter to prison thanks to Fen Riorson and his family. 

I look at Mira and state quite simply “I won’t drink alcohol while Willow is still underage, a coffee will sort me out.” I stand and return to the corridor followed by Mira who is trailing wilfully behind me like some kind of puppy. 

“Vi don’t you think you should sit down you looked like you were going to collapse earlier,” 

“No, thank- you Mira, I am quite alright.” I take a breath and straiten my pearl white silk shirt “I was surprised that's all. I never expected to see him again, let alone find out he is a friend of yours,” 

As we enter the kitchen we walk into a showdown between Brennan and Mum, who has miraculously reappeared. It’s whisper quiet and mostly consists of mirrored glaring. Brennan has seldom argued with our mother and when he has he has never been successful, Mira is just as unsuccessful though they always fought much more frequently over much more trivial things, only me and Lilith head on a major level and only I can boast the accolade of winning an argument with her except perhaps our father though he never enjoyed fighting with her half as much as I did. 

My mother has her Chanel handbag over her arm and is preparing to leave, and Brennan is petitioning for her to say and support me. Little does he know how unwelcome Lilith's Sorrengail would be if Fen Riorson’s son knew even the slightest bit about the Venin.

“She can go, Brennan,” his shocked face turns towards me and he says:

“she should stay to support her daughter and her granddaughter,” 

“If it isn’t Lilith’s inclination to stay then she may go,” I take a breath and after a subtle nod from my mother bring up the one subject that will end this conversation. “despite appearances, Lilith and I are not playing happy family’s neither of us forgotten our history inside and outside of the courtroom,” 

Brennan takes a gulp but removes his hand from the door nob allowing Lilith to exit. I will have to thank her for allowing me that small mercy even though I have opened up a can of worms regarding her secrets and not just mine.

Brennan and Mira pander around me for the first hour that we wait bringing me coffee and biscuits and lighting fires until they fall into a silence that is broken only by the tapping of my black fingernails on my MacBook.

I distract myself by looking at case notes and emailing Rhiannon, my legal partner at Basgiath Law Firm. Where in the midst of a major merger between Mercedes and Aston Martin. The value is around £140 million but Rhiannon is much more concerned with what I go through at work at night i have always maintained is for me and willow. 

It’s ten o'clock when I hear the sound of an engine pulling into my drive for the second time tonight. I remain still but Tairn and Andarna do not. They skulk out of their baskets to stand protectively in front of me while Brennan and Mira go for the door. 

I hear whispers as Brennan and Mira greet the father of my child but I remain in my place standing by the kitchen island staring at the entranceway waiting for him to come through it. 

It’s him, I think the second he enters ducking his head under the doorframe. The man who has been haunting my dreams for the last five years. The man I met one night in a bar and went home with. The man whose name I didn’t know till hours ago. The man who is the father of my child. 

The colour on Xaden’s face drains and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Violence,” he says in a whisper. I can see Mira at the side of me, her eyebrows rising in shock at the nickname. I’m about to sit down or my legs are about to give out when I hear Willow’s cry. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the sound but that never worked when she was a baby let alone now. Or maybe I close my eyes, thinking if I do this, everything that is happening right now isn’t happening. Maybe all of this is a dream. Maybe he’s not right here in front of me.

“Mummy, Mummy!” Willow cries, running down the stairs to me, I look down at her. Her hair is platted into a thick braid with ends escaping as it curls down her little spine. The pyjamas she’s wearing have short sleeves and flowers all over it. “I had a bad dream,” She wails tears streaming down her little face.  

It snaps me out of my paralysed stupor and I reach for her despite the pain in my hip and pull her tight against me kissing her cheeks and brushing her tears away. 

“What upset you, darling?”

“The toucan,” she buries herself into my arms hiding her face in my shoulder. It’s a strange fear, to be sure the toucan in the night garden is a fairly sentient creature but every time it comes on I get wailing tears, apparently she’s dreaming it now. 

Her body is too heavy for my weak joints at this time of night so I have no choice but to place her on the work surface behind me.

“Oh my God.” Xaden gulps, putting his hand to his mouth. I have no doubt he’s put two and two together. Now she’s visible to him, Her eyes are the same eyes he has. They have the same golden flecks in them. The sound of my heart beating in my chest fills my ears, along with the sound of buzzing.

I turn to look at Xaden and then look back down at Willow. “It’s scary,” she says, “I don’t like it.”

Brennan, who only a few hours ago couldn't form a complete sentence around Willow, smiles at her and squats down in front of her. “That's okay toucans can be scary, but you're being a very brave girl, and there are none in the house it’s nice and safe here,” he assures her.

“There’s a toucan on the telly,” she says quietly, looking at Brennan with her watery eyes, “and it looks real.”

“Well shall we take Andarna up to your bedroom so she can guard you from the toucans can’t she? Willow nods and Brennan lifts her gently off the island gestures to Mira to follow with Andarna and leaves me and Xaden alone. 

“What’s is her name?” Xaden asks voice slightly shaky 

I look up now and add this moment to the list of things I will never forget. “Her name is Willow.”

Chapter Text

I’m having an out-of-body experience. Either that or I’ve died and I’m looking down at my life unravelling before my eyes. My heart is beating so fast it feels as if it’s going to come out of my chest. Even breathing feels like an effort. The T-shirt I’m wearing feels like it’s too tight on my body. I swear I am hearing buzzing noises from my ears. I barely hear myself ask for her name. 

But the minute she says it’s…it’s as if it settles me. “Willow,” I say her name, but not in my head and more of a whisper than anything else. My eyes go to the stairs trying in vain to catch another glimpse of her long black hair. “That’s a beautiful name.” Violence looks up at me, and I swear to God, she’s every bit as beautiful as when I last saw her, dressed so very similarly in a crisp suit. With her perfect hair cascading around her.

 Stood here in her kitchen I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach the desire I felt that night five years ago is just as strong but it has been eclipsed by the figure of a little girl with my hair and eyes. Violence’s face is white like she’s seen a ghost, and I guess seeing me after five years is just like that.

“Um,” a voice says from the kitchen door. Mira, I realise looking up. “Violet, this is Xaden.” Violet blinks her eyes a million times a minute. And cluing me § into the moisture that's gathering in the corners.

“We er we need to talk,” Violet says, I’m shocked at how close to correcting my name was that night. avoiding looking at me as she glances over at Mira. They share a look and Mira just nods at her silently and disappears down the hall again.

She gestures at me to take a seat at her kitchen table and pours me a glass of water. 

“I’d offer something stronger but I don’t keep alcohol anymore,” 

“I wouldn't take it.” Not while Willow is upstairs hopefully dreaming of something she’s not afraid of. While I sit down here evaluating my life and trying to calculate the cost to buy out whatever TV program is showing toucans that has her in tears. But I also don’t want Violet to think that I’m an alcoholic. 

“So I guess you have questions,” Violet begins, looking at me.

“I do,” I answer her and see that she takes a deep inhale.

“Okay, then let’s start at question number one,” she urges me.

“When is her birthday?” It’s the first thing I thought about when I met her. That and then all the birthdays I’ve missed with her.

“October 7th,” she replies softly. “She was born at twenty-nine weeks.” I can’t help but gasp at that information.

“Is she okay?” I ask, which might seem like a silly question considering I’ve met her and she’s perfect.

“She has an inherited condition EDS, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, I have it too. We have Tairn and Andarna, their service dogs” she reassures me with a smile. “It was rough at the beginning. She was born at two pounds one ounce.” My heart beats so fast in my chest, you would think I’m in the middle of a cardio workout instead of sitting down having a discussion. “She was in the ICU for over a month.” My head spins at this information. I never expected it to be such a hard start for her at the beginning. “She’s up to normal height and weight as of her last visit.”

“She looks perfect,” I finally say, and she nods, agreeing with me. “When did you find out you were pregnant?”

“About six weeks after. I had just started as a paralegal and I wasn’t sure until I ate pizza and then threw up all over my bed. I was also exhausted, more so than regularly. I fell asleep once sitting in a chair.” She laughs, her hand holding her glass of water. She spins the glass around and around. I know she’s nervous, and I know she’s doing anything she can to move her hands. I want to lean over and grab her hand and tell her that it’s okay. But instead, I sit in front of her and listen to her tell me the story. “Then I went out and bought a test and when that one came back, I thought it was defective.” She taps the table with her finger. “So I went to the doctor and turns out it wasn’t defective and I was, in fact, with child.”

“How was your pregnancy?” I wish I had more control in this situation I wish I had a list of questions to check off, I’m going by the seat of my pants now.

“It went well. I was tired until the second trimester. I craved pancakes and chicken day and night.” Something inside me sinks as I think of her doing it all on her own. The guilt of not being there is even stronger today as I listen to what she went through without me.

“What have you told her about me?” This is the question I wanted to wait until the end to ask, but with the way my head is spinning, everything is coming out in a different order. To be honest, it was the only question I now want an answer to. I don’t care about anything else except for this one.

“I told her that you wanted to see her but couldn’t,” she answers, and I laugh.

“For five years?” I joke with her, and she smirks. The nerves I’ve had in my body slowly leave me. Sitting with her, I find calmness. 

“I mean, she’s five, so she doesn’t get the nuclear family thing. I try not to lie to her and it was the best I could come up with.”

“Is there a father figure in her life?” I ask the question, and the whole time my stomach sinks just thinking about it.

“No, she’s got honorary aunts and uncles but that's it,” she confirms, sitting back. “It’s just me and her.” I don’t know why I feel a sense of relief from that statement. It makes me feel even more like a selfish asshole.

I nod my head. “I want to meet her and get to know her,” I finally say, not even sure of any other questions I have, but this is the most important one.

“Of course,” she says without thinking about it. “It was never my intention to keep her from you.” She pauses and then laughs “I should have taken your number, been ‘girl fucked in room 346,”

“That would have saved us a whole bunch of problems.” She smiles sadly, and I know there is more to that statement than meets the eye.

“How did your family deal with you having the baby?” I ask her, and she avoids even looking up.

“They weren’t fans of my decision,” she says, “but it was never a decision in my head.”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive but I know you don’t have the best relationship with them.”

“Uh hum,” she replies before taking a sip of water. Something cold crept into her expression.

“I need to tell my family.”

“Yes of course,” she exhales.

“After I meet her, we can ease my family into it.” Her eyes go big.

“That sounds reasonable. I won’t ever keep her from you or your family.” Her voice trails off, and I know she wants to say something else, so I wait. “I just ask that you don’t parade women in front of her.” She swallows hard. “If you have a partner…well I’d like to meet them first.”

“That sounds reasonable,” I admit to her, “and if you get a boyfriend.” She nods her head. “How about I meet her first, and then we can set up a date for her to meet my father?”

“That sounds good,” she replies, pushing the water around on the table.

“How about tomorrow?” Her eyes fly to mine, shocked. 

“We can do breakfast.” To be honest, I would have done it right now, but I realise that is unreasonable.

She takes a deep inhale, “I guess there is no good time for this.”

“Where do you want to do it?” I ask her.

“Here, in her environment,” she states. “I think that would be the easiest.”

“What is her favourite food?”

“Pancakes,” she says, “blueberries, White bread not wheat, even though it’s better for her. Bananas and strawberries cut up together, she loves that. Burgers, she likes burgers with cheese, no veggies or sauce. Chips, well, because who doesn’t like chips? Twice-baked potatoes with bacon in them because without it, it doesn’t taste the same.”

“That is a long list,” I say, but I memorise it all. I’m desperate for every piece of information on Willow I’m drinking it up.

“It’s even longer, but those are the most important ones,” she says,

“I went past a village on the way in. I’ll stay there and meet you back here in the morning. What time?”

“Eleven o'clock, Willow’s not a morning person.” She smiles as she walks me to the door. 

The drive back to the village is longer, purely because I stick to the speed limit. It’s strange, I never did before now but all of a sudden crashing into a tree is unappealing despite how frequently I attempted it after my mother died a few years ago. Willow is something else something good and I won't die before I know her and certainly not the result of my recklessness. 

I find a relatively nice-looking building that to my surprise is called ‘The Willow Tree,’ it feels like a sign so I go inside. It’s nicely decked out in dark mahogany and the walls are painted a lush emerald green. The walls are covered with books and there are tables in orderly rows where people are dining out surrounded by the lush atmosphere of the room. I go up to the desk and am quickly given a room. It's spacious and well-equipped but I couldn't care less. 

I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I've found myself in a position I never thought I’d be in with a woman I never thought I'd see again. Violet Sorrengail, it’s a name I have known for the past five years but I never related it to her, The woman or as Garrick calls her the dominatrix. The one that got away, the best sex I've ever had, the woman I still dream about and whose dreams of her have forced me to take long stretches of celibacy because no one is as good as her, siblings or not had willow not come tumbling down the stairs I’d have spent the time trying to get into her pants. 

I stare at the ceiling for another five minutes just picturing her face on the counter before I work up the nerve to phone my father. 

The Facetime call takes a while to load before I can see him. 

“Xaden,” he says and a rare real smile tugs at his features. 

“Dad,” I great, pushing myself into a sitting position. “Where is Aeofie? And Granny”

“Sleeping,” he says “they turned in an hour or so ago.” 

“Good,” I say, “good. I need to talk to you,” and he looks up, his face filling with concern as his eyebrows lower.

“Where are you?”

“In Cambridge,” I tell him.

“What?” my father asks me, shocked “Why?” and all the words get jumbled in my mouth.

“Um.” I suddenly feel like I’m sixteen again, and I just messed up and have to break the news to my parents. For the time I skipped school and decided I would forge my father’s signature, but they caught me and called home about it. instead of letting them yell at me, I came clean to them as soon as I walked in. Of course, I acted like the lie was secretly making me guilty, which they fell for or maybe they could have smelled the bullshit but let it slide. “Do you think you could come down here this weekend?” I ask him. The nerves in my body make me jump off the bed, and I slowly pace the room back and forth.

“Why?” The look goes into a glare, and he raises an eyebrow as he waits for it. It’s the parental instinct; he knows shit is about to hit the fan. When I was growing up, I would think it was a special gift he and my mother had. I’ve learned since they could read it in my face.

I think about how to say the next part. I could always tell him I need to see him, but my father isn’t one who just will let that slide. he knows me better than that I don't come to them if I can avoid it. “No easy way to say this.” I look at my father, who just narrows his eyes at me “I’d like you to meet your granddaughter.” Fuck, that was easier than I thought it would be, well, at least for me to say it.

He opens his mouth and then closes it, clenching his jaw tightly.

“I just found out,” I tell him, my heart speeding up as I run my hand through my hair and then hold my neck.

“What do you mean, you just found out?” He glares at me.

I think about lying for about one point two seconds but know I can’t, not with him. If anything, I’m going to need all of his help. “We had one night together,” I finally say.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He throws up his hands. Yup, exactly how I thought it would go.

“I just found her today,” I tell him, shaking my head. If this were anyone else, I would be laughing at the whole situation, but now that I’m in it, it’s no laughing matter. “When I went into the house, she was well she’d known for all of an hour before I had, she’s Bren and Mira’s little sister. Then Willow came in. That’s her name, Willow, I was shocked. I had no idea what the hell was going on.”

“Well, what about Willow?” He says her name with a softness to his voice.

“All I know is she’s five, and she’s scared of toucans.” I smile. “And she likes pancakes.” My chest fills up. “And she’s fucking perfect,” I say,

“This is a big deal, Xaden.” His tone is softer now.

“You think I don’t know that, Dad?” My voice rises. I’ve always been in control of everything. I’ve always been cool, calm, and collected, something I got from my dad. I treat everything like it’s a chess game. I sit down, patiently waiting for the next move, already having my opponent’s move in my head so I can come in and steal the king. But this situation is pushing me to the edge of the cliff, and I feel like I’m hanging on by the tips of my fingers.

“This isn’t just a mission that you can go in, sweep up, and then leave when you’re done.” He makes sure I’m looking at him while he says it. As if my saying I have a daughter hasn’t cemented the situation in my brain.

“Dad, I get it.” I’m frustrated because I do get it, and there are questions I didn’t even think of.

“You don’t even own a house.” He points out another reason that I am not ready for this. “You live in hotels.”

“I have a condo.” I roll my eyes at him.

“I have a condo.” He points at himself. “That I let you stay in.”

“I thought you said I get it when you die.” I try to crack a joke to ease the nerves.

“Xaden,” he hisses.

“Who is the mother of this child?”

Chapter Text

My father's reaction to the mother of my child was strange—a mix of anger and resentment that seemed unfounded. Until then, he had directed most of his anger at me over the situation. I chalked it up to some feud with Lilith Sorrengail from their time in the army and the resentment of being tied to her daughter.
I hadn't had much time to think about anything. I spent the night researching EDS and reading horror stories I prayed my little girl would never experience. Violet had it too, yet she still picked Willow up and held her, despite the pain it must have caused. I then started reading about service dogs and even contemplated getting one. Violet’s were both Labs, so I looked at those and found a chocolate colourer dog named Sgael that I considered. It's something I need to discuss with Violet.

I exited my room around ten-thirty, not wanting to be late for breakfast despite knowing that Violet’s house was only ten minutes away. But my move had been anticipated by the two figures standing shoulder to shoulder next to my Land Rover.

“Riorson.” Brennan’s voice was harsh, far harsher than it had been last night. “We're going to do you the immense favour of not hitting you anywhere too visible.”
With that, he swung a punch straight to my gut that I could have blocked but didn't. Considering I had unknowingly slept with their sister, bragged about it to our entire friend group, and then abandoned her with my child, I thought this was a fair shot.

He landed two more punches, one to my arm and the other to my shoulder. Brennan might not be an infantryman, but he certainly knew where the most painful places to hit were. Once he had me good, he stepped back, and I found myself looking at Mira. If I knew one thing about the Sorrengail twins, it was that this had been well rehearsed. Brennan had been selected for his strength, while Mira had been assigned the role of the vocalist in this presentation.
Mira marched up to me, stood toe to toe, and slapped me across the face, hard but calculated enough that it wouldn't bruise. “That’s for the bragging.” I rolled my neck and straightened my jaw.

I did brag after that evening with Violet. It had been that good—so good that no one met her standards for the next five years, earning her Garrick’s wildly inappropriate nickname, The Dominatrix. It seemed especially awful given she’s the mother of my child and the younger sister of two of our friends. Especially when I considered how graphic the explanation of our evening had been.

“Here's the laydown, Xaden.” Mira took a breath. “You're our friend, and you're probably closer to us than she is. But she’s our sister. We know what you’re like with women: conquest here, conquest there.” She squinted due to the sun but continued. “Don’t you fucking hurt her, or I’ll kill you. Prison be damned. I get that you're in a tough situation here, and I get that it wasn’t your fault you weren't there—arguably, it’s hers—but you have fifty per cent responsibility for Willow. I've seen her a handful of times over the five years of her life, and she’s perfect, so don’t screw it up.” “You could be happy.”

“I've known about her for about sixteen hours, and she’s already the most important person in the world to me. There’s nothing I wouldn't do for her.” I say as I push past her to climb into my car, I won't be late to see my daughter for the first time.

The drive up to Hardwick Farm holds a different tension than it did last night. The road seems longer, the turns sharper, and the air heavier with anticipation. I can picture Willow's face so vividly, her delicate features mirroring my own, as she nestles against Violet's neck. My heart beats faster at the mere thought of her, each thump a testament to a love I've never known before.

It’s something I’ve never experienced: this sudden rush of love for someone so small, so vulnerable. Children, as a rule, love their parents; people love their friends and their family. But no amount of love can prepare a person for the overwhelming, all-consuming love they feel for their child. It's a love that transcends all others, striking with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

I would do anything for Willow. Anything. The thought of her brings both a fierce protectiveness and a deep-seated fear. But that isn't what scares me the most. Violence is an innate part of my life; I've faced dangers and made difficult choices without hesitation. But being responsible for loving someone, for ensuring their happiness and well-being—this is a responsibility I feel ill-equipped to fulfil. I am left questioning my capabilities. How can I, who has known so much strife, be the one to nurture such pure, unblemished joy?

Every mile closer to the farm magnifies these fears, but intertwined with them is a resolve I didn’t know I possessed. I may doubt my ability to provide the kind of love Willow deserves, but I am determined to try. For her, I will strive to be more than I have ever been, to overcome the darkness that has shadowed my life. This journey is more than a drive; it’s the beginning of a promise, one I intend to keep with every fibre of my being.

And then there's Violet—or Violence or Silver—the woman I searched for, the woman I returned to that dingy little bar for, night after night, knowing she was long gone. I find myself picturing her face completely differently from Willow's. The way it had been that night, full of challenge and lust. There's a coldness there now, but it fades when she looks at her daughter, and for some inexplicable reason, I want it to fade when she looks at me.

When I first met Violet, she was a force of nature—unpredictable, wild, and captivating. Her eyes held secrets and promises of adventure, and I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. That night, every glance she threw my way was a dare, every smile a tease. It was a game we both enjoyed, a dance of attraction and defiance. But now, the fire in her eyes has been replaced by a distant frost, a barrier that keeps everyone at arm's length.

Yet, when she looks at Willow, the ice melts away. Her features soften, her eyes warm, and in those moments, I catch glimpses of the woman I met all those years ago, full of passion and life. I can see the tenderness and fierce love she has for our daughter. It's in the way she cradles Willow in her arms, whispers soothing words, and kisses her forehead. The transformation is mesmerizing and heart-wrenching.

I want to be the cause of that change, to see that same warmth when she looks at me. I yearn for the connection despite having nothing to compare it to. It's a strange desire, one that complicates the already tangled web of my emotions. The coldness she shows is a stark contrast to the memories of our passionate night. I find myself wondering if the distance is a result of the choices we've made, the paths we've taken, or simply the inevitable erosion of time.

As I near Hardwick Farm, these thoughts swirl in my mind, quickly joined by others as I start up the drive. Violet has money—enough to afford this place, and more. In my selfish way, I had hoped that providing for them would be my role, using my vast wealth to support my daughter and her mother. But now, I am struck by the realisation that I wasn’t needed; Violet has managed just fine on her own. Even cut off from her family, she has succeeded.

This stirs a new level of irritation and makes me feel even more inadequate. The last thing I want is to deprive Willow of anything when my deepest desire is to give her everything. The knowledge that Violet has already ensured Willow’s well-being without my help leaves me feeling redundant. I am caught between admiration for Violet’s strength and a gnawing sense of frustration at my uselessness.

As I pull up to the house, the grandeur of Hardwick Farm comes into full view. The sprawling fields, the well-maintained buildings—everything speaks of hard work and success. I step out of the car, collecting the two bunches of flowers I selected at the boutique and take a moment to steady myself. The air is crisp, carrying the scents of earth and greenery, a stark contrast to the life I’m used to. I want to be a part of this, to contribute meaningfully, but how can I do that when Violet has already built a stable life for herself and Willow?

I check my watch before knocking on the door. 11:00 on the dot. I hear a scuffle from inside, the sounds of scraping claws and padding feet.
“Shall I open the door, mummy?” Her voice is pitched high and her pronunciation perfect, but unlike her mother’s more polished RP, Willow’s voice has a lighter quality, making her sound angelic.

“Yes, darling,” Violet says, “but look through the peephole first.”

I wait patiently for Willow to say something else while looking at the little circle on the door and trying my best to appear approachable and not standoffish and opposed to human interaction.

“Hello,” I hear a whisper, and my eyes dart immediately down to the letterbox where two big, heavy-lashed eyes are staring at me. I crouch to her level but struggle to bend my neck to see her properly—a true testament to just how small Willow is.

“Who are you?” she says, tilting her head to the side.

I pause, unsure what to say. Had Violet even mentioned me to her? God, I feel so stuck. I eventually force out the words, “I’m a friend of your mummy’s. I’ve come for breakfast.”

Her eyes slant up in a smile, and she says, “Your name’s Xaden. You were here last night.” It’s a statement rather than a question, and I’m struck by the intellect of her deduction.

She disappears again, and I feel a longing to see her again, but then I hear the door unlock and straighten as the door is pulled back to reveal her. She looks perfect, dark curls pinned back into a half-plaited style while the rest hangs down her back, smooth and silky, curling at the ends to make a bed of chunky ringlets. She’s dressed in a little white frock with pink flowers on it that match with a bow in her hair. She looks well-cared-for and well-put-together, and I wonder if Violet selected this outfit to convey just this—that she doesn’t need me to look after our daughter. The overall effect is beautiful, but I notice that her feet are bare, and when she stands on tiptoes to reach for my hand and pull me inside, I notice green grass stains and mud on the pads of her feet.

I’m dragged through the kitchen and down a hallway to patio doors that open onto a wide expanse of patio and garden. The morning sun bathes everything in a golden glow, casting soft shadows across the stone tiles. I spot Violet in the distance, holding a plate of pancakes piled high. She's meticulously arranging a breakfast spread full to the brim with waffles, berries, and other delicacies—all of Willow’s favourites, I note with a smile.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the sweetness of maple syrup in the air, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. As I step forward, gravel crunches under my feet, I glance at Willow, and she’s gazing up at me with wide, expectant eyes. She holds her arms up, a clear request for me to pick her up and carry her to the chairs.
I take a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and determination. Gently, I place my hands under her arms and pull her to my chest. It’s not that I’m afraid of dropping her; it’s just that…it’s been a long time since I’ve held anyone close. My interactions have been limited to the back-slapping, shoulder-patting gestures of friendship and family. This feels different—more intimate, more significant.

As I walk slowly and carefully along the cream gravel path, I’m acutely aware of every step. The gravel crunches softly beneath my shoes, and the birds sing their morning songs, adding to the peaceful ambience. I can feel Willow’s small hands clutching my shirt, and her trust in me is both humbling and heartwarming.
When we reach the cushioned chair, I lower her gently, making sure she’s comfortable. My arms feel strangely empty without her weight. I linger for a moment, watching her settle in and smile up at me. It’s a simple act, but it fills me with a sense of purpose and connection that I hadn’t realized I was missing.

Violet looks over and gives me an approving nod, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Who are those for?” she asks, gesturing at the slightly crumpled bundles of flowers I had forgotten I was holding. I hold out one to Violet and the other to Willow.

“Thank you for having me,” I say to Violet, who just nods.

“Mummy, he brought flowers for me too!” Willow whisper-yells, making me laugh out loud.

“Say thank you,” Violet tells her.

“Thank you for the princess flowers,” Willow says with a smile.

“I’ll take those and put them in a vase,” Violet informs her, “so your hands aren’t full.” Willow nods in agreement and hands over the flowers, still smiling at me.

“It’s not my birthday,” she says to me after Violet is gone. “My birthday is October 7th.”

“I know,” I tell her, squatting down, “but it’s the first time I’ve visited you, and I thought I would bring you a little something.”

She tilts her head to the side and smiles, revealing rows of pearly white teeth. “Okay.”

Violet returns then, followed by two Labradors—one black and one golden. The golden lab, still in its puppy years, jumps up onto the sofa where Willow is sitting and uses its back to provide Willow with a cushion. Willow sighs in relief, and a physical pain erupts in my chest. She’s hurting, and I couldn’t even tell. When Violet sits down on Willow’s other side, the black lab seats itself in front of me and glares, almost as if it knows my plight and has no sympathy.

“This is Tairn,” Violet says, gesturing to the black lab, “and this is Andarna,” she adds, indicating the golden puppy. I smile as the little puppy wiggles around so its head is in the palm of Willow’s hand, where I spy a piece of honey-covered chicken.

I pat Tairn’s head, but he growls, making Willow laugh. “You made him angry,” she giggles.

Violet starts piling pancakes and fruit high on Willow’s plate. She looks at me over Willow’s head and mouths, "Is now okay?" with a tentative smile that cracks her facade and reveals a hint of nerves about what's coming.

“Do you know why Xaden is here today, Willow?” she asks gently, drizzling maple syrup onto her plate.

“He’s here for breakfast, he told me,” Willow replies, turning to me. She frowns at my empty plate as if it symbolizes a lie because I’m not eating.

“Well, yes,” Violet says, “but we also need to talk to you about something.”

“What have I told you about your father, Willow?”

“That he can’t see me because he doesn’t know where we are right now, but he loves me very much, and I look just like him but with Mommy’s nose,” she recites, the words sounding well-rehearsed and ingrained in her memory. It makes me want to cry, and I haven’t cried since my mother died over four years ago.

“Well, he’s managed to find you,” Violet says, looking at me with tears in her eyes. For the first time since I’ve met her, she looks like herself.

Willow turns her owlish eyes on me, her deduction clear as she examines my features. “Did you get lost?” she asks in the sweetest, most innocent voice I’ve ever heard.

“Yes,” I say.

“So, you’re my daddy?”

“Yes,” I reply. She folds her little body into my arms, allowing me to breathe in the floral scent of her shampoo and hide the tears tracking down my face.

Chapter Text

The Clove Club restaurant has long been a sanctuary for me, a familiar refuge that conjures up warm memories. Yet tonight, as I sit across from Violet Sorrengail, that comfort dissolves quickly. Her subtle manipulations are apparent, as she skilfully directs the conversation—not just with the staff and her own daughter, but also with my son. The realisation that she is orchestrating our interactions, even in these seemingly mundane moments, sends a shiver down my spine.

I steal a glance at Violet, who seems perfectly at ease, her gentle smile directed at Willow, who is engrossed in doodling on a napkin. Violet's voice is warm as she turns her attention to Xaden. “It’s such a joy to finally see the two of you together. Willow has always longed for her father. It’s wonderful that she now has the chance to be with him.”

Xaden returns her smile, though there's an awkwardness about him. This situation is new to him—being a father to a child he didn’t know existed until recently.

“It’s... it’s a lot to take in,” he admits, his voice reflecting both admiration for Willow and the uncertainty of stepping into fatherhood so suddenly. “She’s a wonder.”

Willow beams up at him, proudly holding up her drawing. “Daddy, look! I drew a picture of us!”

Xaden leans in, visibly touched, perhaps a bit overwhelmed. “That’s beautiful, Willow. You’re quite the artist,” he responds softly.

I try to ease the tension with a smile. “She clearly takes after her parents in more ways than one.”

Violet nods appreciatively, her gaze fixed on Xaden with an intensity that suggests she’s calculating her next move. “You know, Xaden, discovering Willow has been unexpected. You’ve handled it with such grace. Not everyone would be so understanding,” she says, her tone admiring yet subtly probing.

Xaden’s expression tightens slightly at the compliment, the weight of his new reality evident. “It’s a big change, but I want to do right by her. Be the father she deserves,” he replies earnestly.

Here it comes, I think, as Violet leans in, her voice dropping to a soft, almost conspiratorial tone. “And you will be, no doubt. I’ve been considering... given your military commitments, it might be challenging to spend as much time with Willow as you both need. There are other ways to serve and protect without being away so often,” she suggests gently, placing her hand on Xaden’s arm.

Xaden looks puzzled but intrigued. “What do you mean?”

Violet continues earnestly, with a hint of concern. “I’ve heard about opportunities in the private sector—security roles that offer stability and good pay. They’d allow you more time at home. More time to bond with Willow.”

Willow chimes in innocently, “I would love to see you more, Daddy.”

The word "Daddy" seems to shift something in Xaden; his eyes turn to Willow, his love and eagerness to make that name a permanent fixture evident. My chest tightens. I knew this moment was coming, but seeing it play out is different. Violet is deftly planting seeds of doubt about Xaden’s career—a career I loathe but was his choice. In a matter of days, Violet is already exerting her influence.

Xaden looks conflicted, torn between his commitment to the military and his desire to be present for Willow. “It is. I’ve dedicated my life to the military, but... being there for Willow, that matters too.”

Violet’s eyes soften as she nods, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Of course, and there’s no rush. I just want you to know that whatever you choose, you have options. Willow deserves the chance to know you, to have you in her life.”

Willow beams, her innocence shining through. “I want to spend lots of time with you, Daddy!”

I watch as Xaden’s resolve seems to waver. The name "Daddy" is more than just a word to him; it signifies acceptance and family. The lengths he’s willing to go to secure that bond are troubling. Violet is playing on his desire to be a good father, and she knows exactly how to manipulate that.

“I want that too, Willow,” he breathes out.

I notice the small, satisfied smile on Violet’s lips. She has achieved what she intended—a flicker of doubt in Xaden’s mind about his current path.

“It’s a lot to process, Xaden. Just remember, your decisions should be what’s best for you and Willow,” I say firmly, hoping to steer the conversation back on course.

Violet leans back, her demeanour calm and satisfied. “Absolutely. We all just want what’s best for Willow and for you. Take your time to decide what’s right.”

Violet’s manipulations extend beyond her words. She exudes wealth and authority, adorned in Cartier jewelry and a suit that likely costs more than my entire wardrobe—more fitting for a corporate boardroom than a family dinner. Her opulence starkly contrasts with the relaxed atmosphere expected at a family gathering. It’s disconcerting to see Violet, who once derided her mother’s wealth, blend seamlessly into high society.

Despite Violet’s icy demeanour and calculated interactions, her daughter is a wonder to behold. With the same delicate frame as Violet but a more vibrant energy, she captivates everyone around her. Her charm seems innocent and sincere, a refreshing contrast to Violet’s manipulative ways. I wonder if Violet groomed her daughter to be a more palatable version of herself or if the daughter has forged her own path, separate from her mother’s schemes.

After a few hours, I finally get a moment alone with Violet. The dining room has emptied, leaving only the lingering scent of our meal—a reminder of the evening’s charade. Standing near the window, I look out over the twinkling city lights, feeling a gnawing unease. This is my chance to confront her about my deep-seated resentment. I see the fatigue in her eyes—a small crack in her usually perfect mask. It’s a vulnerability I intend to exploit.

“Violet,” I begin, my voice cold and edged with barely concealed contempt, “It’s been a while.”

She turns to me, a ghost of a smirk on her lips, her eyes guarded and calculating. “It has, hasn’t it?” she replies, her tone smooth but challenging.

My hands grip the windowsill, the coolness of the glass grounding me as I choose my words carefully. “I’ve kept tabs on you. Your influence seems to stretch far and wide. I imagine you’ve reclaimed most of the connections you lost because of your association with me.”

Her gaze sharpens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face—a hint of the manipulative prowess I’ve come to despise. “Concerned?” she echoes, tilting her head slightly. “For whom? My daughter or your son?”

“Both,” I admit, the words tasting bitter. “Your daughter is my granddaughter, and I know you too well. There’s always an agenda, always some scheme you’re orchestrating.”

Violet sighs, a sound that grates on my nerves, feigning weariness. “You think I’m manipulating them,” she says, her voice annoyingly calm, as if she’s already dismissed my concerns.

“I don’t think,” I say slowly, each word laced with venom, “I know you’re a master at getting what you want. What I haven’t figured out is what you gain by hiding your child from my son for years, only to bring her into our lives now.” The accusation hangs heavily in the air.

She turns fully toward me, her expression a mask of serene indifference that only fuels my rage. “Everything’s a conspiracy with you, Fen. You see the world in black and white.” Her voice is maddeningly calm, as if enjoying my frustration. “Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t know about Willow’s parentage until recently? Maybe it was then I decided to re-enter your orbit. Perhaps it’s not me who stands to gain, but her.”

The audacity of her words sends a jolt of fury through me. I know Violet’s methods—her ability to manipulate and twist narratives. Control, influence, power—it’s always about power with her. She’s adept at playing the victim to deflect suspicion.

“You’re so skilled at playing innocent,” I mutter, my voice trembling with anger. “Twisting truths, feigning concern, all while weaving your webs. But this is different. It’s about my family, our future. I won’t let you manipulate my son or granddaughter for your ambitions.”

Violet’s eyes flash with a brief flare of anger or perhaps disdain. “You always underestimate me, Fen. You think this is just another game, but maybe you’re missing the bigger picture.”

“I won’t let you sink your claws into Xaden,” I snap, my voice rising with barely contained fury. But Violet only smiles serenely, as if my words don’t affect her. She seems unbothered by the betrayal she caused—leaving the father of her child motherless, his cousin fatherless, and countless others dead because she turned traitor when we needed her most.

“I have no need to sink my claws into Xaden. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t,” she replies smoothly, her tone dripping with condescension. “Willow has him wrapped around her finger, and she will follow me. Wherever I go, Willow goes, and Xaden will follow. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

My breath catches, anger and fear intertwining in my chest. “I could tell him the truth about you,” I retort sharply. “You wouldn’t look like the saintly mother of his child then, but the murderer of his own blood.”

Her eyes narrow, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You tell him, Fen. I dare you.”

“I will,” I hiss, the words hanging like a promise of retribution.

Violet leans in slightly, her eyes glittering with cold amusement. “Then you’ll also need to explain your own encouragement and that of his friends' parents for a girl as young as their children to take off all her clothes to get the information you needed.”

“I never told you to do that,” I snap, the accusation twisting something dark within me.

“You never refused the information gained by my means, though, did you?” she counters softly, her voice cutting like a blade.

I gasp, struggling to keep my composure. “If I tell him, he’ll believe me,” I say, though my words sound desperate even to my own ears.

“The man who lied to him about his profession, who allowed his friends to die for a government supporting terrorism?” She tilts her head, a mocking smile playing on her lips. “I’m sure that will go down well. Whereas I was just a minor at the time, poor, manipulated Violet.”

“You were involved with us until you were twenty-one,” I retort, my voice shaking with anger. “Hardly a minor then.”

“And yet,” she says, her smile widening, “you all treated me like a child, using me for your purposes. Now you want to condemn me for it. How convenient.”

The truth in her words stings, leaving me momentarily at a loss. The room feels suffocating, her ability to twist the narrative infuriating. Yet beneath my anger, there's a gnawing fear that she might sway Xaden, already vulnerable and uncertain, with her version of events.

“You say all this, but you’re already pulling strings—his career,” I accuse, my voice heavy with frustration. 

“You can’t possibly want him on the front lines of a war as cannon fodder fighting for a government that cares very little about him” Violet says her tone unwavering. 

“It is Xaden’s choice, though,”I bite back.

“I haven’t taken his autonomy away from him; I’ve merely encouraged him not to throw his life away—something you desire as much as I do.” She says calmly staring out the window. 

“For entirely different reasons,” I counter, “I want my son to live because I love him. You want him to live so that you can continue to use him to further your schemes.”

“You used to enjoy my schemes, Fen. After all, I learned many of my tricks from you,” Violet says with a smirk.

“Let’s not pretend you weren’t dipping your fingers in pies long before we were acquainted,” I retort. “I knew of you from your reputation, Violet. It far preceded you. Granted, at the time, you appeared quite the troubled teenager.”

“Something you know all about,” Violet says with a sharp edge in her voice.

“Yes, the façade was good, as is this one. But Violet, I see straight through it.”

Violet’s gaze remains steady, a thinly veiled amusement flickering in her eyes. “You always were quick to judge, Fen. But let’s not pretend you’re some paragon of virtue. Your own methods are hardly above reproach.”

“True,” I concede, feeling a rush of irritation, “but at least I’m not using my own family as pawns in some grand scheme.”

Violet’s expression hardens, her smile now a cold line. “Oh, and what about you? The lengths you’ve gone to manipulate and control situations for your gain, under the guise of protecting others? Don’t think I don’t know your history.”

Her words are a direct hit, stirring up old grudges and painful memories. I clench my fists, fighting to maintain composure. “We’re not talking about me,” I snap. “We’re talking about you and your latest machinations.”

“Is that what you think this is?” she asks, her voice low and dangerous. “That I’m orchestrating some elaborate scheme? Perhaps it’s easier for you to believe that rather than confront the reality of the situation.”

I can feel the walls closing in around me. Violet is skilled at shifting the narrative, making me question my own perspective. But I won’t be sidetracked. “What I believe is irrelevant. What matters is the impact on my family. Xaden is vulnerable right now, and you’re exploiting that.”

Violet’s lips curl into a smile that’s more predatory than pleasant. “And what of Willow? Shouldn’t she have a stable, loving environment? If Xaden’s current path threatens that, is it not prudent to offer alternatives?”

“You’re not offering alternatives,” I argue. “You’re manoeuvring him into a position where he’s more useful to you and more easily controllable. You’re leveraging his emotions and sense of responsibility for your own benefit.”

“You see manipulation where there is none,” Violet counters, her tone chillingly calm. “I’m merely suggesting options. It’s up to Xaden to make his own choices.”

“You’re not just suggesting,” I reply, my voice rising in frustration. “You’re guiding, nudging, and subtly coercing him. Your influence is clear, and it’s dangerous.”

Violet’s eyes narrow, her expression cold and unyielding. “Dangerous? Or perhaps just uncomfortable for you? Change is never easy, Fen. You of all people should know that.”

I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my anger. “You always have a way of deflecting blame and shifting the focus. But this isn’t about me—it’s about Xaden and Willow. I will not stand by and let you manipulate their lives for your own ends.”

Violet’s gaze remains unwavering. “And what will you do, Fen? Expose me? What good will that do if it drives a wedge between Xaden and Willow? You risk losing both if you act recklessly.”

Her words sting, striking at the heart of my fear. I know she’s right—exposing her could have unintended consequences. Yet, I can’t simply let her continue unchallenged. “I need to find a way to protect my family from your influence, without destroying what little stability they have.”

Violet tilts her head, considering my words. “Perhaps there’s a way to do that without resorting to drastic measures. We were friends not so long ago. Both driven by our own set of values and goals. Maybe it’s time to find common ground once more.”

“Common ground?” I echo, incredulous. “After everything you’ve done, you think we can just find a middle path?”

“Yes,” Violet says, her tone surprisingly gentle. “We both want what’s best for those we care about. It’s possible to protect your family while also acknowledging that people change, circumstances evolve. We can negotiate a path forward.”

I stare at her, trying to gauge the sincerity of her offer. The idea of negotiating with Violet feels like walking a tightrope over a chasm. “And what would that look like? How can we find common ground without compromising our principles?”

Violet’s smile softens, her eyes reflecting a hint of vulnerability. “For starters, we could agree on a more transparent approach to how we handle Xaden’s career and Willow’s well-being. No more hidden agendas, no more manipulation. Just a commitment to their best interests.”

The offer is tempting, but the stakes are too high for me to gamble on her words. “Transparency and honesty are fine ideals,” I say, my voice steely with resolve. “But after everything you've done, I can't take the risk of believing you might have some genuine intention behind this. Your history has shown me that your promises are often a means to a greater end.”

Violet’s eyes narrow, a flicker of anger crossing her face. “So you’re willing to let this situation spiral further into chaos instead of seeking a resolution?”

“Absolutely,” I reply, my voice unwavering. “If accepting your offer means jeopardising my family’s safety and our values, then it's a risk I’m not willing to take. Your track record is a clear warning that you might be using this as a ploy to advance your own agenda at their expense.”

Violet’s expression turns cold and calculating, her gaze sharp. “Fine. But you should know the consequences of refusing my offer. Without a compromise, the situation will only escalate. The fallout won’t just affect Xaden and Willow; it could endanger everything you hold dear.”

“I’m fully aware of the risks,” I say, standing firm. “But I’ll face them head-on rather than betray my principles or my family’s trust. If you’re truly committed to finding a solution, you’ll need to prove it through actions, not just words.”

Violet’s lips curl into a bitter smile, her eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. “Very well, Fen. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. We’ll see how long your resolve lasts when faced with the full consequences of your choice.”

As she leaves, the tension in the air is palpable. Her threat hangs over me like a storm cloud, but I’m resolute in my decision. Rejecting her offer may have escalated the conflict, but it also reinforced my commitment to protecting my family and staying true to my principles, no matter what challenges lie ahead.

Chapter Text

The first time I'm exposed to Xaden’s clan is on a Saturday morning, exactly a week after meeting with Fen. The sky is clear, the sun just beginning to stretch its golden fingers across the horizon, and the hum of activity from outside pulls me out of bed earlier than usual. I glance out the window, and there they are—a group of four shirtless men, muscles rippling as they hurl panels of wood back and forth like it’s a game, laughter mingling with the calls of birds and the rustle of leaves.

The treehouse, of course, is for Willow. Xaden quickly figured out that her greatest love is nature, a love that consumes her every waking moment. She’ll choose the prettiest dress in her wardrobe, something frilly and colorful, then race along the riverbanks, the fabric billowing around her like a wildflower in the wind. She’s fearless, clambering up trees with the kind of reckless abandon that only a child possesses, leaving me with an endless pile of muddy laundry to contend with and tears when she inevitably over exerts herself and she’s left to spend the rest of the day wrapped up in ice packs. Shoes are a battle I've long since lost—she flat-out refuses to wear them, preferring the feel of the earth beneath her feet.

When she started dragging Xaden along on her adventures, I saw the way his eyes softened, the way his usual stoic expression melted into something almost tender. It wasn’t long before he decided she needed a treehouse, something she could claim as her own kingdom in the treetops. I had my reservations at first. The idea of a treehouse was whimsical, yes, but the practical side of me balked at the lack of an instruction manual when it arrived in a heap of planks and nails. Of course, Xaden had a different solution in mind—he called in his unit to construct it.

I'm not sure when he told them about Willow—I don’t particularly care—but it must have been recent. I watch them now, these men who clearly respect Xaden enough to drop everything and build a treehouse on a moment’s notice. They call each other by titles like "Sergeant" and "Captain," their camaraderie evident in the easy way they work together, in the laughter that echoes through the air as they rib each other between hammering nails and sawing wood.

Xaden has been spending his evenings here every day now, weekends too, just to be a part of Willow’s world. It’s a new routine, one that I’ve observed with a mix of curiosity and unease. He’ll cook dinner, his hands surprisingly deft in the kitchen, and ask her about her day with genuine interest. He helps her with her homework, his patience endless, as if he’s determined to make up for lost time. I can’t deny that his presence has been...comforting, in a way I didn’t expect. He even went on a gruelling training course so he could better guide Tairn and Andarna, and recently he’s suggested getting a third service dog to help out.

It’s something I’ve been considering for a while. Tairn has been with me since university, a fully trained service dog who has seen me through some of my darkest moments. He’s loyal, reliable, and serious—everything I need in a service animal. But he can’t be with Willow all the time. Andarna, on the other hand, is a rescue puppy we’ve been training. She’s wonderful and much more fun for Willow to play with, but she doesn’t have the same level of seriousness as Tairn. With her training incomplete and not yet registered, she can’t accompany Willow to school, which has been an ongoing issue. It's a problem that can only be fixed with money—something we have plenty of—but also time, something I have very little of.

The noise of the treehouse construction is a constant presence, driving me to seek refuge in the dining room with my latest case files. The table is cluttered with depositions and witness statements, each page more frustrating than the last. I’ve read them over and over, hoping to find something useful, some detail I might have missed, but nothing jumps out. I could blame the distraction outside, the hammering and shouting, but the truth is these files are useless, and I’m just avoiding the inevitable frustration of admitting that.

I’m in the process of drafting an email to my associate, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, when I hear the sound of footsteps entering the room. The air shifts slightly, and I can sense the presence of someone behind me, a figure that brings with it a sense of tension and anticipation that wasn’t there before.

I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. There’s a certain weight to Xaden’s presence, an aura that fills the room even before he speaks. I can almost feel the intensity in his gaze, the way he assesses everything without saying a word. It’s a skill he’s honed, probably from years of being in command, of always needing to be a few steps ahead.

“Still working?” His voice is low, almost a rumble, and it pulls me out of my thoughts.

I glance up from the screen, meeting his eyes. There’s a hint of concern there, masked behind his usual stoicism. “Trying to,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. “But it’s hard to concentrate with all the noise outside.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he crosses the room in a few strides, leaning against the edge of the table. He’s close enough that I can smell the faint scent of sawdust and pine, mixed with something distinctly him. “They’re almost done with the main structure. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

I nod, but my mind is already drifting back to the case files in front of me. I can’t shake the frustration that’s been building all morning. “This case,” I start, pushing the papers aside, “it’s a mess. Nothing adds up. I’ve gone through the witness statements a dozen times, and there’s just… nothing.”

Xaden looks at me thoughtfully, his brow furrowing slightly. “Maybe you’re looking too hard. Sometimes the answers are in the things you’re not seeing.”

I raise an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by the insight. “That’s easy to say, but when you’ve got a client breathing down your neck and a trial date looming, it’s hard to be patient.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s surprisingly warm. “Believe me, I know the feeling. But rushing it won’t help you find what you’re looking for. Take a step back, clear your head. You’ll see things differently.”

I want to argue, to say that I don’t have time to take a step back, but the truth is I’ve been hitting a wall with this case for days. Maybe he’s right—maybe I do need a break. I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Maybe.”

He watches me for a moment longer, and then, as if making a decision, he pushes off the table and extends a hand toward me. “Come outside for a bit. Get some fresh air. Willow’s been asking about you.”

I hesitate, glancing at the email draft on my screen, then back at him. There’s something unspoken in his eyes, a silent invitation to step away from the weight of my responsibilities, if only for a little while.

Finally, I close the laptop, sliding my hand into his. His grip is firm, reassuring, and as he helps me to my feet, I feel a small, unexpected flutter in my chest. It’s not the first time he’s touched me—far from it—but there’s something different about this moment, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

We walk outside together, the bright sunlight almost blinding after the dim interior of the house. The air is crisp and fresh, the scent of pine trees and earth strong in my nostrils. The noise of construction has quieted, the men now working more methodically as they add the finishing touches to the treehouse. It’s impressive, much more elaborate than I imagined—a sturdy, multi-level structure with a rope ladder, a small balcony, and even a swing hanging from one of the lower branches.

Willow’s laughter rings out from somewhere above, and I spot her perched on one of the platforms, her face lit up with pure joy. She’s covered in dirt, her hair a wild tangle of curls, and she’s holding a stick like it’s a sword, waving it around as she pretends to defend her new fortress from imaginary invaders.

Xaden watches her with a look I’ve rarely seen on him—something soft, almost vulnerable. “She’s happy,” he says quietly, more to himself than to me.

I follow his gaze, a small smile tugging at my lips. “She is. You’ve made her very happy.”

He turns to me then, his expression serious. “I want her to have the best. I know I’ve been… absent, but I’m trying to make up for that now.”

There’s a sincerity in his voice that catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. I’ve seen the effort he’s been making, the way he’s thrown himself into Willow’s world with a determination that’s both admirable and a little overwhelming. It’s clear that he cares, deeply, and that he’s trying to be the father she deserves.

“I can see that,” I finally say, my voice softer than I intended. “You’re doing a good job, Xaden.”

He looks at me, something unreadable in his eyes, and for a moment, the world around us seems to fade away, leaving just the two of us standing there, connected by something neither of us is ready to name.

But then Willow’s voice breaks the spell, calling down from the treehouse. “Mummy! Come up and see!”

I glance up at her, then back at Xaden, who gives me a small nod. “Go on,” he says, his voice gentle.

I smile at him, then make my way toward the rope ladder, my heart feeling a little lighter than it did before. As I start to climb, I hear him call out to the men, his tone shifting back to the authoritative commander they clearly respect.

As I step onto the platform, Willow rushes to meet me, her face flushed with excitement. Her dress, once a vibrant blue, is now streaked with mud, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. Her eyes sparkle as she grabs my hand, pulling me toward the edge of the platform where the view opens up to the treetops and the river glistening in the distance.

“Look, Mummy! Isn’t it amazing?” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with pride.

I take a moment to appreciate the scene, the craftsmanship that went into building this small sanctuary. The wood is smooth under my fingertips, the structure sturdy and well-constructed. The men have even added little details—a railing carved with intricate designs, a small bench built into one corner, and the swing hanging just below us, swaying gently in the breeze.

“It’s more than amazing, sweetheart,” I reply, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “This is your castle in the sky.”

Willow beams up at me, and I can see the world of possibilities spinning in her imagination. “Can I sleep up here tonight?” she asks, her voice full of hope.

I laugh softly, brushing a stray curl away from her face. “We’ll see. Let’s get some blankets and pillows up here first. Maybe Tairn and Andarna can keep you company.”

Her eyes widen at the suggestion. “Yes! Can we, Mama? Please?”

I nod, knowing there’s no way I could say no to her when she’s this happy. “Alright. But you have to promise to come inside if it gets too cold.”

She nods eagerly, already planning out her night in the treehouse. I can see it in the way her eyes dart around, mentally arranging her space. It’s moments like this that remind me why I work so hard, why I push myself to the limits—so that she can have a childhood full of joy and wonder, free from the burdens that I carry.

As I sit down on the bench, Willow busies herself with gathering sticks and leaves, her imagination running wild as she pretends to prepare for a royal feast. I watch her, my mind drifting back to Xaden and the conversation we had just moments ago. His words linger in my mind, the sincerity of them making me realise just how much he’s changed in the short time he’s been here.

For so long, I’ve shouldered everything alone, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders. But now, with Xaden’s presence in our lives, things are beginning to shift. He’s stepping up in ways I never expected, filling gaps I didn’t even realise were there. It’s unsettling, but also… comforting.

I’m lost in thought when I hear footsteps on the ladder again. Xaden climbs up, moving with the ease of someone who’s used to scaling heights. He pauses when he reaches the top, taking in the sight of Willow arranging her make-believe feast, completely engrossed in her play.

“She’s really taken to it,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction.

I nod, watching Willow as she talks to herself, completely in her own world. “She has. Thank you, Xaden. This means the world to her.”

He sits down beside me on the bench, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. For a moment, neither of us speaks, the sounds of the forest filling the silence. There’s a peace here, a quietude that’s rare in my life, and I find myself savouring it.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he finally says, his voice low. “I’m just glad I can be here for her. For both of you.”

I glance at him, surprised by the depth of his words. There’s a vulnerability in his expression, something raw and unguarded. It’s as if he’s letting me see a part of him that he usually keeps hidden, and it makes my heart tighten in my chest.

“Xaden…” I begin, but I don’t know how to finish. There’s so much I want to say, but the words get tangled in my throat, and I’m not sure how to untangle them.

He looks at me, his gaze steady, waiting. But before I can find the right words, Willow interrupts, running over to us with a handful of leaves.

“Mama! Xaden! You’re the king and queen now, and I’m the princess! We’re having a grand feast, and you have to eat everything I make!”

Her declaration is so earnest, so full of childhood innocence, that it makes us both smile. Xaden laughs, a deep, genuine sound that I don’t hear often enough, and he reaches out to ruffle Willow’s hair.

“As you wish, Princess,” he says, playing along with a mock seriousness that makes her giggle.

I watch them, my heart swelling with an emotion I can’t quite name. It’s more than just happiness—it’s a sense of belonging, of something solid and real beginning to form between the three of us. For so long, it’s just been me and Willow, navigating our way through life. But now, with Xaden here, the edges of our little world are starting to expand.

And as I sit there, in the treehouse that’s become more than just a plaything, but a symbol of the new life we’re building, I realise that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to do everything alone anymore.

“Alright, Princess,” I say, taking one of the leaves Willow hands me. “Let’s start this feast.”

And as we sit there, playing along with Willow’s fantasy, I can’t help but think that this moment, this simple, perfect moment, is the beginning of something beautiful.

Just as we settle into the rhythm of Willow’s game, my phone buzzes in my pocket, a sharp intrusion into the peaceful moment. I hesitate, not wanting to break the spell of the afternoon, but something about the timing sets off a warning bell in my mind. With a small sigh, I pull the phone out, glancing at the screen.

Unknown number.

My instincts tell me to ignore it, but something compels me to answer. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Willow, ruffling her hair before standing. Xaden gives me a questioning look, but I offer him a reassuring smile. “Just a quick call.”

I step away, moving to the far edge of the platform, where the noise of the construction and Willow’s chatter fade into the background. I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

There’s a brief silence on the other end, a crackle of static that sends a chill down my spine. Then, a voice I haven’t heard in years, smooth and laced with a dark undertone, cuts through the silence.

“Violet. It’s been a while.”

My breath catches, and I grip the phone tighter. “Varrish.”

He chuckles, a low, menacing sound that brings back memories I’ve tried hard to bury. “You sound surprised to hear from me. Didn’t think you could shake me off that easily, did you?”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay calm. “What do you want?”

There’s a pause, the sound of his breath filling the space between us, and I can almost see the smirk that’s surely playing on his lips. “I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re still holding up your end of the deal. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to little Willow, now, would we?”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I force myself to stay composed. “Don’t you dare threaten my daughter, Varrish.”

“Threaten?” He laughs again, and it’s a sound that makes my skin crawl. “Oh, Violet, I’m not threatening her. I’m just reminding you of what’s at stake. You’ve been playing it safe for a while now, but then I saw you the other night. With Fen Riorson, of all people. I couldn’t help but wonder if your loyalties were starting to shift.”

My mind races, trying to remember when he could have seen us. Fen and I had met in private, out of the public eye—or so I thought. But clearly, Varrish has eyes everywhere.

“I haven’t forgotten our deal,” I say, my voice cold. “You know I’ve always kept up my end.”

“Good. Because if you don’t, you know what will happen. And it would be such a shame if Willow ended up without a mother and a father.”

The threat hangs heavy in the air, and I feel my stomach twist with fear and anger. This is how Varrish operates—always holding something over you, always pushing just enough to keep you in line.

I take a deep breath, forcing the fear down. “You don’t need to worry about me. I know what’s at stake.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, his tone light but full of menace. “But just to be sure, I’ll be keeping a closer eye on you from now on. Don’t disappoint me, Violet.”

The line goes dead before I can respond, and I’m left standing there, the phone still pressed to my ear, my heart racing. I take a moment to compose myself, trying to push down the panic that’s rising in my chest. I can’t let Varrish get to me, not now, not when Willow is so close by.

I turn to head back to the others, my mind still reeling from the conversation, but I stop short when I see Xaden standing at the edge of the platform, his eyes locked on me, concern etched on his face.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice careful, as if he can sense the turmoil beneath the surface.

I force a smile, slipping the phone back into my pocket. “Just work. Nothing to worry about.”

But as I walk back toward him and Willow, I know that the lie is flimsy at best. Varrish’s words echo in my mind, a dark cloud hanging over the bright day. And as much as I want to believe I can protect Willow from the storm that’s coming, a part of me fears that the choices I’ve made are about to catch up with me—and with all of us.

I slip back into the world of Willow’s game, but the joy I felt just minutes ago is now tainted by the conversation with Varrish. I try to push it aside, to focus on Willow’s laughter and the way her eyes light up as she hands me another “dish” made of leaves and twigs. But the chill of Varrish’s voice lingers, a shadow creeping at the edges of my thoughts.

Xaden watches me closely, his gaze lingering on my face as if he’s trying to read the emotions I’m desperately trying to hide. He’s always been perceptive, and I can tell he knows something is wrong. But he doesn’t press, and for that, I’m grateful. I’m not ready to talk about Varrish, not here, not now.

“Do you want to stay for dinner, Xaden?” Willow asks, her voice full of hope. “We can have a real feast, not just a pretend one!”

Xaden smiles at her, though his eyes flicker briefly back to me. “I’d love that, Princess,” he says, his tone warm. “But I think your mom has some work to finish up.”

I force myself to smile at Willow, hating the way I have to play the role of the responsible parent, even when my mind is miles away. “How about a rain check, sweetie? I’ll make it up to you this weekend. We can even sleep in the treehouse.”

Willow’s face falls a little, but she nods, trying to be brave. “Okay, Mama. But you promise, right?”

“I promise,” I say, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “We’ll have a whole adventure.”

She brightens at that, and I watch her skip off to collect more sticks, her disappointment quickly forgotten in the endless possibilities of her imagination.

Xaden steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “What’s going on, Violet?”

I stiffen slightly, not wanting to discuss it here, where Willow could overhear. “It’s nothing. Just a client being difficult.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push, instead giving me a small nod. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I meet his eyes, grateful for the offer but knowing that this is something I have to handle on my own. “Thanks, Xaden. But I’ve got it under control.”

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, searching for something in my expression. Whatever he finds, he seems to accept it, though there’s still a trace of concern in his eyes. “Alright. Just remember you don’t have to do everything alone.”

The words hit me harder than they should, a reminder of the burden I’ve been carrying for so long. I give him a tight smile, not trusting myself to say anything more.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur, the lightheartedness of earlier replaced by a tense undercurrent that I can’t shake. Xaden eventually leaves, with a promise to return tomorrow to finish up the final touches on the treehouse, and Willow and I head back inside.

As I tuck Willow into bed that night, she’s still chattering excitedly about the treehouse, her earlier disappointment forgotten. I smile and nod, making all the right noises, but my mind is elsewhere, running through every possible scenario, every potential threat that Varrish could pose.

I pace the kitchen, trying to think through my options. Varrish’s reappearance changes everything. I thought I’d put that part of my life behind me, buried it deep enough that it would never surface again. But I should have known better. Varrish doesn’t let go of people easily, especially not those he considers valuable.

And now, with Fen and Xaden both in the picture, things are even more complicated. Fen was supposed to be a simple meeting, here is your granddaughter, she looks like your son don’t bring up the past or I’ll meddle in your son’s future, but if Varrish saw us together, it could mean trouble. He’s never been one to forgive what he perceives as betrayal.

I run a hand through my hair, frustration boiling over. I can’t let him control my life again. I won’t. But I also can’t risk Willow’s safety. She’s the one pure, innocent thing in my life, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.

The knock on the door is a jarring sound, dragging me from the fog of my thoughts. I open it to find Cam Tauri standing there, his face a mix of concern and urgency.

“Cam,” I say, stepping aside to let him in. “What’s going on?”

He enters with a quick, purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the room with the sharp focus I’ve always admired. Cam has always been the one who saw through the surface, who understood the layers beneath. Right now, his demeanour tells me this isn’t just a casual visit.

“Violet, we need to talk,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.

I lead him into the living room, where we both sit. Cam doesn’t waste any time. “I’ve heard you’ve been in contact with Fen Riorson. Given our past and the nature of the situation, I need to know if you’re getting involved with the movement again.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the truth I’ve recently discovered. “It’s complicated. I’ve been in touch with Fen, but not for the reasons you might think.”

Cam’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Not for the reasons I might think? What does that mean?”

I hesitate, struggling to find the right words. “I didn’t know this until recently, but it turns out that Xaden, Fen’s son is Willow’s father.”

Cam’s eyes widen, and he sits back, clearly taken aback. “Xaden? I didn’t realise you were involved with him. How did you find this out?”

I nod, feeling the weight of the revelation. “I only found out recently. It’s been a shock, and it changes everything.”

Cam’s expression shifts from shock to deep concern. “So, you’ve been in contact with Fen to understand this connection and its implications for Willow?”

“Yes,” I confirm. “I’ve been trying to piece together what this means for us and how it might affect Willow. But I’m not rejoining the movement. I’m focused on keeping Willow safe.”

Cam’s face softens slightly, but his eyes remain serious. “If Xaden is Willow’s father, that complicates things. Fen’s involvement, Xaden’s connection—it all puts you and Willow in a precarious position.”

“Yes, and that’s why I’ve been cautious,” I say. “I need to keep Willow out of danger and ensure that this revelation doesn’t put her at risk.”

Cam leans forward, his tone more urgent. “Even if you’re not directly involved in the movement, your connection to Fen and Xaden might make you a target. If Varrish and others know about this, they might use it against you.”

I nod, feeling the gravity of his words. “I’ve already had a threat from Varrish. It’s clear that they’re aware of the connections and might try to use them to their advantage.”

Cam’s expression hardens with resolve. “Then you need to be careful. If you have any information or if there’s any danger you haven’t anticipated, let me know. We need to stay ahead of this.”

“I will,” I promise. “I’m focused on protecting Willow and figuring out the best course of action. I’ll keep you updated if I learn anything important.”

Cam stands, his demeanour softening slightly. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be here if you need anything. Just remember, this is a dangerous game, and we need to be strategic.

He’s right we need to be strategic, I told Fen he’d feel the consequences of not berrying the hatchet, well looks like one of them just showed up. I dial the number. 

Chapter Text

“Your brother didn’t pick up the phone,” I say, my voice steady as I take a measured sip of coffee, my eyes locked on the contract displayed before me. Each glance at the inked lines feels heavier, as if they’re tugging at memories I’d rather leave buried.

On the other end of the line, there’s a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low, unintelligible sound—something between a scoff and a sigh. Then Aeoffie’s voice cuts through, jagged and rough like shattered glass.

“As would I, if I’d bothered to check the caller ID. I have no interest in anything you have to say, Sorrengail.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. "And yet here you are, still on the phone with me," I reply, scrolling through the old contract. I pause when my eyes land on my signature—jagged, unsteady, the scrawl of someone barely holding it together. I almost laugh. How fitting.

There’s a thick, charged silence on her end, stretching out like a coiled wire ready to snap. Finally, she breaks. "Don’t waste my time. I care about Xaden and the child. Unless this has to do with them, I’m not interested in playing your games."

"Aeoffie," I say, leaning back in my chair, my voice cool, "you’re a strange woman. Like your brother, you fail to see the difference between one child and another. And while I resent how you twist yourselves into victims of my decisions, let’s be clear—this isn’t about me. It’s about them."

Her laugh is harsh, bitter. "We were the victims, Sorrengail. Innocent children lost their parents because of you. We lost everything."

"And many of those children were older than I was," I shoot back, my tone hardening, "and I lost more than just a parent, Aeoffie."

There’s a pause, the silence like a knife between us, before her voice returns with venom. "If you’re referring to your twisted methods of gathering information, spare me. You started that long before you crossed into our circles."

I shake my head, exhaling slowly. "There was no need for you to encourage it, Aeoffie. You fanned the flames. And if you’re so concerned about children, maybe you should understand this: I will always prioritise mine over yours."

I used to like Aeoffie, in a twisted way. Maybe I still do. She, and the eldest Cardulo sibling, spent too many nights dragging me out of dingy bars, forcing me under cold showers when I was too far gone. Back then, I thought it was some warped version of friendship or loyalty. But it wasn’t for my sake. It never was.

Their care was management, not concern. I was a tool, a means to an end. The difference between me and them has always been this: they chose what was best for the world, no matter the cost to their children. I’ll never make that mistake. I won’t sacrifice my daughter’s future, not for anyone.

Aeoffie’s voice pulls me back to the present, slicing through the quiet. "What do you want, Violet?"

“Tell your brother that the powers that be are far too interested in his son for it to be a coincidence. They’re using him as leverage, and I suggest Fen finds out whether Xaden knows more than he thinks he does.”

Her suspicion is palpable. "You’ve been feeding them information, haven’t you? Using our children against us?"

“Hardly.” I laugh, a hollow sound. “It would be inconvenient if Xaden knew. Think of this as a courtesy. It’s in everyone’s best interest that he remains in the dark.”

“I’m not sure it’ll stay that way for long.”

“Do you want your son to end up like your husband, Aeoffie? Blown to bits in the crossfire of someone else’s war? Because we both know they’re the kind of people who’ll swoop in if they find out.”

There’s a long, icy silence. Then, her voice drops with disdain. “I wonder at your ability to discern a decent person from a terrible one, Sorrengail. You’re hardly a paragon of virtue.”

“I never claimed to be.” My grip tightens around the coffee cup. “I’m someone who did what was necessary to survive. And I’d do it again. Even if it meant betraying the cause.”

I hang up, the line going dead, the finality settling like a stone in my chest. I’m left staring at the contract again, its ink blurring as the weight of everything presses in. Desperate people do desperate things, and at twenty-one, pregnant, and terrified, I was desperate enough to sign my allegiance away.

The irony of it all isn’t lost on me. I had carried Xaden’s child, when the path could’ve gone in a dozen different directions. From age fifteen to nineteen, I spent my nights with men much older than me—bankers, oil investors, politicians. I could be raising the child of a corrupt senator, or some hedge fund manager, or one of those sleazy real estate tycoons who care more about stock portfolios than people. Life would’ve been easier. Simpler. But hollow.

Instead, I ended up with Xaden’s child—Xaden—and now everything is shifting. The deal with Varrish? It’s a noose tightening around my neck. And Xaden will find out eventually—that much is certain. The confrontation will be explosive. I can already feel it coming. But that’s not the worst of it.

Because of who Xaden is—and more importantly, because of who his family is—my allegiance has to shift. Not for me, but for Willow. I can’t have enemies on both sides. Varrish won’t care about my child. The Riorsons might not make a move against me, but Varrish will. He’s not bound by sentiment or blood.

I need to prepare. I’ll have to leave tomorrow to gather more information. But Willow can’t come with me—not when I’m dealing with this. I mentally run through my options. Rhiannon’s on a mini-break, Jesinia and Sawyer have that exhibition, and Ridoc… well, I don’t trust him with a five-year-old.

Which leaves… Xaden.

The realisation hits me. I should have thought of him first, really, but this whole co-parenting thing is still so new. I glance at the clock—just past midnight. He might still be awake. I should send a text. That’s the polite thing to do.

But I don’t have time for polite. I dial his number.

He picks up after the first ring.

“Is Willow okay? Are you?” The concern in his voice is immediate, and something in my chest tightens at the sound. He’s worried. About me. That’s… unexpected.

“We’re fine,” I reply, a little thrown by the tenderness in his tone. “But something came up at work. I need to go into the office tomorrow. Can you take Willow for the day?”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate, and there’s an unmistakable joy in his voice. I feel a pang of guilt. I should’ve given him more time with her before this.

“Would you rather stay at yours or can I take her out?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice, but I can tell how much he wants this.

“She’s your daughter too, Xaden,” I say quietly, and I hear him breathe in.

“I don’t want to upset her. Or you,” he adds. His voice is low, careful.

“You won’t,” I reassure him. “I’ll drop her off in the morning, with her things. I might be back late. Do you have an air mattress or something?”

“I have a room set up for her,” he says, and there’s something proud in his voice.

I’m taken aback, but not entirely surprised. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight Xaden,” 

“Goodnight Violence,” 

———————————————————————————

Xaden’s apartment is located in the swanky end of london’s outer district specifically Surrey. The property is large and modern but built in that upper class way that means there are lots of pillars on either side of the entrance way. Frankly I’m surprised there isn't a doorman. Xaden came down to greet us and picked up a disgruntled Willow who at the prospect of being woken up at 5 in the morning for the trip south had a tantrum and refused to get changed. I follow him upstairs as she moods herself into his arms, when we reach his apartment door he asks me to key in a code: 

“071019.” He says,

 “Willow’s birthday,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice neutral as I glance at him. A part of me wants to comment on how thoughtful that is, but I don’t. Not now. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that he’s taken steps to make her feel at home here, in a way I didn’t expect.

Xaden’s eyes flick to mine for a moment before he pushes the door open, revealing a spacious, tastefully designed apartment. The decor is best described as minimal, but tasteful the walls are panelled all sleek lines, and grey neutral tones make it feel modern yet cozy. A wave of familiarity hits me as I realise just how much of him is in this space—everything is neat, controlled, and intentionally placed. It’s as if his entire life is carefully curated, much like the version of him he presents to the world. But there’s something else here too, something softer. A touch of warmth that wasn’t there before.

Willow squirms in his arms, her small face scrunched in annoyance from being woken up so early. Xaden murmurs something soothing to her, his voice low and calm, and I can’t help but watch the way he handles her—gentle, patient. It’s attractive, seeing him like this, in such a paternal role.

“I’ll put her down in her room. It’s through here,” he says, gesturing to a hallway that leads to the left. I follow him as he carries Willow, now half-asleep, into a bedroom that I hadn’t expected.

The room is perfect. Not in a showy, over-the-top way, but in the way that it feels lived-in, even though I know this is the first time Willow’s set foot in it. There’s a small bed against the far wall with soft, pastel-coloured bedding, a few stuffed animals scattered across the pillows, and a bookshelf filled with children’s books. There’s even nature in the wallpaper with massive flowers up the walls and fairy’s sitting on the leaves. It’s so entirely her. 

“You did all this?” I ask, my voice softer than I intended.

Xaden shrugs, carefully laying Willow down on the bed and covering her with a blanket. “I wanted her to feel like she has a place here. Like she belongs.”

I swallow hard, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. I don’t know what to say to that, so I just nod, watching as he brushes a strand of hair from Willow’s face and presses a soft kiss to her forehead before straightening up. The room is so quiet that I can hear my own breathing, the weight of everything hanging in the air between us.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,” I finally say, and the words feel heavier than I expected.

He turns to face me, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair. “You tried.” And thats all either of us can say about it really. 

We stand there in silence for a moment, the weight of the past pressing down on us. There’s so much unsaid between us, so many things we haven’t yet unpacked. But right now, with Willow sleeping peacefully in her room, it doesn’t feel like the right time to dive into it all.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” I say, nodding toward the door. I press a kiss to willow cheek “I have to get going. I’ll be back later tonight.”

“Violet,” he calls out as I turn to leave. I stop and look back at him. “I know your not going to work.”

His words aren’t accusations, but there’s something deeper in them. A warning, maybe. Or a reminder of everything at stake.

I nod once, not trusting myself to say anything else, and slip out of the apartment, leaving Xaden behind with our daughter.

——————————————————————————

Stalking one’s own mother isn’t exactly a common pastime, but when your mother happens to be the Prime Minister, it becomes an entirely necessary one. Especially when she’s the type of woman who keeps secrets buried beneath layers of bureaucracy. Fortunately for me, Lilith Sorrengail isn’t as guarded with her digital life as she is with her political one.

Her entire schedule, conveniently synced to her Apple calendar, gives me access to every meeting, dinner, and diplomatic encounter she attends. And given that Lilith hasn’t updated her Apple ID password in, well, several years, gaining access wasn’t exactly difficult.

So when I find her at a high-end restaurant, nestled in a corner with several foreign diplomats, it’s not exactly a stroke of genius. It’s just habit.

What isn’t habit, though, is the sinking feeling in my gut when I see one of those diplomats across the room—the same man I used to sleep with regularly. Not for love, not even for pleasure. For information. A means to an end. I haven’t seen him in years, but the moment I spot him, the old tension floods my veins like poison.

He’s considerably older now, streaks of silver in his otherwise dark hair, but still wearing that same tailored suit like it was custom-built for him. His eyes sweep the room, and for a second, they land on me. I freeze, resisting the instinct to bolt. I have no interest in making small talk with him—especially not when my mother’s sitting at a table just a few feet away, her steely eyes scanning the diplomats with a gaze that could cut glass.

He doesn’t react at first. Just watches me for a beat too long before turning his attention back to his companions. Good. He knows better than to make a scene, especially with Lilith here. Still, my skin crawls at the idea of him recognising me. I haven’t spoken to him since I was nineteen, when I was reckless, using my body as leverage to gain access to information. He was just one of many, a forgotten face in a long list of mistakes.

But as I pretend not to notice him, focusing on my phone, I see him move in my peripheral vision. He’s leaving the table. My pulse quickens as he brushes past me, closer than necessary, slipping something into my hand. A folded note, tucked into the bill for his dinner. He doesn’t stop or speak, just continues out the door like nothing happened.

I glance down at the note, feeling the weight of it more than I should. My fingers itch to unfold it, but I tuck it into my jacket pocket instead, shoving the thought of him—of our history—deep down. I’ll deal with that later.

For now, I have bigger problems. I signal the waiter and order a coffee, hoping it buys me some time.

Lilith hasn’t noticed me yet. Her attention is fully on the conversation unfolding at the table, her perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around a glass of wine, her expression cool and unreadable. But I know better. That sharp mind of hers is working in overdrive, parsing every word spoken around her, calculating angles, favours, and potential deals.

I don’t have much time. When the coffee arrives, I pick up the cup and stand, walking toward her table. She catches sight of me out of the corner of her eye, and for a brief second, surprise flickers across her face. Then it’s gone, replaced with that familiar look of calm control.

“Violet,” she says smoothly, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Neither was I,” I reply, taking a seat opposite her, ignoring the raised brows of the diplomats sitting around us. “Thought I’d catch you for a chat. It’s been a while.”

She studies me, her gaze narrowing slightly, but she doesn’t object. She dismisses the diplomats with a polite nod, her voice cool as she addresses them. “Give us a moment.”

Once they’ve dispersed, she turns her full attention to me, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “What is this about, Violet? You don’t usually show up unannounced.”

I stir my coffee, the clink of the spoon against the porcelain louder than I intended. “Maybe I just wanted to check in. You know, family bonding.”

Her lips twitch slightly, almost amused. “We both know you didn’t come here for that. So, what’s really going on?”

I don’t hesitate. “Varrish.”

Lilith’s face remains impassive, but I catch the slight tightening of her jaw. She knows exactly who I’m talking about, and she knows it’s serious. “What about Varrish?”

“I’ve been in touch with him,” I say, my voice low but steady. “I know you’ve been keeping tabs on him, too.”

Lilith leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she watches me carefully. “And why exactly are you involving yourself with a man like Varrish? You know who he is, Violet. What he’s capable of.”

“Exactly,” I snap. “That’s why I need to know what you know. He’s tightening his grip, and I’m caught in the middle. If you’re aware of what he’s planning, now’s the time to tell me.”

For a moment, Lilith’s mask of indifference falters, and I can see the gears turning in her mind. She’s deciding how much to reveal, weighing the risks like she always does. When she finally speaks, her tone is clipped, controlled.

“Varrish has been moving pieces behind the scenes for a long time. He’s deeply embedded in certain circles—circles that even I find difficult to influence. His power isn’t just political; it’s financial, global. And he’s not one to take lightly. If you’ve gotten involved with him, Violet, you’ve already made a mistake.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “I signed a deal with him years ago, when I was desperate. And now, he’s calling in his favours.”

Lilith’s eyes darken, and I can see the disappointment in her gaze. “Desperate people make desperate choices. I warned you about that. I tried to help ”

“Suing me for the rights to my own body, isn't help,” I state, swallowing the bitterness that rises in my throat. 

“If you hadn’t had the child, then you’d never have been in the position to take the deal,” I raise my eyebrows at her.

“It’s irrelevant now. Varrish has leverage over me, and he’s not the type to let go easily.”

Lilith regards me with a sharp intensity. “You’re right about that. He won’t let go—not until he’s squeezed everything he can out of you. And that includes using anyone close to you.”

A chill runs down my spine at her words. I glance away, trying to hide the fear that’s slowly creeping in. “That’s why I’m here. I need to know if you can help.”

She doesn’t answer right away, her eyes flicking down to the cup in my hands, considering. “I could help,” she says eventually, her voice softer than I expected. “But you have to understand, Violet—if I get involved, it won’t be clean. Varrish doesn’t play by the same rules as the others. He’s ruthless, and if he finds out I’m working against him, it won’t just be you he comes after. I couldn't save you from the horrors of the world you sought them out and i couldn't save your father, but Mira and Brennan have a chance,”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. I feel the weight of them settling on my shoulders, but I can’t back down now. Not when I’ve already crossed too many lines to count.

“I’ll deal with Varrish myself if I have to. But I need to know what you know, If you have any information that can help me get out from under his thumb, I need it.”

Lilith studies me for a long moment, then leans in slightly, her voice lowering. “Varrish’s influence stretches far beyond what most people realise. He’s made alliances with factions that operate in the shadows—organisations that don’t exist on paper. You’re not just dealing with one man, Violet. You’re dealing with a network of power and corruption.”

I grit my teeth. “I figured that much out on my own.”

She tilts her head, almost as if she’s amused. “Then you know that this isn’t a game you can win by playing fair. If you want to break free of Varrish, you’re going to have to be willing to sacrifice. To fight dirty.”

I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “I already fight dirty, i need concrete Lilith,”

She looks at me, her gaze piercing.

“I’ll think about it,” she murmurs, her expression unreadable as she reaches for her glass again. “Because once I make a move against him, there’s no going back.”

“You don't have to do anything, i don’t want Mira or Brennan in this position, i wont lie and say i wouldn't rather it be them that my five year old daughter, i just need information” I rise from the table, my legs feeling heavy as I push my chair back. As I turn to leave, Lilith calls out softly, “Violet.”

I pause, glancing back at her.

“I’ll see what i can do,” she says quietly.

As I walk away from the table, my thoughts are already swirling but the note from earlier burns in my pocket, a reminder that there’s still one more meeting I need to face—one more piece of the puzzle I need to figure out before I can even begin to think about taking down someone like Varrish.

Tomorrow at 10 AM. The usual place.

Chapter Text

I never imagined I would have a little girl sleeping in my apartment. Just a few weeks ago, the idea of being a father felt like a distant dream—an almost impossible fantasy after everything I had been through. The horrors I’d witnessed, the dark paths I’d willingly walked down, made the thought of a child seem like something I could never touch. And yet, here I am, captivated by the sight of her tiny body nestled beneath the blankets. Her gentle breaths create a soothing rhythm that fills the quiet room. Her small fist is wrapped around the neck of the blue dragon teddy I bought for her, its whimsical presence standing guard over her dreams.

I sit on the edge of the bed, longer than I should, fingers brushing through her soft curls. Each stroke is a silent affirmation—a promise to myself that she is safe, that this moment is real. It's hard to grasp, sometimes, that Willow is here in my life. I never thought I'd be responsible for someone so innocent. She will never see the battlefield I did; I'll make sure of that, even if the nightmares that still haunt me make it seem impossible.

Violet left a few hours ago, but I can’t shake the feeling that something more than work is weighing on her mind. I know Sorrengail Mathias & Co. doesn’t open until 10 a.m. on weekends. I memorised the office hours, planning how I could cover for her and look after Willow whenever I’m home on leave. But it’s not just about schedules and convenience. The phone call she received last night had an urgency in it that set me on edge. My mind raced with possibilities, but all I know for sure is that this little girl sleeping in my apartment is my anchor, the one solid thing I have. Protecting her—and whatever Violet is caught up in—has become my new mission.

A sudden, loud banging on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I already know who it is—the other child I have to feed, though this one’s 28 and lives across the hall. Garrick strides in as if he owns the place, heading straight for my cupboards and fridge like a man on a mission. I watch him rummage through the shelves until he triumphantly pulls out a packet of chocolate biscuits.

“Xaden! Look at this! Gone are the days of chicken and salad, now you’ve got the kind of sustenance that real human beings eat!” he exclaims, shaking the packet like it's something to celebrate.

“It’s Willow’s, so put it down,” I say, lowering my voice to avoid waking her. “And stop shouting.”

Garrick's eyebrows shoot up, and he lowers his voice to a comical whisper. “She’s here?”

“She’s sleeping,” I respond, glancing back at her bedroom door 

Garrick’s playful expression fades, replaced with something more thoughtful. He leans against the counter, folding his arms. “So, have you guys moved onto split custody already?”

“No, not yet. It wouldn’t be fair on Willow. She’s only just met me,” I admit, the weight of those lost years crashing down on me. My chest tightens, a hollow pain that feels like it will never go away. “She’s five years old. I missed everything—her first steps, her first words... everything.” My voice comes out quieter than I intended. “Just knowing her now is enough, though. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Garrick’s posture softens, his teasing dropping away. “I was shocked when you first told me. Hell, we all were. No one in our group was even thinking about kids, and then bam—you’re a dad. But not even to a newborn—a fully functional five-year-old. Never mind the fact that you knocked up Brennan and Mira’s little sister and didn’t even know about it.”

“Yeah, well, they won’t be winning any ‘Auntie and Uncle of the Year’ awards either,” I reply, the bitterness clear in my tone. “If I’d known, I would’ve been there. But I didn’t.”

Garrick leans in a little closer, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Wait... Did Violet know who you were? Like, back when—?”

“No. She didn’t. I never got her number, and she wouldn’t take mine,” I say, rubbing my temples as the memories of that night resurface. "She had no idea."

Garrick’s eyes widen in sudden realisation. “Wait, wait. Are you telling me she’s that girl? The one from Basgiath? The one you were always pissed about because she, in your words, ‘ruined your sex life’?”

I groan. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Garrick’s jaw drops. “The Dominatrix is the mother of your kid? And Brennan and Mira’s sister?”

“Don’t call the mother of my daughter that.” I say gritting my teeth while Garrick backs up against the kitchen counter.

Garrick shakes his head with a grin. "You’ve got a story that even I couldn’t have made up” “Not just anyone could accidentally knock up Brennan and Mira’s sister without knowing it for five years. How’re they dealing with it?"

“They’re... processing,” I admit, thinking of Mira’s icy distance and Brennan’s simmering anger. “ we had a punch up, but they haven’t been close to Violet in years, so Violet got pissed at them and put them on time out, whatever that means.”

Garrick nods thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to the door that used to house my spare bedroom. “Yeah, I’d imagine. Finding out you niece is the daughter of your best friend? That’s heavy, man.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice slightly, even though Willow’s still asleep. “So, what’s the deal now? Are you and Violet working towards co-parenting?”

“Something like that,” I sigh, glancing at the door again. “Violet’s not exactly handing me full custody or anything. I’ve got to prove I’m not just some guy who’s here now. And I think she’s dealing with her own issues. She hasn’t told me much, but I can tell there’s something going on with her.”

Garrick crosses his arms, concern in his eyes. “What kind of something ?”

Before I can respond, a soft rustling catches both of our attention. Willow’s door is opening, her small body is cocooned inside her duvet standing on the threshold she blinks a few times, taking in her surroundings, then rubs her eyes with her tiny fists.

“Morning, dragon,” I say softly, standing up from the bed. “How’d you sleep?”

Willow looks up at me with a sleepy smile, then notices Garrick standing nearby. Her eyes widen a little, curiosity shining in them as she steps forward, still clutching the blue dragon teddy in one hand.

“Who’s that?” she asks, her voice a soft, sleepy whisper.

I smile, glancing at Garrick. “That’s Garrick. He’s my best friend. He helped me build your treehouse.”

Garrick crouches down to her level, his expression softening in a way I’ve rarely seen. “Hey, Willow. I’ve heard a lot about you, and now I finally get to meet the coolest kid in the world.”

Willow’s face lights up a little at the compliment, and she hugs her dragon tighter. “You really helped build my treehouse?”

Garrick nods enthusiastically. “Yep. Took a lot of work, but it’s sturdy enough to handle a dragon or two.”

Willow giggles at that, and it’s the kind of sound that hits me right in the chest. I watch her, mesmerised, as she starts to come alive with morning energy.

“Are you hungry, Willow?” I ask, stepping toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make some breakfast.”

She nods eagerly, and I head over to the fridge to grab the ingredients. Behind me, I hear Garrick chatting with her, keeping her engaged.

“So, Willow,” Garrick asks, his voice playful, “what’s your favourite breakfast? Pancakes? Cereal? Eggs?”

“Pancakes!” she replies instantly, her voice more awake now. “With lots of syrup!”

I can’t help but chuckle as I mix the batter. “Pancakes it is, then.”

As I get the pan heated, I glance over my shoulder to see Garrick sitting on the floor next to Willow, listening intently as she tells him all about her favourite things—dragons, rivers, and the treehouse.

“You know,” Garrick says after a while, looking up at me, “this is pretty awesome. And I wasn’t sure it was possible for you to make anything other than chicken and salad, but pancakes? I’m impressed.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s not gourmet,” I reply, flipping the pancakes with ease. “But she loves them, and that’s what matters.”

Garrick grins, glancing back at Willow, who is still chatting away happily. “Looks like she’s got you wrapped around her finger already.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, a warmth spreading through my chest, “I think that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

A few minutes later, I set a plate of pancakes in front of Willow, who beams up at me with a grin that makes every single missed year feel a little less heavy. Garrick takes a seat at the table, eyeing the food with an exaggerated look of hunger.

“Think I could get in on this breakfast deal?” he asks with a smirk.

“Help yourself,” I say, handing him a plate.

Willow watches us with wide eyes, clearly fascinated by the easy banter. Garrick makes a face at her, pretending to be overly serious about his pancake inspection, and she bursts into laughter again.

Garrick spends breakfast with us but disappears afterwards, not before sending a picture of him and Willow eating pancakes to the group chat at this point I’m inundated with requests.  

Garrick: (sends picture of Willow and himself)
I win. I got to meet Willow first. She’s adorable, can’t belive she shares Xaden’s DNA

Liam: WHAT?! No way! You got to meet her already?

Imogen: You’ve gotta be kidding me! I’ve been waiting, and you sneak in there first? Not fair!

Sloane: Garrick, you sneaky bastard. Look at that face! She’s perfect!

Bodhi: Man, that’s not cool. You can’t just drop a pic and act like it’s no big deal. When do we get to meet her?

Liam: She’s holding a dragon! I knew she’d be into dragons. I need to meet this kid, like, yesterday.

Xaden: Calm down, guys. I had Garrick over this morning. But don’t worry, you’ll all get your turn.

Imogen: I’m free tonight. Tomorrow. All week. What’s the plan?

Sloane: You know we’re not waiting long, X. Just say when.

Bodhi: you’ve had weeks Xade please. It’s our turn. I want to spoil my niece enough to make up for five years of missed uncle gifts!

Garrick: You guys are gonna love her. She’s funny, smart, and loves dragons—Liam, you two are gonna be best friends.

Liam: I’m calling it now, I’m her favourite uncle.

Imogen: Uncle? Please. I’m going to be her favourite everything.

Xaden: i have Willow today so how about this afternoon? you guys can come over. Just... don’t overwhelm her, okay?

Liam: Overwhelm her? Me? Never. I’m great with kids.

Imogen: No promises. She’s gonna get spoiled.

Sloane: I’m in. Don’t worry, we’ll behave. Mostly.

Bodhi: Sounds good. I’ll bring something for her—dragons, obviously.

Imogen: Same. I’ll find something cute. She’s gonna love me.

Liam: This is the first step in making sure I’m her favourite uncle, Xaden. Prepare yourself.

Xaden: You guys are impossible, but alright. 2 p.m. And seriously, don’t come with too much stuff. She’s just a kid.

Imogen: Uh-huh. Got it. See you then!

Sloane: Looking forward to it. She’s gonna fit right in.

Xaden: Sloane she’s a five year old. 

Garrick: Trust me, Xaden—she’s already got us wrapped around her little finger.

That gave me Severn hours of Willow all to myself before i had to share her with the chaos that was my friends. 

My heart swells with a mix of excitement and anxiety as I glance at Willow, who was still joyfully devouring her pancakes, syrup smudged across her cheeks. Each giggle and innocent smile brings me a step closer to feeling like a real father. This simple breakfast feels monumental—a hint of the family life I’ve longed for.

“Alright, dragon,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel before crouching beside her chair. “What do you want to do today?”

Willow pauses mid-bite, her brow furrowing in thought. Then, her face lights up. “Can we play dragons? You know, the flying kind!” Her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Flying dragons, huh? You’re on! I think I have just the thing for our dragon adventure.” I quickly head to the living room, grabbing the colourful dragon figurines I’d picked out just days ago. I set them on the coffee table, arranging them like a mini dragon kingdom.

“Look!” I exclaim, gesturing to the figurines. “This one’s a fire-breathing dragon, and that one can create storms. We’re going to have to defend the kingdom from a big, bad monster!”

Willow’s eyes widen as she jumps down from her chair, rushing to the coffee table to examine the figurines. “Can I be the fire dragon?” she asks, bouncing on her toes.

“Absolutely! You’re the fiercest fire dragon in all the lands,” I reply, letting myself get swept up in her enthusiasm. We dive into our game, with me narrating epic battles and heroic rescues while Willow’s imagination runs wild. I’m surprised at how quickly the morning passes, but every moment is filled with joy, and laughter,. 

After a while, we take a break, both flopping onto the living room floor, panting from our dramatic adventures. I glance at the clock; we have a few hours before the rest of the gang arrives.

“Okay, little dragon,” I say, smiling at her. “What do you want to do next? We can build a fort, or maybe we can go outside and look for real dragons in the trees!”

Willow giggles at the idea, her wild curls bouncing. “Fort! A dragon fort!” She leaps to her feet, her imagination ignited. “Can we use blankets and pillows? I want it to be super big!”

“Best dragon fort ever,” I agree, and together we gather every blanket and pillow we can find, draping them over chairs and the coffee table to create an elaborate structure. I can’t remember the last time I felt this light, this free, and I treasure every second spent with Willow.

Once the fort is complete, we crawl inside, surrounded by a cocoon of fabric. Willow pulls out her dragon figurines again, arranging them on the makeshift floor. “This is where they sleep before flying,” she explains, her voice full of authority.

“Perfect! And we need a lookout,” I add, using a pillow to prop up a dragon figurine high on top of the fort. “What if the monster tries to sneak in while they’re sleeping?”

Willow gasps, her eyes widening with excitement. “We can guard it! You can be the dragon rider!”

“Deal! But only if you promise to be the fiercest dragon in the kingdom,” I reply, nudging her playfully. Our laughter echoes in the fort, drowning out the outside world.

As we settle into our game, Willow’s small hand finds mine. She looks up at me, her expression serious. “Xaden, do you think mummy will come and see my fort?”

The question pulls at my heartstrings. I hesitate, not wanting to dampen her spirit. “I think she would love to see it, but she might be busy today. We can show her later, okay?”

Willow nods, but the flicker of disappointment in her eyes tugs at me. “Okay. I hope she likes it,” she says softly.

“Me too, Willow. I think she’ll be super proud of how amazing you’ve made it. Just look at that fort!” I gesture dramatically to our creation, trying to lift her spirits.

Her smile returns, albeit a bit hesitant, and I feel a pang of guilt for the uncertainty surrounding exactly what Violet’s doing. I need to understand what she’s up to, we need to be on the same page with Willow and for some inexplainable reason I care about her. I want her safe and accounted for, i want her where i know she is those things. Which is strange considering all we’ve done is fuck, and then 6years later talk about our daughter.

With a deep breath, I push the thought aside and dive back into our adventure. “Alright, brave fire dragon,” I say, a glint of mischief in my eyes, “let’s practice our flying! On the count of three, we leap into the air!”

Willow’s eyes widen again, and she nods vigorously. “One, two, three!” We both jump from our seated positions, arms outstretched like wings, giggling uncontrollably as we land back on the soft cushions.

“Perfect landing!” I cheer. “Now let’s soar high above the kingdom!” I lift Willow onto my shoulders, and she squeals in delight, her laughter echoing around the room.

From up high, she looks around, her tiny hands gripping my hair as she pretends to fly. “I see the mountains! And look, there’s the enchanted river!”

“Don’t forget the magical forest where all the dragon friends live,” I add, weaving in and out of imaginary trees as I walk around the room. “They all want to come and see your dragon fort!”

“Yay!” she shouts, her excitement contagious. “We should invite them!”

“Absolutely! The more, the merrier,” I agree, enjoying the warmth of her laughter. We continue our adventure, letting her take the lead, jumping from one imaginary scene to another.

Eventually, we return to the ground and find a cozy spot in the fort, both of us out of breath but still buzzing with energy. Willow lays back, looking up at the blankets draped above us. “Can we tell stories now?” she asks, her voice soft and dreamy.

“Of course! You go first,” I say, propping myself up on one elbow to give her my full attention.

Willow thinks for a moment, then starts weaving a tale about a brave princess who befriends a dragon. As she spins her story, I’m captivated not only by her creativity but by the way she mimics voices and actions, completely lost in her own world.

“And then,” Willow declares dramatically, “the princess said, ‘You can be my friend, fire dragon!’ and they flew off into the sunset together!” She finishes with a flourish, her arms wide open.

“That was amazing!” I exclaim, genuinely impressed. “You’re a fantastic storyteller. Now, it’s my turn.” I take a deep breath and begin my own tale, weaving in elements from our morning’s adventures. “Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there was a mighty dragon rider named Xaden and his loyal fire dragon, Willow…”

As I narrate, her eyes widen in fascination, and she clings to every word. I tell her about daring rescues, wild adventures, and the importance of friendship. By the time I finish, Willow is practically glowing with delight. But the story paled in comparison to the next adventure: getting dressed.

Violet had often said that getting Willow out of Pyjamas into day clothes all washed and dressed was like pulling teeth, and after witnessing it i wasn't thrilled.

“Alright, little dragon,” I called out, standing in the doorway of her room. “Let’s get you washed up and ready for our big day!”

Willow zipped into the bathroom, a little ball of excitement. “I’m ready!” she declared. But as I turned on the tap and dampened the flannel, i realised that she couldn't reach the sink, Willow also seamed to have noticed and used my momentary distraction to develop a look of mischief in her eyes.

“Okay, first, we wash those sleepy eyes,” I said, but she immediately turned her head away, giggling.

“No! Not the water!” she squealed, ducking back like I was about to unleash a water balloon.

I narrowed my eyes playfully. “You can’t escape, fire dragon! The dragon rider must cleanse your sleepy face!”

She giggled again, this time splashing her hands in the sink. “You’ll never catch me!” she shouted, leaping off the stool and darting around the bathroom.

“Willow! Come back here!” I chased her, but she was quick, zigzagging around the bathroom like a tiny whirlwind. She ducked behind the toilet, sticking her head out and giggling.

“Catch me if you can!”

“Alright, but you asked for it!” I lunged forward, finally managing to grab her around the waist and pull her into a gentle hug. “Now, let’s get those eyes washed, shall we?”

“Okay, okay!” she relented, her laughter still bubbling as I carefully wiped her face, feeling her relax a bit. Once we finished in the bathroom, I felt a small victory—but the battle wasn’t over yet.

“Now, onto the outfit!” I declared, leading her to her room.

“I picked it out!” she announced proudly, holding up her red tights and a pink dungaree dress. “And the flowery bow for my hair!”

“Great choice!” I said, but as I helped her into the dress, she squirmed, arms flailing.

“No! It tickles!” she squealed, trying to wriggle out of my grasp.

“Stay still, or the dragon might lose her dress!” I warned, pretending to be serious as I held her still.

She giggled, her eyes wide. “You can’t make me! I’m a wild dragon!”

“Wild dragons need to be tamed!” I countered, finally managing to pull the dress over her head. But just as I secured the straps, she started to twist and turn again.

“I want to wear my purple shirt!” she protested, pouting as she pointed to the crumpled shirt from last night.

“You wore the purple shirt last night sweetheart it needs washing now,” I replied, gently trying to coax her into submission.

“But I want my shirt!” she insisted, her tiny fists clenching.

“You can’t wear the purple shirt Willow, it’s dirty. Are there any other things you want to wear?” I negotiated, my voice calm but firm.

She paused, considering my offer, and then nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine! But I want the bow!”

“Deal!” I said, grabbing the flowery bow. I carefully fastened it in her hair, stepping back to admire my work. “Wow! You look amazing, Willow. You’re going to make all the other dragons jealous.”

She finally smiled, her confidence shining through as she turned this way and that in front of the mirror. “But I’m not wearing shoes!” she pointed out, her hands on her hips.

“Shoes are overrated for dragons,” I declared playfully. “Besides, we can pretend you’re a magical dragon who flies barefoot!”

Her eyes sparkled with delight. “Yeah! I’m a flying dragon!” she shouted, flapping her arms like wings.

“Exactly! Now, are you ready for our adventure?” I asked, holding out my hand.

“Ready!” she declared, taking my hand as we made our way back to the living room.

As we entered the main area, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The little girl beside me, dressed in her vibrant outfit, was full of life and energy, i hadn’t sapped the life out of her, she was still real.

———————————————————————————

“Xaden!” Willow calls from her little corner, where she’s colouring. “Can I make a dragon picture for your friends?”

“Absolutely!” I reply, feeling a smile spread across my face. “That sounds perfect. What colour will your dragon be?”

She looks up at me, her eyes bright with excitement. “Rainbow! So they’ll be super happy!”

I can’t help but chuckle. “A rainbow dragon it is! They won’t be able to resist that.”

As I finish arranging the furniture, I glance at the clock. My friends should be here any minute. I wonder how Willow will react. They’re a rowdy bunch—Imogen, Garrick, Bodhi, Sloane, and Liam. I hope she won’t be overwhelmed.

Just then, the doorbell rings, and my heart races. “They’re here!” I say, as i turn to the door.

I swing it open to reveal my friends, their faces lighting up with excitement.

“Where is she!” Imogen remarks. “I’ve seen your face before i want to see hers,” she says thrusting a pink gift bag at my chest and pushing past into the apartment.

Garrick chuckles beside her. 

“Please make yourself at home,” I say, sardonically. 

As they walk in, I catch the glimpse of curiosity on their faces, each of them scanning the space, taking in the colourful drawings taped to the walls and the toys strewn across the floor.

“Willow!” I call out, my voice echoing a bit in the sudden hush. “Come here, sweetheart!”

She bounds into the living room, her rainbow-drawn dragon proudly held in her small hands. “Look! I made a dragon for you !”

My friends collectively gasp, their expressions shifting to pure delight.

“Thats lovely, thank you so much” Sloane says, her voice warm and inviting. “What’s your dragon’s name?”

Willow beams, her confidence shining through. “This is Sparkles! She can fly and breathe fire!”

Bodhi kneels down, his eyes wide. “Can I take a look?”

“Yeah!” Willow replies, her excitement palpable. “But be careful! She’s a bit shy.”

I can’t help but feel proud watching my friends engage with her. They’ve shifted from their usual banter to gentle encouragement, their laughter and awe wrapping around Willow like a cozy blanket.

“Let’s take a picture with Sparkles!” Liam suggests, pulling out his phone.

“Perfect” I say, moving closer as they all huddle around Willow. I snap a few pictures, capturing the moment.

EAs the laughter continues, Imogen kneels beside Willow. “So, what else can Sparkles do? Can she fly us to magical places?”

“Yeah!” Willow nods vigorously, her hair bouncing. “We can go to Dragon Land and meet all her friends!”

“Dragon Land sounds incredible! We should plan a trip!” Garrick adds, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

I watch as the conversation flows, Willow leading them through her imaginative world, her little voice bubbling over with excitement. It’s surreal, seeing my friends connect with her so effortlessly. For a moment, all my worries about being a father and whether they’d accept her fade away.

As the laughter and dragon tales fill the air, I catch Bodhi’s eye, and he motions for me to step aside for a moment. We move toward the kitchen, away from the joyful chaos of Willow’s chatter.

“Xaden,” Bodhi starts, leaning against the countertop with a casual grin. “How are you holding up?”

“Alright just trying to keep up with all this,” I say, glancing back at Willow, who’s animatedly explaining her dragon fort to Sloane. “It’s a bit overwhelming.”

He studies me for a moment, the lightness in his eyes shifting to something more serious. “I get that. I mean, you’re not exactly the warmest guy in the room, you know? It’s a big change for you.”

I let out a breath, the words hanging in the air between us. “I know I can come off as cold. I guess I’m just... not used to this. I’ve always been the one who keeps people at arm's length.”

Bodhi nods, his expression softening. “You’ve been through a lot. But you can’t keep Willow at arm’s length, man. She’s going to need you to be all in. She’s a kid she doesn’t understand emotional unavailability.”

“Yeah, it’s just hard,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “I want to make her happy, but it feels like I’m walking a tightrope. What if I mess it up?”

“Listen,” Bodhi says, leaning in closer, “you don’t have to be perfect. Just be present. You’re doing a great job with her so far. Look at how much fun she’s having.” He glances back at the living room where Willow is laughing, her joy infectious. “She needs that, Xaden. Not the guy who’s always buttoned up.”

“Thanks, Bodhi I appreciate it,” I say, feeling a little more grounded. “I just hope I can figure this out while keeping everything in balance. And then there’s Violet—I want to support her too, but I don’t want to overstep.”

Bodhi shrugs, his casual demeanour returning. “You need to have a chat with her. Get on the same page about what co-parenting looks like. It might be a bit messy at first, but it’ll help clear the air.”

“I know,” I sigh, glancing back at Willow as she giggles at something Liam said. “I just wish I understood what Violet’s dealing with. I don’t want to add more pressure to her.”

Bodhi gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Just keep being you, but let her see that you care. You’re a good guy, Xaden, even if you don’t always show it. And Willow needs that stability. Plus, we’ve got your back, no matter what.”

“Thanks, Bodhi,” I reply, feeling a bit lighter despite the weight of it all. “It helps knowing I’m not alone in this.”

“You’ve never been alone, Xaden,” Bodhi says, gesturing to the space between the sofas where the rest of the group is gathered. His tone is easy, but there’s something deeper beneath the words, something that feels more like a reminder than just a statement. I follow his gesture to the chaotic scene unfolding in front of us.

Willow and Liam are in the thick of a dragon battle, Liam’s roars filling the room as he throws himself into the role with wild abandon. Willow’s laughter is high-pitched and infectious, her little arms flailing as she counters his dramatic attacks with giggles. Garrick, ever the good sport, plays the villain, a smirk on his face as he lumbers around, half-heartedly pretending to be felled by their imaginary blows. On the sofa, Sloane is curled up, her phone in hand as she scrolls through what looks like children’s clothes, probably already planning for some future event we haven’t even discussed yet. Imogen, though, is less focused on her phone and more on Garrick—her gaze flicking between him and her screen with a rhythm that’s almost too obvious.

I almost point it out to Bodhi, ready to tease Imogen for her not-so-subtle glances at Garrick, but something in Bodhi’s face makes me pause. He’s watching the group, but his focus isn’t scattered like mine. There’s a faint smile on his lips, softer than I’m used to seeing from him, a kind of quiet contentment that catches me off guard.

His gaze lingers on Liam.

It’s not the kind of casual glance you throw at a friend. It’s focused, like he’s taking in every movement, every sound. There’s a softness in his expression, an intensity that’s hard to describe. He’s not laughing like the rest of us, not swept up in the game or the chaos. He’s just... watching. Really watching.

I tilt my head, studying him, curiosity stirring in my chest. I’ve known Bodhi for years, and I’ve never seen him like this. Not with anyone. His usual playful demeanour is replaced with something quieter, something warmer. It’s subtle, but it’s there—the way his smile widens, just a fraction, whenever Liam roars or grins his way. The way his eyes seem to follow Liam’s every move.

At one point, Liam throws a dramatic roar in Bodhi’s direction, a grin spreading across his face as he plays up his role as the mighty dragon. Bodhi’s expression shifts immediately, lighting up in response like that roar was just for him. There’s something in that smile, something deeper than simple amusement. It’s quick, though—too quick. Bodhi smooths it away almost instantly, leaning back against the counter as if nothing’s changed, as if he’s just another spectator to the game.

But I see it.

I frown, not really sure what to make of it. There’s definitely something different in the way Bodhi is acting, something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s subtle, sure, but I’ve known him long enough to recognise when something’s simmering beneath the surface. His eyes, the way they linger on Liam with a kind of fondness that feels... more. It makes me wonder, makes me question if there’s something here I’ve missed before.

I chuckle softly, shaking my head at the thought. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m reading into it too much. But as I turn to walk back into the living room, leaving Bodhi still staring at Liam, I can’t quite shake the feeling that something’s changed. Something’s different. And for once, I’m not sure I know exactly what it is.

Chapter Text

Goodness is one of those immeasurable qualities—intangible, elusive. You can never honestly know how good someone else is; it’s a shadow cast by their actions, a reflection we only ever see from a distance. But you, deep down, you know where you stand. Or at least, I thought I did.

I served in the military. I killed people. But I believed I was on the right side. Even now, despite everything, I cling to that belief. It’s what keeps me from slipping completely. Yet, our choices aren’t always as simple as right and wrong. Sometimes, they’re selfish—driven by fear, desperation, or anger.

I teeter on that edge every day, clawing my way back from the abyss, haunted by the things I’ve done. But no matter how hard I try, the past is a wound that won’t close.

Three years ago, I stood face-to-face with Aretian civilians. I watched as the generals gave the order to open fire on the very people we were supposed to protect. I saw the fear in their eyes, the confusion, and the betrayal. And then I watched as the bullets tore through them, one by one. An execution. For what? Dissent? A desperate cry for help? I’ll never know. Maybe I could’ve done something.

That day's weight sits like a stone lodged in my chest, pressing down on my soul. I haven’t been the same since.

Every day, I walk the line between who I was and the person I’m becoming—trying to make amends and balance the scales. But the truth is, I can’t erase what I saw or what I allowed to happen. No matter how often I tell myself it was out of my hands, that I made the only choice I could to protect what was left, the guilt gnaws at me. It’s a parasite, feeding on every thought and every decision I make now.

That night, walking back to base over scorched earth still warm from destruction, I knew I couldn’t just stand by anymore. Maybe it wouldn’t erase what I’d done, but I had to try. It started small, reckless—me, alone, in the dead of night. I’d load AK-47s into a standard-issue jeep and drive them into Venin-occupied territories.

I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. All I saw was a chance—a way to arm the people abandoned by their government. But it didn’t take long to know the truth. Once the Venin occupied a territory, the government deemed its people compromised. Their lives no longer mattered. And while the higher-ups wouldn’t admit it outright, their silence spoke volumes. I began to suspect something darker at play—some collusion between the government and the Venin.

I convinced myself I was helping—fourteen-year-old boys, clutching killing machines that would strip away what little innocence they had left. I told myself I was giving them a fighting chance. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t atonement. I wasn’t saving them. I was dragging them deeper into the cycle of violence, just like the warlords I despised.

That was how I met the Cordellas. I remember their faces as clearly as the weapons I handed them. Resourceful, challenging, and determined, they were survivors first and foremost. Through them, the arms I smuggled spread like wildfire, arming the resistance in Poromiel. What started as a desperate attempt to right a wrong became an underground network of defiance.

But it wasn’t enough. The Venin kept advancing, their motives growing more apparent with every occupied territory. They weren’t just expanding—they were searching. Entire cities were levelled, not for control, but to dig for something hidden beneath.

When my unit joined me, we operated in the shadows, slipping weapons and intel past the higher-up's watchful eyes. It wasn’t long before we needed to help ourselves, caught in one too many firefights. That’s when the Sorrengails stepped in—Doctors, the only people capable of cleaning up the mess we got into crossing the borders, with just as much blood on their hands. Together, we built an operation that reached back home. Drake Cordella’s boxing gym, a front for the arms trade, became the heart of our rebellion.

It’s a lonely existence, but one I deserve. I stood by and watched my people burn. The least I can do now is to stop the Poromish from falling victim to the Venin. They’re not just fighting for survival but to hold on to their humanity, history, and future.

But it’s strange how quickly your priorities can change. Once, it was about the collective—the many lives I was supposed to protect. But now? It’s narrowed down to just two people. I’d give everything for two singular lives for the simple reason that while Willow is my daughter and has quickly become my salvation, Violet is her mother, and Riorsons protect their own.

Which is precisely what's distracting me now. Violet came by to collect Willow after dinner, and the moment they left, my apartment felt too big, too empty. The light that filled the room when Willow was here, the sound of her laughter vanished with her absence, leaving behind nothing but silence. I hadn’t realised how much of my world had shifted, how much their presence had become a part of me until they walked out the door.

But it wasn’t just the space that weighed on me—it was Violet herself. She looked different tonight. Preoccupied. Her usual grace seemed frayed at the edges, her hair a little more dishevelled, her movements a little less steady. She relied more on Tairn than I had seen before, the big black Labrador circling her legs offering support. And her eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—were wary, guarded. Seeing her like that set something off inside me, a tension I couldn’t shake. It gnawed at me, twisted me up. I wanted to ask what was wrong, to fix whatever it was that had unsettled her.

I didn’t just want her to stay because Willow brings warmth and life into this space. I wanted her to stay so I could fix her, to smooth out whatever had shaken her calm. The need to protect her, to control the situation, surged inside me like instinct. I wanted to grab hold of whatever was weighing her down and force it into submission until I saw the tension leave her shoulders until she was content and at ease.

But that’s not how Violet works. And I know that. She won’t let me in so quickly. But perhaps someone else, someone more likeable, somewhere at the top of the scale of selfless to cruel. 

Liam. 

Notting Hill is an 11-minute drive but a 40-minute duel with parking. After circling a multi-story car park for half an hour, I gave up and left my Land Rover on Bodhi’s apartment lawn. He’ll be thrilled to find his precious grass under tyre tracks. Liam’s place is next door, and since I need his help, I magnanimously spared his daffodils.

One knock and the door swung open to reveal Bodhi, apron on, stirring something over the stove. Strange, considering his overpriced trust-fund BMW wasn’t parked out front.“Liam’s in the shower,” Bodhi said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “We just got back from Cordella’s.”

“How did it go?” I asked, stepping inside.

“The two crates of weapons we smuggled in are already with Syrena, but supplies are running low. The Venin are pushing further into Poromiel. Drake says they’re looking for something.”

“What do you mean, ‘something’?”

“The areas they’ve occupied are being excavated,” Bodhi explained, his tone dark. “Croydon fell last week, and the whole region’s been torn up. Mainstream media hasn’t mentioned a thing.”

“Excavated?” I frowned, leaning against the counter. “What are they looking for?”

Bodhi shrugged, the aroma of curry wafting through the air as he stirred. “Drake doesn’t know. He said the digging looks deliberate like they’re working off a map or intel. It’s not random destruction.”

The Venin arn’t known for precision. Their method was always chaos and carnage. This was... different then. “Drake’s theory?”

“They might be clearing land for some kind of terrorist headquarters,” Bodhi said, glancing over his shoulder. “It makes sense—old ruins, undeveloped for centuries. Who knows what’s hidden underneath?”

I shook my head. “If it’s a base, why all the digging? Why not just build somewhere else?”

Bodhi smirked faintly. “Exactly. If they’re digging, it means they’re searching for something underground. And if they’re bombing whole cities to do it, they don’t know where it is.”

Before I could respond, Liam emerged from the hallway, a towel draped over his shoulders, damp hair clinging to his shirt. He gave me a nod of acknowledgement. “Xaden. What’s the emergency?”

“I need your help,” I said, cutting straight to the point.

Liam raised an eyebrow, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. “With?”

“Violet,” I admitted, the words dragging out of me.

That got his attention. He set the glass down carefully, his sharp gaze fixed on me. “What about Violet?”

“She’s involved in something,” I said. “I don’t know what, but she’s been secretive—distracted. I need you to keep an eye on her, make sure she’s safe.”

Liam crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “Why would she tell me if she won’t talk to you about it?”

“You’re approachable,” I said bitterly, the admission stinging. “I’m not exactly winning any popularity contests, and as much as I wish I could keep her and Willow safe myself, I can’t be everywhere at once.”

Bodhi snorted, his smirk audible. “Understatement of the year.”

I shot him a glare, but he kept stirring his unbothered curry.

Liam studied me, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know her well enough to start prying into her life. What exactly do you think I’ll find?”

Wordlessly, I pulled a dossier from my jacket and handed it over, its weight heavier than the pages it contained. “This is what I’ve got so far. Some of her history has been wiped clean, so you’ll have to dig deeper.”

Liam took the folder without hesitation, his expression unreadable as he flipped through the pages. The silence stretched between us, punctuated only by the faint sound of Bodhi stirring his curry, the scent of spices filling the room.

“You’re worried she’s involved in the venin politics?” Liam asked, his voice neutral, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the documents with an almost predatory intensity.

Before I could answer, Bodhi leaned over the counter, his impatience palpable. “Why? What does it say?”

Liam didn’t respond immediately, his gaze narrowing as he turned to the next page. His focus remained unwavering. Bodhi, unable to contain himself, leaned in closer, craning his neck to see what Liam was reading.

“Well?” Bodhi’s voice was half-joking, half-serious. “Is she some secret MI5 agent? Should I be making more curry for an interrogation dinner?”

Liam shot him a look, a flash of irritation flickering in his eyes. It was subtle but telling. He then returned his attention to the dossier. “It’s spotless. That’s the problem.”

Liam tapped one of the pages, his brow furrowing in thought, and then began summarising. “Montserrat Prep School at age 11, accepted to Caldyr Private Secondary. Perfect academic record—straight 9s in her GCSEs, except an 8 in Maths. Four A-levels, all A-stars. No criminal record, not even a parking ticket. She attended Basgiath University at 18 and graduated at the top of her year with a first-class degree. After graduation, she interned at Basgiath’s law firm and then got a job as a paralegal. Then, suddenly, a two-year absence at age 23, presumably maternity leave with Willow.”

“That’s incorrect,” I interrupted flatly, my jaw tightening.

Bodhi raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between us. “Seems pretty clear-cut to me. Nothing wrong with her record. Maybe you’re just looking for trouble.”

“Yes, I am,” I shot back, his flippant attitude was wearing on me. “Because I know there’s trouble.”

Liam glanced at me, his curiosity piqued. He set the folder down slowly, the subtle shift in his posture signalling a change in his attention. “What are you getting at?”

I met his gaze, steady and cold. “Brennan mentioned her to me the first time we met at Basic. He and Mira were there for military training after finishing medical school; Garrick and I had just joined. We were talking, and I asked if every member of their family joined up, and he said most do, but he didn’t think his little sister would. He didn’t say much but implied she got into trouble a lot. That a disciplined military life wouldn’t suit her.” I paused, letting the weight of the words sink in. “A few weeks later, there was a scandal in one of the papers. She would’ve been about 16. She was involved in some riot—some privileged school children making a fuss over an eco bill being denied. But apparently, she knew it was going to happen because she’d slept with the spokesperson for the environment agency who would be attending at the House of Commons later that week. It was a huge deal. I remember someone mouthing off to Mira about it—‘Does your whole family sleep their way to the top?’ Something like that.”

“Out of curiosity, I googled her.”

Bodhi’s eyes widened slightly. Even Liam froze for a beat, his hand hovering over the folder. I let the tension stretch before continuing.

“The Violet I found then wasn’t the polished, perfect version in that dossier,” I said, gesturing toward the folder. “She had a criminal record—petty stuff, like public drunkenness and three counts of aggravated assault against the paparazzi that mysteriously disappeared. And she had a social media presence worth talking about—explicit photos, paparazzi shots of her stumbling out of clubs at all hours, headlines calling her the ‘Sorrengail Scandal.’

Liam’s brows knitted together, his frown deepening as he flipped through the pages again, his mind racing. “You’re saying her social media has been scrubbed?”

“Completely wiped,but its more than just that its old online newspaper reports as well” I confirmed, my tone sharp. “What’s in that folder isn’t a history—it’s a reconstruction. Someone went to a lot of trouble to rewrite who Violet Sorrengail is. They didn’t just clean it up—they sanitised it.”

Bodhi leaned back, crossing his arms as he processed the information. “So, she went from tabloid disaster to... what, legal perfection? That’s not just a glow-up. That’s a whole different person.”

“Exactly,” I said, leaning forward. “And that’s not even the point.”

Liam looked up, his curiosity now laced with suspicion. “Then what is the point?”

I met his gaze, steady and unwavering. “I met Violet on a night out celebrating after Garrick, Bren, Mira and I graduated from military college. I was 25. That doesn’t make her 23 when she had Willow—it makes her 21. That’s not a mistake you make when you’re rewriting history. Someone didn’t just erase her wild past—they fudged the timeline to hide something bigger.”

The room fell silent, the gravity of my words hanging in the air. Bodhi had stopped stirring the pot, and Liam was now staring at me with disbelief and concern.

“So,” Bodhi said slowly, breaking the silence, “you think this isn’t just a rebrand for the sake of her daughter? You think she’s hiding something else—something more dangerous?”

“I don’t think, Bodhi,” I said grimly, “I know. Someone went to a lot of trouble to bury Violet Sorrengail’s past. It was common knowledge she went off the rails around age 15—messing about with older men at clubs. That’s not so unusual, not something that would raise alarms. I get erasing the explicit photos that went public, but to erase an entire life? That’s suspicious.”

Liam’s hand stilled over the dossier as I spoke, his gaze sharpening though his voice remained neutral. "What you’re telling me is her past is a mess, but so what does it matter? She’s not the same person, is she? She’s a Lawyer; she’s got a kid. What’s the real reason behind all this? Why go to the lengths to bury her history?"

Still leaning against the counter, Bodhi cut in with his usual bluntness, “Yeah, so what if she was a little wild back in the day? Having a few affairs doesn’t mean someone’s involved with treasonous governments. Why go this far to clean it up if she’s moved on? Who cares about her past?”

I paused, momentarily letting their questions hang in the air, each one more frustrating than the last. The answer was more complicated than they were willing to admit, and the real problem was buried in the details.

“Why bother?” I repeated, my tone cold, harder now. “Because someone cares. Whoever erased her past didn’t do it out of some misguided sense of charity. They wiped it clean for a reason. They didn’t just make her a saint; they made her a blank slate. And that’s the key.”

I let the words sit between us for a long beat, watching them both, seeing the uncertainty flicker in their eyes.

Liam’s expression darkened as he processed this. “So, you’re saying this isn’t just about controlling her image... it's about control over her entire life. Whoever’s behind this isn’t just hiding some embarrassing moments—they’re hiding her potential, connections, and past actions.”

“Exactly,” I said, nodding sharply. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure she couldn’t be traced back to anything that could make her a threat. They’ve erased her life, scrubbed it of anything that could tie her to people, places, or organisations that might still matter. This isn’t just a rebrand—it’s a cover-up of something much larger.”

Bodhi frowned, leaning in as if he were starting to catch on. “But what could she have done back then that would make someone this paranoid? And why would they bother hiding it now?”

“That’s the question,” I answered. “What is so dangerous about Violet Sorrengail that someone would go to such lengths to bury it? They didn’t just scrub her record; they erased a person. They tried to rewrite who she was so that no one could connect. That tells me she’s not just some random nobody with a past—they’re protecting something, someone, behind her. And if they’re willing to go this far, it’s because that past could haunt them.”

Liam exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “So, it’s not about Violet anymore. It’s about what she’s connected to, who she knows, and what that could mean if someone found out.”

“Exactly,” I said. “She’s a pawn, a blank canvas. Her life has been hidden to protect whatever secrets she knows, whatever her past might reveal. And we’re just beginning to understand how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

Bodhi stood up straighter, the weight of the realisation dawning on him. “So, this isn’t just about Violet being a ‘has-been’ in the tabloids. It’s about someone ensuring she stays buried... before her past catches up with them.”

I leaned forward, my voice lowering,"Think about it. The Violet the public saw—the one plastered across tabloids, the party girl stumbling out of clubs, the ‘Sorrengail Scandal’—she was a distraction. A deliberate, shining distraction. But what if it’s all a cover for something more? What if she stumbled upon something she wasn’t supposed to see, something that could make her a target?"

Bodhi raised an eyebrow, his impatience momentarily replaced by interest. "You mean like the eco bill? That scandal from when she was 16?"

I nodded, my gaze intense. “Exactly. That’s the kind of thing that raises red flags. She knew the eco bill would be denied before it even hit the papers, and that wasn’t just a coincidence. She was involved, somehow, and maybe she saw more than she was meant to. Maybe she overheard something she shouldn’t have. And that’s why they needed to shut her down.”

Liam’s fingers drummed lightly on the folder, his mind turning over the possibilities. "So, this whole public image, this ‘wild child’ routine, was just smoke and mirrors. They were trying to make her look like nothing more than a reckless teenager whose actions could be written off as youthful folly. But what if her 'naughtiness' was a cover for something bigger?"

I let out a slow breath, my eyes fixed on Liam. “Exactly. The timeline they’ve created for her is too clean. Too perfect. They had to make her seem like just another spoiled rich kid with no ambition or connections. But what if the reality is different? What if she was involved in something dangerous that threatened people with real power—people who would do anything to ensure those secrets stayed buried?”

Bodhi shifted, his expression slowly morphing from casual to more serious. “So, her party-girl image wasn’t just about hiding her past mistakes... it was about hiding what she knew. And whatever she saw, whatever she stumbled onto... it’s big enough that they had to rewrite who she is completely.”

“Right,” I confirmed. “That eco bill scandal wasn’t just a drunken teenage mistake. She knew things. She was tied to something that could ruin powerful people’s lives. And once she knew it, they had to erase her, wipe her clean. They couldn’t afford for her to remember—or for anyone else to dig into it.”

Liam’s face hardened as the full scope of the situation started to sink in. “So, this isn’t about a reputation. It’s about silencing her completely.”

“Right,” Bodhi says. “Which is why we need to find out who Violet is—what she knows or doesn’t know; let’s face it, she might not even realise what she knows and why someone’s so desperate to keep it hidden.”

‘Oh, she Knows, alright. Violets Clever, look at those exam results. We were supposed to believe a girl who spent every possible night she could trying to be a disappointment to her parents stumbled into taking four A levels and happened to come across a stars in each of them; no, she knows. She’s letting people keep her quiet for some reason.’ 

Liam frowned, flipping back to the timeline in the dossier. “You’re sure about that?”

“Positive,” I said, my voice cold. “So explain to me why her official record says otherwise, why there’s no trace of her life before university? Why her timeline doesn’t add up. Especially the misdating why is her resume gap at age 23 instead of age 21.”

Liam exhaled slowly, closing the folder and setting it on the counter. “If this is true, then whatever she’s caught up in isn’t necessarily the Venin. We’re jumping to conclusions because we know the government is somehow involved. Just because Mamma Sorrengail is the priminister doesn't mean that the Venin are the deal that she happened upon.”

“You're right,” I said grimly. That’s why I need your help. We don’t know what she knows, but it could be the venin, and in the absence of certainty, we will treat it like it is—we have to dig. And fast. If someone went to this much trouble to erase her past, it means she’s either a threat to someone or on the verge of exposing something they want to keep hidden.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re asking me to tail Violet, dig into her life, and keep her safe without noticing. All while avoiding the Venin and whatever shadowy crap they’re plotting.” 

“No, lets make it simpler than that,” I say,“ i want you to befriend her, so that you can asses wether shes in any danger, or wether this theory i bollocks.”

Liam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Xaden. If she catches wind of this, she’s going to feel betrayed, by you, the father of her child who you have only just met, it could jeprodise your whole reationship with them.”

“I know,” I admitted. “But if she’s already at risk, then it doesn’t matter i would rather her hate me and know that there both safe.”

Bodhi and Liam exchanged a glance, some unspoken agreement passing between them. Finally, Liam nodded. “Fine. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

relief floods through me. “Thank you.”

Liam flipped the dossier shut, his expression grim. “We’re going to need a plan, exactly how am i going to befriend her.”

Bodhi clapped his hands together, his grin widening. “Good thing I made curry. Nothing fuels a dangerous, ill-advised mission like comfort food.”

Bodhi set a plate of curry on the counter, shooting me a sly look. “You know, you could always try talking to her yourself. Might build some of that trust you’re so worried about.”

I ignore him, and my focus was on Liam. “Let me know what you learn.”

Liam gave a slight nod. “I will. But if something is going on, you might not like the answer.”

As I leave, Bodhi’s apartment and remove my car from his lawn driving past his toy car that has reemerged from the custody of the 15 year old boy he undoubtably paid to clean it, his parting comment echoed in my mind. Maybe he was right—perhaps I should’ve confronted Violet directly. But the thought of what I might uncover, what it could mean for the fragile life I wanted with her and Willow, was enough to keep me at arm’s length.

I needed them safe. Safe from the Venin. Safe from the war. And most of all, safe from the ghosts that haunted me every day.