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Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．１→ 𝕸𝖆𝖞 𝕴? 

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━─━────༺༻────━─━

You were wearing a short black dress that clung to your curves, revealing more skin than usual. Your long hair was pulled up into a tight bun, the sleek strands contrasting with the soft vulnerability in your eyes. Leaning against Thėo’s shoulder, you thought the night was perfect — until the last song faded.

Suddenly, Thėo turned toward a girl with short blonde hair standing nearby. Without hesitation, he kissed her cheek. Your heart stumbled, disbelief hitting you like a fist. You slapped his arm sharply.

“Thėo! Wha–” Your voice cracked with shock.

He raised his hands, almost pleading. “I’m sorry, MC — I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.” His voice was shaky. “I… I’ve been cheating.”

Your eyes widened, searching his face for any trace of a joke. There was none. He continued, “Look, I’m sorry! It started out as just a dare, but… I got attached. I didn’t want to, because you don’t deserve this — you deserve better.”

You blinked, the words sinking in. “I obviously deserve fucking better. What the actual fuck, Thėo?!” The shock was there, but oddly, not the pain you expected.

He wiped sweat from his brow, desperate. “I’m sorry, MC. I really am. I hope you understand.”

“Understand? Like fuck I do! What the shit? What were you even dating me for?! How long has this been going on?”

“Uh… a few months.”

You glared, incredulous. “Why are you even asking me?! WHAT THE FUCK?! What the shit, Thėo?!”

He sighed deeply. “I was dating you because I loved you, MC. I really did. You made me feel the happiest I’ve ever been. But recently, it just… hasn’t been enough.”

You scoffed, disgusted. “And now? What? You just walk away?”

He nodded, defeated. “I’ll move out.”

You crossed your arms, voice sharp as ice. “Like I was ever going to let you stay another night in my fucking house.”

Thėo didn’t wait for an answer. Without another word, he pushed away from you and walked off through the crowd, disappearing into the dim-lit night. The noise of the bar seemed to fade, the chatter and laughter turning into a dull, distant hum. You stayed rooted to the spot, frozen and numb, the weight of what just happened pressing down on your chest.

Blinking, you barely registered the bartender approaching. Your voice came out flat, almost robotic.

“Whiskey. Neat. And a shot of tequila. And… a gin and tonic. And two more whiskeys.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow but nodded, sliding the first glass in front of you. You barely touched it, staring blankly at the amber liquid swirling inside. The next drink came, and then another. One after the other, a blur of cold glass and bitter liquid.

Your mind spun in circles. The shock wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t screaming either. It was like your heart had checked out, leaving your body behind to deal with the mess.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, surrounded by strangers but utterly alone — the loud bar fading into an echo as you drank, trying to fill the hollow that Thėo’s betrayal had carved deep inside you.

You were nursing a shot of vodka when the bartender suddenly set down a beautiful glass of red wine in front of you.

“For you.” His voice was quiet, almost shaky.

You blinked in surprise. “??”

“A gift. Please, accept it.” He nodded toward the other side of the bar.

Curious, you took the glass and swirled the deep crimson liquid, watching it catch the dim bar light. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for anyone who might have sent it.

Across from a tall leafy plant in the corner, you spotted a man. His platinum hair shimmered under the low lights, his skin flawless and smooth, and his eyes… a shocking crimson that held you captive. He was holding a glass of red wine too, perfectly mirroring yours.

When your gazes met, he smirked—just a hint—but it sent a jolt through your chest. Slowly, he raised his glass in a silent toast.

You realized then: he’d been watching you since you walked in.

He was crazy handsome.

Not just “cute guy at a bar” handsome—no, this man looked like he’d stepped out of a fantasy novel. Or a dream you weren’t supposed to have. That platinum hair, his sculpted cheekbones, and those impossible crimson eyes… he didn’t belong in a place like this. And yet here he was, casually sipping wine like sin itself wore silk and confidence.

When he wasn’t looking at you, he leaned in to speak to someone beside him—a boy with shoulder-length red hair and  black eyes.

You squinted, your fingers curling tighter around the wineglass.

That boy… wasn’t just a boy. He looked like he was maybe two years younger than you—eighteen, maybe nineteen. But something about him made your skin buzz.

And then—

What the hell?

You blinked once. Twice.

There were two of them.

Two identical red-haired boys.

They looked exactly the same. From their lean builds to the curve of their lips when they frowned at each other.

The two were clearly in the middle of a disagreement, voices low but faces animated, that kind of snappy, impatient energy that only siblings had. You could almost hear them through the glass and music.

You sipped your wine slowly, mouth parted in confusion.

And why was the man with the crimson eyes watching you while his… twins argued? 

As you finished the last sip of the wine he’d sent, you set the empty glass down with a soft clink . Almost immediately, the bartender stepped in—his movements stiff, like something was weighing on him.

He tilted the bottle toward you, eyes flicking to the corner where he sat, then back to you.

His hands were shaking.

“H-here…” the bartender murmured as he poured, careful not to spill a drop.

You frowned. “I don’t want any more.”

His eyes darted again—toward the man with the platinum hair.

“J-just take it. Please… I… Just please.” His voice was barely audible over the ambient music, but it was laced with something that made your stomach twist.

Fear?

You slowly accepted the glass and raised it to your lips, sipping hesitantly, all your senses suddenly alert. The wine was smooth again, dark and rich. But now, there was an edge to everything. Like the air had gone too still.

From the corner, the man’s crimson eyes never left you.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, watching you drink as if waiting for something. Like you were the wine in his glass—and he was just savoring the moment before the first taste.

And somehow… that should’ve scared you.

But it didn’t.

Not yet.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The glass had been refilled seven times now.

You hadn’t noticed at first—just little top-ups between glances and sips—but now, your head was buzzing and your limbs felt a little too light. You blinked slowly, trying to focus as the bartender reached for the wine bottle again .

You caught his wrist with a sudden motion, pushing the glass aside.

“No.”

“M-Ma’am–”

“I said no more.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, slurred just at the edges. “Is he trying to get me drunk?”

You slid off the barstool, misjudging the distance to the floor and stumbling slightly. Your heels clicked across the polished floor as you made your way to the man in the corner— him , the one who had been watching, who hadn’t so much as blinked.

He sat casually, one leg crossed over the other, holding his wineglass with the air of someone who owned the world and had grown bored of it. That smirk—lazy, knowing—spread across his lips as you approached.

You stopped in front of him, arms crossed, wine warming your cheeks.

“What do you want?” you asked, voice lower, uncertain.

He looked up at you slowly, those crimson eyes glowing faintly beneath the low lights.

“I don’t want anything.” His voice was low , husky —deep like velvet, and laced with danger.

UGH, THAT VOICE.

“But…” He tilted his head slightly, and you could feel his gaze peeling away your defenses.

“I know you want a distraction.”

Your breath caught.

That voice. It was too smooth, too confident, too calm in a way that made your skin tingle. And yet, your legs moved on instinct. You slid into the velvet booth beside him—not across, but beside , your bare thigh brushing lightly against the expensive fabric of his pants.

“Did you now?” you murmured, unsure if you were flirting or just trying to stay upright.

He turned slightly toward you, his arm resting on the back of the booth, fingers grazing your exposed shoulder. Light. Barely there. But it made your skin erupt in goosebumps.

“I saw everything,” he said smoothly, his voice a quiet purr in your ear. “The moment he kissed the blonde’s cheek. The way you smacked his arm. The way your mouth trembled, but your eyes didn’t.”

Your lips parted in surprise.

“I saw the way you didn’t cry,” he continued, leaning closer. His fingers skimmed from your shoulder down to the crook of your elbow, slowly… confidently. “You were furious. But not broken.”

Your heartbeat was speeding up. His hand was warm against your skin, his presence wrapping around you like a fog you couldn’t think your way out of.

“You don't know me,” you whispered, more to yourself than him.

He hummed. “No, but I understand you. People like us... we don’t get the luxury of soft heartbreak. We burn.”

He took a slow sip of his wine, then set it down without looking.

You could feel his thigh press lightly against yours now, deliberate, and his hand rested casually on the seat behind you—just behind your waist. Close enough to feel the heat.

"And tonight..." he looked at you with that infernal smirk again, “You’re craving something— anything —to drown the taste of betrayal."

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly, the buzz from the wine warming your veins but not clouding your instincts.

Sharp girls didn’t fall easily. And you? You were razor-edged under silk skin.

Still… you leaned in closer, mirroring his posture, letting your lips hover near his ear as you whispered, “You seem awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me.”

His smirk twitched wider, amused.

Your fingers grazed the rim of your glass as you continued, your voice a mix of sweetness and steel. “Tell me, does stalking girls from across dimly lit bars usually get you what you want?”

He turned his head, just enough to look at you fully. His face was so close now you could see the fine shimmer of silver in his lashes, the faintest trace of a scar at the corner of his jaw.

“I don’t stalk,” he murmured. “I wait.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow. “That’s cute. Sounds like something a patient creep would say.”

He laughed—low, velvety, dangerous. The sound wrapped around your spine like smoke.

“You’re quick,” he said, his voice dripping with approval. “And much too clever to be wasting yourself on someone like Thėo .”

You didn’t respond right away, instead swirling the last of your wine in your glass before sipping it slowly.

“And yet,” you said, licking a drop off your lip, “here I am. Sitting next to a man who’s been plying me with wine like I’m some kind of offering.”

That made something flicker in his eyes—interest, or amusement, or maybe something much darker.

He leaned closer until your noses almost touched.

“If you were an offering…” he said, voice barely audible, “you wouldn’t be here to drink.”

You smiled at him, slow and sharp. “So what am I, then?”

His crimson eyes gleamed.

“A choice.”

His hand, still draped behind you on the booth, shifted just slightly.

You felt the change immediately—the faint brush of his knuckles just grazing the back of your waist now, so light it could’ve been accidental… but wasn’t.

You turned your head, meeting his crimson gaze again. That gleam hadn’t faded—it had deepened. There was a hunger in it now, restrained and simmering.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask.

But the air changed.

The question was there—in the space between you, in the way his fingers hovered just near your skin, not daring to press. His eyes didn’t wander. They stayed locked on yours, letting you see it plainly:

“Can I?”

You were tipsy. Warm. Tempted. But not stupid.

Your sharp eyes flicked down to where his hand lingered, then slowly returned to his face. You smirked—not sweet, but knowing.

“You want to touch me?” you asked softly, not pulling away.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Just held your gaze, that stillness in him somehow louder than words.

You leaned in, close enough for your breath to brush his cheek. “Ask.”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch again. Not a smirk this time—something more reverent. Respectful. Like you’d just passed a test he hadn’t meant for you to notice.

Still quiet, still deadly composed, he moved his hand just slightly more forward—still not touching.

Then, with his lips barely parting, he whispered:

“…May I?”

Chapter Text

⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．2→ 🔞ℑ𝔣 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔴..

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━─━────༺༻────━─━

You smiled.

Not shyly. Not sweetly.
But with the precision of a blade being drawn.

He asked. Just like you told him to.

And that gave you the power.

You leaned back just enough to make him chase the space between you. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “You may,” you murmured, “but only if you follow my rules.”

His brows lifted faintly, intrigued. That faint smirk returned—but it was softer now, like he was interested , not just amused.

“I’m listening,” he said, voice still husky, reverent, careful.

You reached up, lightly tapping his chin with one manicured finger. “One—don’t act like you own me just because you’ve got a nice voice and money to waste on wine.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound brushing your skin like silk.

“Two,” you continued, “if I say stop, you stop. And three—if you want anything more than my attention tonight, you’re going to have to work for it.”

His smile widened, slower this time, and his crimson eyes gleamed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Then—and only then—did his hand finally settle on your waist. Warm, firm, and respectful. Not possessive. Not rushed. As if he were grounding himself to you.

“And what if I told you,” he said, his fingers trailing slightly along your waistline, “that I don’t want to own you…”

He leaned in, lips brushing just behind your ear.

“…Just ruin every memory of him.”

Your breath hitched—but your eyes didn’t waver.

“Good,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly along the edge of his sleeve. “Start with his name.”

He leaned back, gaze burning into yours.
And said softly, “Thėo who?”

Your lips curled. “Good answer.”

The hand on your waist tightened slightly—just enough to make your breath catch again—but he stayed composed, like a predator who knew the value of patience. His other hand reached for your half-full glass, gently taking it from you and setting it on the table without breaking eye contact.

His gaze dropped for a second—to your lips, then to the exposed line of your collarbone—and slowly, he leaned forward. Not to kiss you, no.

His lips stopped a breath above the skin just beneath your jaw.

You felt his breath first—hot and slow.

“I could make you forget him,” he murmured, voice like a promise and a threat. “Right here. Without ever touching what he thought he owned.”

You swallowed. Hard.

Your thighs pressed together under the table, and you shifted your leg slightly, your knee grazing his.

“You talk big,” you whispered back, not flinching. “But are you always this dramatic, or just when you’re trying to get a girl out of her dress?”

That earned you a grin—genuine, crooked, and somehow even more dangerous than the smirk.

“I don’t need to get you out of it,” he murmured. “I only need to make you wish you weren’t wearing it.”

Then his hand moved—slowly, deliberately—up your spine. Light, warm pressure, dragging goosebumps up your back as his fingers trailed along the curve of your neck, brushing hair from your shoulder.

Not a soul around seemed to notice—just two people in the corner of a dim bar, leaning in close, whispering.

To anyone else, it was nothing.

But to you , it felt like your whole body was leaning into flame.

Your hand landed gently on his chest—right over his heart. You could feel how still he was, how tightly he held himself back.

“Careful,” you whispered, eyes narrowing, “I’m not some shattered little girl you can sweet-talk into falling.”

He nodded, gaze darkening.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not here to catch anyone.” 

He chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest as his fingers lingered on your back, tracing lazy patterns that somehow made your skin tingle even through the noise of the bar.

“Kitten,” he murmured, voice dark and smooth like velvet sliding over steel. “You’re sharp. Too sharp for most. But that only makes you more… interesting.”

You felt the way his gaze pinned you, heavy and unblinking, like he was savoring every word you’d spoken, every small defiance you’d offered.

“You’re wrapped tighter around my finger than you think,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle — like he was testing the water, waiting for permission.

“Sweetie, I’m not here to break you. Just to make sure you never forget who’s really in control when you choose to be.”

You swallowed hard, heart hammering with a mix of caution and something darker — anticipation.

His hand slid lower, settling lightly on your hip. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just… holding space.

“You tell me when it’s too much. When you want out. But until then?” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You’re mine to tease.”

You smirked despite yourself, biting your lip. “Mine, huh? Don’t get too cocky, mister.”

He leaned in, breath warm against your skin. “Oh, Kitten… I’m never cocky. Just confident.”

Your breath caught again as he leaned in, his hand firm on your hip now, thumb brushing soft, idle circles that made your skin buzz beneath the fabric of your dress.

He was watching you— really watching you. Like every blink, every rise and fall of your chest, every twitch of your lips was something sacred.

“Tell me no,” he murmured, voice like warm thunder. “And I’ll stop. Right now.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because his presence had crawled under your skin and tangled into you—into the part of you that wanted to be seen, wanted to be ruined the right way.

“I’m not saying no,” you whispered, lifting your chin slightly, eyes locked on his. “I just don’t like being underestimated.”

He smiled—slow, dark, fond .

“Sweetie,” he said, his tone dropping, “I’d never underestimate a girl who looks at me like she wants to bite.”

And then he kissed you.

Not gently.

It was deliberate, dominant, and slow—like he was savoring you, like he knew he had you now, and was going to make sure you never forgot it.

His hand slid up your back, fingers threading into your hair, keeping your head tilted just where he wanted it. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.

Your lips moved together, soft gasps escaping between kisses, until you found yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

The taste of red wine was still on his lips. He tasted like danger. Like silk. Like surrender disguised as control.

And you… you let yourself melt into it.

Just for now.

Just enough to remember what it felt like to be wanted like this .

When you finally broke apart, your breathing uneven, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“Still want to walk away, Kitten?” he murmured, voice rough with restraint.

Your lips curled. “You’re cocky and smug.”

He smirked.

“You’re still kissing me.”

He leaned back, looking you over again like he was making up his mind—but his eyes had already settled on one conclusion. His hand slid from your waist to your thigh, just briefly, before he stood to his full, impressive height.

“Alright, Sweetie,” he said, voice low and satisfied. “You’ve had enough wine. Time to go.”

You blinked up at him, amused. “And who says I’m going anywhere with you?”

He smirked, tilted his head… and then, in one smooth, confident motion—

he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“Wha—HEY!” you yelped, breath catching as the world tipped and your vision was suddenly upside-down, his arm locked securely around the backs of your thighs.

Your hands braced against his back instinctively. He was solid . And hot. And smelled way too good for your dignity to survive this.

“Put me down!” you laughed, kicking slightly.

“Nope,” he said with a satisfied little hum. “You said you didn’t want more wine. And I don’t leave good girls behind in sketchy bars.”

“Good girls?” you scoffed, breathless, still over his shoulder. “You don’t know anything about me!”

“Oh, Kitten,” he chuckled, his voice sending shivers down your spine, “I know enough. ”

The twins looked up from the other side of the bar—one of them looked mildly entertained, the other definitely annoyed.

As he carried you effortlessly past the doors, into the warm, sticky night air, your hair spilling out of your bun and your dress riding just a little too high , you couldn’t stop laughing.

“You’re crazy!”

“Mmhm,” he agreed. “Crazy about you already.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Somehow, between blurred city lights and teasing banter, between your breathless laughter and his steady hand guiding you across the pavement…

You were now in a hotel room.

Not some cheap corner dive—but sleek, modern, with city views behind tall windows and a bed that looked far too comfortable to be innocent.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And now?

You were pressed against him.

The back of your knees touched the edge of the mattress, and his hands—large, warm—were gripping your hips like they belonged there. His shirt had disappeared somewhere between the elevator and your lips crashing into his, leaving you to trace the lines of his chest with curious fingers, drinking in the heat of his skin.

You moaned softly against his mouth as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up your back to cradle your head, the other firmly anchoring you against him.

He kissed like he knew what he was doing. Like he could read your every thought before it formed.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

“Mmn—easy, Kitten,” he murmured against your mouth. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna forget how patient I promised I’d be.”

You nipped at his lip in response. “I didn’t ask you to be patient.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look down at you, his crimson eyes stormy with restraint and heat. “No. You asked me to follow the rules.”

His hand trailed down the curve of your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your dress just enough to make your breath hitch.

“And I always do what I’m told,” he whispered, lips brushing along your jaw, down to your neck.

“But only if the girl earns it.”

You gasped softly as he sucked a mark into your skin, not too rough—but just enough to make your knees buckle.

And then he pulled back, gently pushing you down onto the bed, his body hovering over yours, his gaze scanning your face.

“Still good, Sweetie?”

You met his eyes, chest rising and falling beneath him.

You smirked, breathless. “I’m more than good.”

“Good.” His voice dropped, like a velvet promise. “Because I’m just getting started.”

His hands slid down your back, fingers expertly finding the zipper of your dress. Slowly, deliberately, he tugged it down, the fabric sliding off your shoulders and pooling around your waist.

Your breath hitched when he paused, eyes darkening as he took in what lay beneath.

Lace. Black, delicate, and clearly meant to impress someone.

His lips pressed into a thin line, a frown flickering across his perfect features.

“You wore this for him, ” he said quietly, voice low and a little rough.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with a sly smile.

“Maybe,” you said softly, “or maybe… fate knew you’d be the one finding me tonight.”

You traced your fingers along his jaw. “So maybe I wore it for you all along.”

His eyes flickered, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face before his hand moved, gentle but firm, to cup your bare tummy.

His fingers traced slow circles, and then, almost like a spell, he traced letters on your skin:

“S… y… l… u… s.”

His breath was hot against your skin as he whispered, “Say it.”

You blinked, confused.

“What?”

“Say my name, MC. ”

Your voice was barely a whisper, hesitant.

“Sylus.”

He smiled then—slow, dangerous, like he’d just unlocked something only you could hear.

“That’s right, Kitten,” he murmured, lips brushing the hollow of your throat. “Say it again.”

And you did.

“Sylus.”

You repeated his name again, a little breathier this time.

“Sylus…”

He hummed in approval, the sound low in his chest as he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the pulse just beneath your ear.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding up your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your breast through the lace. “Say it like you mean it.”

Your back arched instinctively into his touch, your breath hitching as your fingers curled into the sheets.

“Sylus,” you whispered again, heat rising to your cheeks.

He kissed you then — deeply, hungrily, like he’d been waiting all night for this. His hand cupped you fully now, thumb brushing over the delicate fabric, his touch both reverent and possessive.

You melted under him, heart racing as his mouth moved with yours, his name now tangled with every gasp and sigh that left your lips.

“Kitten,” he breathed between kisses, “you taste like trouble.”

“And you look like you like trouble,” you murmured back, your fingers running through his hair.

He chuckled lowly, pressing you back into the mattress, lips never leaving yours.

“Sweetie… you have no idea.”

Sylus hovered over you, his chest bare and warm against your skin, the lean muscle beneath smooth and strong. His boxer briefs hung low on his hips, and you couldn't help but let your eyes wander — he was all sharp lines and quiet dominance, every part of him confident and sure.

"You keep looking at me like that, kitten," he murmured, brushing your hair from your face as his thumb ran gently down your jawline, "and I’m going to forget how sweet you were being a second ago."

You bit your lip, and he smirked, like he already knew exactly what you were thinking.

The lace of your lingerie was delicate against your skin, your dress now forgotten somewhere on the floor. Sylus’s hand slid from your waist up your ribs, slow and deliberate, before cupping your breast again, thumb brushing over the lace.

His breath was warm against your neck. “This—” he murmured, tugging lightly at the strap, “—wasn’t for him. It’s for me now.”

You shivered at his words.

“Fate,” you whispered, hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Fate put me in that bar. In front of you.”

Sylus looked at you for a long moment, his thumb still tracing slow circles over your skin. Then he leaned down and kissed you again, deeper this time — like the world outside the hotel room didn’t exist.

“Then let’s not waste what fate gave us, sweetie.”

And you didn’t.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“Fuck… kitten,” Sylus growled, his voice thick with desire, roughened by the sheer intensity of his arousal as he thrust into you relentlessly, head tipped back against the mattress.

A slick sheen of sweat clung to his chest and neck, catching the dim light. Your fingers clutched around his neck, not tight enough to choke—but just enough to feel his strength, to keep yourself grounded as your body rocked with every motion.

You were both lost in it—so far gone, so desperate, so wrecked with need that nothing else mattered. Not the three missed calls on your phone. Not the seventeen on his. Just skin, heat, and the rhythm of two people who couldn't get enough.

Maybe that’s why your sweet, aching cunt gripped him like a vice, refusing to let go. His cock was slick to the base, glistening in the low light with a creamy mix of his precum and your arousal. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, anchoring you down as you rode him.

Your nails scraped along his bicep, leaving thin red trails in their wake, and your moan spilled out loud and raw, your eyes fluttering back.

“Sweetheart… I’m not gonna last,” he gasped, voice hoarse and wrecked as he spread your cheeks, driving himself deeper like he couldn’t get close enough.

His brow knitted tight, a shudder racking through him when you rolled your hips again—hard, deliberate, almost taunting. Like you were challenging him, daring him, proving some forgotten point with every grind.

He groaned, and his blunt nails dug into your skin in retaliation, pressing down hard enough to leave faint crescent marks. His breath stuttered, caught between restraint and the edge he was teetering on.

Something ignited inside you when he said that—like a switch flipped, a button pressed deep in your brain. Your hand slid up slowly, fingers curling around his neck in a gentle hold, not strong enough to dominate, but enough to claim.

“Say that again,” you breathed, voice trembling with pleasure, eyes locking onto his crimson ones.

He groaned, low and gravelly, the kind of sound that stirred something primal in your belly. That hungry, desperate look in his gaze only spurred you on, and you rolled your hips harder, faster—catching him off guard.

“Kitten, you’re not playing fair,” he gasped, though it came out more like a needy whine than a complaint. His silver hair, once perfectly in place, now clung in messy strands across his forehead—your doing, of course, after raking your pretty fingers through it.

You smirked, lips swollen from kisses, and leaned in until your chest pressed flush against his, letting him feel every inch of your soft curves against the firm lines of his body. “I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered, teasingly innocent, dropping a kiss on his furrowed brow before bouncing on him again with uncontained joy.

His reaction was immediate—a throaty moan, muffled against the crook of your neck, as his hands grabbed your ass in a punishing grip. You whimpered when he bottomed out again, hitting that perfect spot inside your slick walls, and your toes curled from the sensation.

As his length moved deep within you, striking that same sensitive spot over and over, your fingers clenched tighter around his neck. A moan slipped from your lips when your clit grazed his pelvis, sending a shiver through you. His tongue traced a slow, wet path along the curve of your neck, and your hands tangled in his snowy hair, giving a gentle tug. He let out a low groan, the sound thrumming against your skin like ripples spreading across still water. 

"Kitten… fuck, if you don’t stop now, I—” His voice broke, breath ragged, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

The warning was there, unspoken but understood. Still, the mere idea of him staying buried inside sent a wicked thrill racing through your veins. Rather than slowing, you gave a soft shake of your head, eyes flashing with a rare spark of dominance.

“I’ll come, I promise,” you murmured, lips brushing his as your words melted into a needy, breathless kiss. You didn’t wait—your mouth claimed his in something messy, desperate, all tongue and heat. Saliva mixed thickly between you, sweetened by the faint taste of pomegranate candy lingering on your lips, and he kissed you back like a man starving.

He could’ve stopped you. Should’ve, maybe. His grip on your hips was strong enough to lift you off with ease—but he didn’t move. His broad hands stayed locked on your ass, holding you in place, letting you grind down onto him as he lost himself in your kiss.

The obscene squelch of wet skin meeting skin filled the hotel room, echoing faintly off the walls, mixing with breathy moans and the creak of the mattress beneath you. Sylus’s crimson eyes were heavy-lidded, clouded with lust as he stared up at you—utterly wrecked.

You looked divine. Glowing with sweat, flushed with exertion, riding him like you were made for it. The way you moved had his cock twitching inside you, pulsing with how desperately he needed to come.

“Fuck… kitten, I can’t— you’re gonna ruin me,” he groaned, voice strained as his head dropped back against the pillow. His hips stuttered up into yours in sharp, needy thrusts, his hands finding your waist and dragging you down harder, locking you against him as he cursed under his breath.

“I can’t hold it,” he gasped, the panic of bliss edging into his tone, “I need to—”

You gasped as his cock twitched deep inside you, warmth flooding your core as he came hard, thick spurts filling you to the brim. His breath came in ragged, broken bursts, but he didn’t stop. His hips kept shifting—tiny, instinctual thrusts—like he was trying to push it deeper, to leave something behind.

His silver hair clung to his sweat-damp forehead, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, and gods, he was beautiful. That image alone made your heart clench with something too real, too consuming.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, voice soft and unsteady. His hands roamed lazily across your skin—over the curve of your hips, your trembling thighs, your waist—as though trying to memorize every inch. “You’re perfect. Everything, kitten. Everything I didn’t know I was allowed to want.”

The words slipped out of him like a confession, unfiltered and raw. Not quite "I love you," but close—close enough that it knocked the air from your lungs.

Your chest bloomed with heat, dizzy and warm with affection. You leaned in, brushing your lips against his and whispering, “I love you too.”

He blinked, just once, as if startled. But his hands didn’t stop.

A slow, mischievous smile curled your lips as you pulled back just a little. “However…” you murmured, teasing, “I never said I was finished with you.”

Sylus’s lips twitched into a lazy grin, his crimson eyes sharpening. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you just enough that he could look between you both. A low, hungry groan rumbled from his throat at the sight of his cum spilling from you, glistening in the low hotel lighting.

“So pretty even like this,” he muttered, grin dazed, half-worshipful. You whimpered at the movement—already sensitive, overstimulated—but you still weren’t done. Not yet.

“Mhm,” you purred, shifting your hips with renewed purpose, “I think I deserve another round of riding a wanted criminal.”

He froze, just for a second. Then his smirk returned—wider, darker.

If only you knew.

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．3→ 𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔏𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

━─━────༺༻────━─━

It was around 7 a.m.

You were nestled against Sylus’ chest, his arm slung lazily over your waist, breath deep and even as the first orange streaks of sunrise crept through the hotel window. The dark red blanket was tangled around your legs, and both of you were very, very naked.

You blinked blearily at the ceiling.

Then looked at him.

Then—

“Oh no,” you whispered, brushing a lock of silver hair from his face like it might erase the reality. “Oh no no no. ”

Your heart rate shot up.

The hotel was way too nice. Like, marble bathroom, velvet headboard, definitely-more-than-four-stars kind of nice. The wine from last night? Imported. A bottle probably cost more than your monthly grocery budget. And your dumb ass had let him keep refilling it .

You clutched your head. “God, Théo just dumped me, I have like four hundred dollars in my checking account, and I drank like a rich person. ”

You slowly slid out of Sylus’ arms, wincing when he stirred but didn’t wake. Carefully, quietly, you found your dress, bra, and heels and crept around the room like a cartoon thief. The man was glorious —even more so in the pale light of dawn—but you were not about to risk getting slapped with a bill that made you cry blood.

Still…

You paused at the door and looked back at him once. Silver hair messy, lips parted in soft sleep, a hand loosely curled where you'd been lying.

Damn it.

You smirked a little, tugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Well,” you whispered, letting yourself out, “ that was fun.”

Phone in hand, heels clacking softly in the hallway, you left the hotel behind.

Hoping to God he put it all on his card.

━─━────༺2 MONTHS LATER༻────━─━

You sat cross-legged on the fluffy cream carpet of Macey’s cozy apartment, a big throw blanket bunched up around your waist as laughter bubbled through the living room. It was girls’ night for Tara’s birthday, and the whole place smelled like buttery popcorn and peach-scented candles.

You were tipsy on sugar and joy—not alcohol, since all of you had made a pact to detox for the month—and giggles were spreading like wildfire. Macey had set up a little “birthday bonfire” vibe by dimming the lights and placing a small mushroom-shaped lamp in the middle of the room like it was sacred.

Everyone was sprawled around it like a coven mid-ritual.

Macey, with her glossy black pixie cut and her usual air of chaos, suddenly leapt up from her pile of pillows with a mischievous grin. “Guys! Okay, hear me out—I had the weirdest idea recently,” she said, placing her hands on her hips in mock-seriousness. Her rich brown skin glowed gold in the soft light. “And I was hoping y’all would do it with me?”

“Oh no,” Kaeya muttered, the brunette raising a brow while lazily brushing your hair back from your forehead.

Poppy leaned in excitedly. “Yeah!! What is it??” Her fluffy bun bobbed as she bounced a little, eyes wide and glittery like a Disney princess discovering a new forest creature.

Macey bowed her head with a dramatic sigh and slowly revealed a large pharmacy bag from behind her. “So... when me and Ryder were out and about—I came across this! ”

From the bag, she pulled out a family-sized box of pregnancy tests.

The room exploded with shrieks and laughter.

“What the hell ?!” Tara choked, clutching her sides. Her thick curls were pulled into space buns that were slowly falling loose as she doubled over. “Girl, what?!”

Macey just giggled. “It was on sale! Sixteen tests! Sixteen! I just thought… like, what if we all did one? For fun! Like a bonding thing! I don’t feel pregnant, but I’ve never actually done one of these before.”

You gasped between your own fits of laughter, rolling onto your side where your head was still resting on Kaeya’s lap. “You’re insane,” you giggled, wiping at your eye. “But okay, sure, why not. I’m definitely negative, but... let’s do it for the vibes.”

Everyone else agreed—Kaeya with a smirk, Poppy with a squeal, and Tara with a dramatic groan as she grabbed one of the tests.

One by one, the girls started taking turns, shuffling off into the bathroom with peals of laughter and fake solemn last words like, “If I don’t come back… name the baby Beyoncé.”

None of you were really worried. No recent scares. No shady hookups. And you? You hadn’t even seen Theo in months.

After you all went to the bathroom and peed on your pregnancy tests, one by one, you trickled back into the living room, returning to your circle on the carpet beneath the soft amber glow of the little lamp.

The vibe was light, a bit giddy—just a group of girls indulging in late-night chaos, giggling over the randomness of it all.

Tara, who had gone to the bathroom first, was practically vibrating with laughter. She held up her test like it was a prize, her glossy red nails framing it perfectly.

“GUYS—YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT RESULT I GOT!” she shrieked with a dramatic gasp.

Everyone burst into laughter, you included, a high-pitched giggle slipping past your lips as you leaned against Kaeya’s leg, who was busy braiding a section of your hair lazily.

“IT’S NEGATIVE!! LIKE WHAT??!” Tara cackled, tossing her head back. “I was convinced my boobs were acting funny!”

Poppy groaned with playful exasperation. “Girl, that’s called PMS.”

Then Poppy, who was typically pretty nonchalant about things, squinted at her own test and raised an eyebrow. “Okay… this is actually kind of surprising.” She tilted it, as if checking the light would reveal more. “Since me and him haven’t been super careful lately… but I’m negative too.”

“Ooooohhh…” Tara grinned teasingly. “You sound almost disappointed.”

Poppy rolled her eyes, cheeks a little flushed. “I just thought, maybe… whatever.”

Then it was Macey’s turn.

She was quiet for a second, staring at her test with wide brown eyes. Her bottom lip trembled just slightly before she turned the plastic stick over for everyone to see.

Two bold pink lines.

“OH MY GOSH!! MACEY!!!” Tara shouted as she lunged at her, wrapping her in a squealing hug that nearly knocked the test from Macey’s hand. “YOU’RE FINALLY PREGNANT!!”

Your heart gave a little flutter at the word.

Macey laughed, her voice tight with emotion. “I—I thought I saw a faint one earlier this week, but I didn’t wanna get my hopes up.”

The room exploded into warm squeals, clapping, and someone yelled, “GET THE BUBBLY!”—only to immediately remember, “Wait, no! Juice! Juice only now!”

You smiled, laughing with the rest of them, your test still hidden beneath the throw pillow behind your back.

But then Macey’s voice cut through the laughter, a little sharper now, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
“Hey—wait. We haven’t seen Kaeya and MC’s tests yet.”

Kaeya raised an eyebrow at Macey and rolled her eyes dramatically.
“Negative. I’m a virgin ass,” she declared with a smirk, lounging back on her elbows.

Poppy jumped up, arms flailing, voice loud and theatrical.
“ WE DEMAND PROOF! ” she shouted, earning a chorus of giggles.

You blinked and reached for your test, pulling it out from behind the pillow where you’d tucked it away. Your fingers trembled just a little. You stared at the small plastic stick, eyes flicking back and forth between the two lines faintly marked across the window.

You hesitated. “What exactly counts as ‘positive’?” you murmured, biting your lip.

Macey leaned in, voice low and cautious, then suddenly covered her mouth like she’d said too much. “Two lines,” she whispered.

Your heart skipped.

There were… indeed two lines.

Your mind raced, confused and scrambled.

“I… I thought you and Thėo broke up?” Tara asked, voice soft but curious, sitting forward on her knees.

You nodded quickly. “We did. Months ago.” You swallowed hard. “Y’know what? Maybe the test is wrong. Maybe it’s a false positive.”

Macey nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Take another one. There’s tons in the box.” She gave you a small, encouraging smile.

You pulled another test out and took a deep breath, reminding yourself to stay calm. Your hands weren’t shaking this time.

One after the other, you and Kaeya headed to the bathroom again, each of you clutching your tests like lifelines.

Back in the living room, the girls waited, buzzing with anticipation, the little lamp casting soft shadows across their eager faces.

When you returned, you tried to keep your expression neutral, but Kaeya gave you a knowing look as she took a seat beside you.

Your second test—also two lines.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Poppy’s mouth fell open, Macey blinked, Tara bit her lip.

You tucked your hands into your lap, heart hammering wildly.

No one said anything for a moment.

Then, finally, Tara reached out and squeezed your hand gently.

“You okay, MC?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly.

“Yeah. I think… I just need a minute.” 

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Today was a day to celebrate. Macey was finally having a baby, and that was all that mattered.

Tears still fresh in her eyes, Macey clutched the test like it was a precious relic. She had called Ryder almost instantly, her voice a chaotic mix of laughter and sobs. He came rushing over not even fifteen minutes later, hair still wet from a shower, mismatched socks on his feet.

“I knew it,” he whispered, lifting her into his arms, spinning her around before planting kisses all over her tear-streaked face. “You’re gonna be a mom.”
“And you’re gonna be a dad,” she sniffled, clinging to him like he was her entire world.

He had even brought cake — vanilla with strawberry filling, from the corner bakery Macey liked. The five of you crowded around the tiny living room coffee table, still in pajamas, paper plates in hand, laughing as Tara managed to smudge frosting into Kaeya’s hoodie.

Later, you all piled onto the couch, blankets tangled together, watching a cheesy 2000s romcom. The kind with overly dramatic breakups and confessions in the rain. The kind that usually made you snort with secondhand embarrassment.

But today…
There was a horrible feeling in your gut. Like someone was tightening a fist around your stomach.

You were smiling on the outside, laughing when Poppy dramatically reenacted a scene using a half-eaten cupcake, but inside, you were spinning.

Poppy kept whispering beside you, “Look, you could just abort it. Or get Theo to pay. You know he would. Dude still has a savior complex.”
You hummed, not answering.

But really…
Abortion wasn’t even in your mind. Not truly.

The idea of it—of willingly ending something so small, so delicate, so helpless —
The idea of killing a soul that didn’t ask to be born, or shattering a body just barely beginning to form… it made you nauseous.

You weren’t sure if it was guilt. Or fear. Or maybe something else.

But you just stared at the TV screen, barely seeing it anymore, your hand resting on your belly without even thinking.

You got up slowly and rubbed your tired eyes. “I’m going to head to bed. I don’t feel well.”

Tara looked over immediately and stood. “I’m coming with you, MC.”

You nodded, not wanting to be alone. The living room still buzzed faintly with the sound of the others laughing at the movie, but it all felt distant—like you were watching it from behind a thick pane of glass. Your thoughts were too heavy, too tangled.

The room you were staying in was dim and quiet. You climbed into the bed, feeling the cool sheets cling to your skin. Tara followed, settling beside you gently. After a moment, she leaned her forehead against your shoulder and rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been saying much…” she whispered. “It’s just… I’m sorry... I didn’t know how to help.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tight. “It’s alright…”

There was a silence that stretched—not heavy, just soft. Safe. Then Tara wrapped her arms around you in a hug that was warm and grounding.

“Can I do anything for you?” she asked quietly.

You hesitated before murmuring, “Y-yeah… Could you go to the hospital with me tomorrow?”

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes soft with care. “Sure… Anything for my best friend.”

You tried to smile, but your heart still trembled. At least you wouldn’t face tomorrow alone.

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．4→ 𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔑109 ℨ𝔬𝔫𝔢

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

━─━────༺7 MONTHS LATER ༻────━─━

Tara was in the kitchen, humming to herself as the smell of seasoned garlic chicken and buttery rice drifted through the air. Pans clattered, and somewhere in the background, a pot bubbled like a lullaby. She was wearing one of her oversized band tees and fuzzy pink socks that skated over the hardwood floors like she was gliding through a sitcom opening.

Meanwhile, you were curled on the couch like a lump of lava.

Your hand moved in slow circles over your swollen belly, which practically had a gravitational pull of its own by now. You were wearing Tara’s oversized cloud-print hoodie and a pair of stretched-to-hell maternity leggings that had clearly given up.

Tara poked her head in from the kitchen and grinned when she saw you. “You look like a grumpy lil’ loaf of bread,” she declared, tossing a warm fleece blanket at your legs.

You sighed dramatically, pulling the blanket over your knees with an exaggerated huff.

“So, MC! What would you like to watch today?” Tara plopped down beside you with the bounce of someone not carrying a human inside their body.

“Ugh, I dunno,” you groaned, flopping your head against the back of the couch. “I’m agitated. At literally everything.”

She raised a brow. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you growled, adjusting the pillow behind your back for the third time in a row. “Every smell, every sound, every sock that doesn’t match—EVERYTHING.”

You rubbed your belly again, scowling. “I swear to GOD if this baby doesn’t come out soon, I’m gonna reach in and pull them out myself.”

Tara snorted. “Lemme guess—You don’t want to do anything now, huh?”

You glared at her with the exhausted fury of a woman who hadn’t seen her feet in weeks. “Yeah. I’m just— UGH —I WANT THIS BABY OUTTA ME ALREADY.”

“I know, I know.” She leaned over and booped your nose. “But in one more month, you’re gonna have a baby in your arms instead of a bowling ball on your bladder.”

“I’d like to see you sleep with a bowling ball on your bladder,” you muttered.

Tara grinned. “Girl, I’d pee myself every hour.”

You laughed, even through the grumbles. It was awful, and weird, and you felt like a whale trapped in a blanket burrito—but at least you weren’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

You groaned and shifted for the twentieth time, kicking the blanket off your legs.

“It’s HOT,” you complained. “I swear this baby is a furnace. I am roasting alive from the inside out. ”

Tara blinked, wide-eyed. “You just said you were cold like ten minutes ago—”

“WELL NOW I’M HOT,” you snapped, tugging your hair up into a messy bun and huffing like a dragon ready to breathe fire. “I’m hot, itchy, swollen, and— don’t even get me started on my back. ”

Tara held her hands up in surrender, trying not to laugh. “Okay, okay! Preggozilla has logged on.”

You glared at her. “I heard that.”

She gave you a sheepish grin and handed you a glass of cold water like a peace offering. “Here. Hydration for the rage demon.”

You snatched it dramatically. “Thanks. Maybe if I drink enough water, I’ll flood my insides and this baby will float out.”

Tara giggled. “MC…”

“I’M JUST SAYING,” you shouted from behind the rim of your glass. “They’ve been kicking me in the ribs like it’s an Olympic sport. I haven’t slept in three nights. And my nipples feel like they’ve been sandpapered by Hades himself.”

Tara was wheezing now, laughing so hard she was doubled over. “You’re so done. ”

“I’ve BEEN done!” you groaned. “I was done at, like, six months. This is extra done. This is bonus round done. This is when the game glitches and your character just walks in circles until you throw the controller.”

You slumped deeper into the couch, puffing out your cheeks.

Tara wiped her tears, still giggling. “Okay okay, what if we do a spa night right here? I’ll rub your feet. We’ll do face masks. I’ll even let you pick the movie and not complain when you pick a sad one with crying and piano music.”

You gave her a side-eye. “Will you also deliver the baby for me?”

“Absolutely not,” she deadpanned.

You both broke into laughter—yours tired, hers amused—and somehow, even with all the aches, the kicks, and your body feeling like a stretched balloon, her being there made it all a little more bearable.

Even if you were so ready to yeet this baby into the world.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Your room was dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of the nightlight you kept plugged in across the room. You were finally— finally —asleep, mouth slightly open, hugging your pillow like it owed you rent, your gigantic pregnancy body arranged just right on your side with the help of three strategically placed pillows.

Peace. At last.

Until—

PSSHHHHHH.

Your eyes flew open. A strange, warm gush spread between your thighs.

No.
No no no no.
Was that—?

You sat up slowly, blinking, and pulled the blanket back.

“OH MY GOD.”

It was Niagara Falls.

You slapped the wall with your palm. “TARA! TARA GET IN HERE! MY WATER JUST BROKE!”

A thud. A squeak . Then— “WHAT?!”

Tara burst into the room wearing a ratty T-shirt with a dinosaur on it and one sock half-off her foot. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT BROKE?! WHAT BROKE?! DID YOU BREAK SOMETHING?!”

You pointed frantically at the wet mess beneath you. “MY WATER BROKE, TARA! I’M GONNA HAVE A BABY. RIGHT. NOW. ”

Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“OH—OH NO—OH NO NO NO—HOLD IT IN!”

You stared at her. “YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?! ”

“Like just clench!! Like– put the baby on pause!!”

“THIS ISN’T A PEE STREAM, TARA! I CAN’T JUST SQUEEZE IT BACK IN!!”

Tara ran in a frantic circle, then stopped. “Okay okay okay, don’t panic.”

“ I’m already panicking!! ” you yelled as a contraction hit.

Your eyes widened.

Then you screamed.

“OH MY GOD IT HURTS. IT HURTS SO BAD—IT FEELS LIKE SOMEONE IS VIOLENTLY HUGGING MY SPINE.”

Tara grabbed your overnight hospital bag and nearly tripped over the baby yoga ball in the hallway. “Okay, we go. We GO. WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY, PEOPLE!” she shouted to literally no one but the toaster.

You hissed in pain, holding onto the edge of the dresser.

“GHHHHHH I SWEAR IF THIS BABY DOESN’T COME OUT CUTE I’M SENDING IT BACK.”

“I MEAN- IF IT LOOKS LIKE THEO, GOOD IDEA,” Tara said, dragging the bag to your side. “Okay, let’s get pants on you—wait, NO, bad idea. No pants. Pants are the enemy. You ride in the car blanket-wrapped like a pregnancy burrito. Let’s do this!”

“HELP ME STAND UP OR I’M GIVING BIRTH ON THIS IKEA BEDFRAME.”

“NOT THE BEDFRAME!!”

You both stumbled your way out the door, Tara dragging your bag, you waddling and panting, and the neighbors definitely wondering if someone was being murdered upstairs.

And just like that—chaos and contractions in full swing—

It was baby time.

Tara half-dragged, half-carried you out the apartment door while you waddled like a determined penguin clutching your belly with both hands. Your oversized blanket trailed behind you like some kind of royal cape of discomfort.

“Okay— breathe, MC. In through the nose, out through the mouth!”

You wheezed. “Tara, you breathe! I’M TRYING TO HOLD MY INSIDES TOGETHER RIGHT NOW.”

“Fair.”

She scrambled to unlock the car, flinging the passenger door open like it was a NASCAR pit stop.

“Alright, princess—your chariot awaits!”

You practically collapsed into the seat, groaning. “Ow, ow—holy crap—ow. My spine’s doing origami.”

“Great visual, thanks,” she muttered, slamming the door shut and running around to the driver’s side.

Once inside, she shoved the key in, adjusted the mirrors like she was about to drive a stolen spaceship, then whispered to herself:
“Okay. I got this. I’m calm. I’m cool. I’ve done Mario Kart on 200cc. I can handle this.”

“DRIVE!” you screeched as another contraction hit.

Tara hit the gas like the hospital was a finish line and you were about to drop the baby in the glove box. “WE’RE HAVING A BABY!!” she yelled out the window to a confused old man walking his dog.

You clutched the dashboard with one hand and your belly with the other. “I swear to God, if you hit one more pothole—”

“I CAN’T CONTROL THE EARTH, MC!”

“THEN CONTROL THE CAR, DAMN IT—WE’RE GONNA LAUNCH THIS BABY OUT THE EXHAUST PIPE!”

She was weaving through traffic like an action hero, hazard lights blinking, one hand on the wheel and the other frantically digging through your bag. “Where’s the essential oil?! You said the lavender one helps?!”

“Do I LOOK like I need aromatherapy right now?! I NEED A NURSE AND A BED!! ”

“Okay, okay! We’re almost there!”

You gasped, face red, body trembling. “Tara—oh god—I think my water is still going. Is that normal? Is it bottomless?!”

“I don’t know!! I don’t have a uterus manual! I failed health class for a semester because I kept calling the ovaries ‘egg sacs’!”

You burst into uncontrollable laughter mid-contraction, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “Egg sacs???”

“I panicked, okay?!”

The hospital finally came into view.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Tara muttered as she hit the turn, tires squealing just a little. “You’re not having this baby in my car. I just cleaned it. ”

And with that, she slammed the car into park outside the emergency doors and jumped out like a hero in a movie—ready to wheel you inside.

It was happening.

You were about to meet your baby.
And no one could say you didn't arrive in style.

You didn’t even remember how you got into the wheelchair.

One moment Tara was screaming, “ She’s in labor! ” at the front desk like a woman possessed—
The next, nurses were rushing around you, your legs were shaking, and someone was yelling something about dilation and timing and "We’re gonna need a room, now."

Your heart was pounding so hard it echoed in your ears. Everything was too bright, too fast. People were touching you, adjusting machines, calling your name.
You were trying to breathe. You really were. But—

“I can’t— I can’t do this!”

Tara held your hand, already in scrubs, her face pale. “Yes, you can, MC. You’ve got this. I’m right here—breathe, breathe, okay? Just like we practiced!”

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” you cried, chest heaving. “I’m gonna die! Oh my god, I’m gonna die in a hospital gown and ugly socks— ”

“Focus, focus! Look at me!”

Everything was spinning.

The pain was mounting, climbing like fire. You were sweating, crying, shaking.

You heard the doctor say, “Okay, we’re getting close, just a few more—!”

And that was when everything started to blur.

The lights. The voices. The roar of blood in your ears.

“Tara—Tara I can’t—”

“MC?!”

Your vision dimmed at the edges, your body trembling violently.

Black.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to forget the fear. 

━─━────༺༻────━─━

A tall glass of deep red wine rested on the polished marble coffee table, catching the low light and gleaming like liquid rubies. Sylus sat with deliberate ease, one leg crossed over the other, the subtle click of leather against the floor betraying his composed demeanor. In his hands were a stack of crisp papers—contracts, shipping manifests, legal documents—a silent arsenal against the complaints that flooded the room.

Before him stood a group of older men, their faces lined with frustration and desperation, but Sylus’ silver hair shimmered like a blade in the dim light, and his crimson eyes gleamed with icy amusement.

“I have nothing else to say to you,” Sylus said smoothly, voice low and velvety yet carrying an undeniable edge. “It’s not our fault that your goods fell in the sea. The ship wasn’t ours.”

The oldest of the men, visibly rattled, stammered, “Y-yes! B-but we b-bought them from you! You’re responsible to get the goods to us!”

Sylus let out a sultry chuckle, fingers tightening slightly around the stem of his wine glass. “We let you choose: pick them up yourself, or have it delivered. We made it clear it’s not guaranteed.”

“I—”

“Welcome to the N109 zone,” Sylus interrupted smoothly, eyes narrowing. “Now, pay up.”

Just then, Luke appeared, face partially concealed by his mask. He pulled out a sleek credit card machine with practiced efficiency.

“Cash or card, sirs?” Luke’s tone was polite but firm.

Kieran approached, ready to collect the cash if needed, and the twins—Luke and Kieran—exchanged a sharp look before speaking in near-perfect unison.

“Boss is waiting.”

Sylus raised his glass, swirling the wine thoughtfully, the crimson liquid catching the light like fire. “It’s alright,” he murmured, voice calm and composed. “I have a bit of time.”

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．5→ 𝔒𝔫𝔶𝔵

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

━─━────༺༻────━─━

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking against the soft hospital light. A gentle smile greeted you as a nurse dabbed at your damp face with a warm towel.
“Oh, thank goodness! You’re awake!” she said cheerfully.

She called over a doctor, who approached with a calm smile, holding a tiny bundle wrapped snugly in a pale blanket.
“She’s such a beautiful baby, Miss,” he said kindly, handing the swaddled infant to you.

Tears pricked your eyes as you cradled her, feeling the softness of her peaceful sleep.
“Did she cry a lot?” you asked softly.

“No, surprisingly,” the doctor replied, adjusting his mask. “She barely cried and was very obedient during her first shot. We’ll leave you two alone for a bit.”

“W-wait! Sir… where is Tara?” you asked, your voice still weak.

“Your friend said she was going home to grab something,” he answered with a reassuring smile.

“Alright… thank you.”

Once they left, you carefully sat up, a sharp ache reminding you of the ordeal you’d just been through. You looked down at the baby, gently loosening the swaddle.

Her skin was pale and flawless, and you couldn’t help but notice she had your nose and chin — though you weren’t exactly proud of your chin.

You brushed a finger across her cheek, marveling at the smoothness.
“Ugh, I love baby skin.”

Then your eyes caught something unexpected.

The baby’s hair shimmered—silver, no, platinum—almost glowing under the soft light.

Your breath caught. This confirmed your secret suspicions.

This child was most definitely the daughter of your one-night stand... Sylus.

You wondered, What about his red eyes?

The baby’s eyes suddenly fluttered open—
Jinx.

Your heart practically stopped.

Her eyes—
They were just like his.
Crimson. Deep. Bright, like garnets bathed in sunlight.
She blinked up at you, her tiny mouth forming the faintest pout, her small fingers wriggling free from the swaddle to grab at nothing.

You were still. Silent.

Then a small, curious coo escaped her. Like a question.
Like she was asking, "Are you mine?"

And you were gone.
Just completely undone.

Your lips quivered as you cradled her closer, nose brushing her hair, which smelled like baby lotion and something impossibly new.
“I’m so in love with you,” you whispered. “So, so in love.”

You stared at her, memorizing every inch of her — from her soft, chubby cheeks to the little wrinkle in her brow when she yawned, to the faint blush that colored her ears.

This baby…
This miracle you didn’t ask for…
She was yours.
All yours.

And she needed a name.

You bit your lip, thinking. It had to be strong. Something that carried weight. Something that meant more than just letters strung together.

You gazed at her silver hair, her red eyes, her softness wrapped in the strange fire of her bloodline—
And then it hit you.

Onyx.

Not just for the beautiful dark stone, but for what it meant.
Protection. Strength. Willpower. Stability. Focus. Resilience.
Everything you wanted her to grow up with.
Everything you would become for her.

Black onyx… it protected. It endured. It turned pain into power.

“Onyx,” you said aloud, testing it against the world.

She blinked again. Then—
A sleepy little smile.

Your heart shattered into glitter.

“Hi, baby Onyx,” you whispered, kissing her forehead. “I think the universe made you just for me.”

You sat there, in the quiet of your hospital room, still mesmerized by the tiny, perfect bundle in your arms.

Onyx.

Your daughter.

Just saying her name in your head made your chest ache with something strange and beautiful.

But then—
She started to fuss.

A tiny whimper at first. Then her mouth opened in a little O-shape, searching, hungry.
The soft, instinctive rooting motion she made with her lips caught you off guard.

“Oh—okay, okay,” you murmured, suddenly sitting up straighter.

Right.
She was hungry.

And that meant…

Oh god.
You had to breastfeed.

Your heart thumped awkwardly in your chest as you gently tried to guide her to your chest, the way the pamphlet had said.
You fumbled a little, adjusting her, trying to stay calm, trying not to feel like a clumsy mannequin.

But…
She wasn’t latching.

Her tiny face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, mouth moving but not quite catching.
She fussed harder, whimpering now.

“Okay—baby girl, it’s alright, you’re okay—” you whispered, trying again, nerves spiking. But your body felt foreign. Your breast felt like it didn’t belong to you. And Onyx was frustrated. Wiggling. Confused. Hungry.

A wave of guilt hit you square in the chest.

I’m her mom. I’m supposed to know how to do this. Why don’t I know how to do this?

You swallowed your pride and hit the call button.

Moments later, a nurse entered, her presence calm and experienced. She smiled gently when she saw your face—red with frustration, eyes glossy with tears you weren’t letting fall.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said softly, walking over. “Need a little help?”

You nodded, clutching Onyx a bit closer. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing. She won’t latch. I’m trying, but I feel so—so weird and she’s just—”

“You’re doing just fine,” the nurse soothed, settling beside you. “This is completely normal, especially the first time. Your body just did the most amazing thing ever. It’s okay to not have all the answers in one day.”

You nodded stiffly, biting your lip.

With a few calm instructions and a gentle guiding hand, she helped you adjust Onyx’s position. And this time—

The baby latched.

You gasped softly—
It felt strange. Foreign. A little uncomfortable. But Onyx immediately calmed, her little body relaxed, the tiniest content sigh leaving her as she began to feed.

Something hot and overwhelming rose in your chest.

“She’s really doing it,” you whispered.

“She is,” the nurse said warmly. “ You are.”

You weren’t sure if you felt proud or exposed. Maybe both. Maybe being a mom meant you had to feel everything all at once.

You stroked Onyx’s hair, blinking back more tears.

It was weird. It was hard. It was awkward.

But it was real.
And she was yours.

Just as you were beginning to settle into this new, quiet rhythm—awkward, vulnerable, beautiful—

BAM.

The door to your hospital room slammed open like someone had kicked it in with all the force of a drama queen and a Red Bull.

“WHERE IS MY BEST FRIEND AND MY FAVORITE BABY IN THE WHOLE WORLD—!!” Tara screeched, practically tripping into the room with a massive tote bag slung over one shoulder, a phone still clutched in her hand, her eyes wide and wild with excitement.

You yelped, clutching Onyx instinctively. “TARA!!”

The nurse jumped slightly, then laughed under her breath. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said with a wink before gracefully slipping out of the room like she'd definitely seen worse.

Tara froze mid-step, her chaotic energy evaporating as soon as her eyes landed on you.

There you were—propped up in the hospital bed, hair a total mess, eyes puffy and glowing, a soft blanket pooled in your lap... and tucked against your chest was a tiny, silver-haired baby. Her little fingers gripped the edge of your gown like she was claiming you.

Tara’s entire expression melted.

“Oh my god…” she breathed, stepping forward slowly, like she was approaching something sacred. “You did it.”

You nodded, your throat thick, tears springing to your eyes again—but this time, not out of fear or pain. This time it was joy . “She’s here.”

Tara gasped, practically collapsing at your bedside and crouching to get a better look. She was wide-eyed and misty, staring like she'd just met a unicorn.

“MC… she’s so beautiful. ” Her voice cracked. “And so tiny. I could literally fit her in my hoodie pocket.”

You sniffled through a laugh. “Don’t you dare try.”

“I make no promises,” she grinned, dabbing under her eyes dramatically. Then her gaze shifted—and froze.

Tara blinked.

She leaned in closer, staring harder.

“…Umm. MC?”

“Yeah?”

She pointed slowly. “Theo didn’t have platinum hair.”

Your smile faltered.

“Uhhh…”

Tara’s head snapped up. Her eyes bugged.

“AND HER EYES—OH MY GOSH—HER EYES ARE RUBY ?! MC??!! YOU AND THEO DON’T HAVE RUBY EYES?! IS THE BABY—DID YOU—OH—OH MY GOD?!”

You stared at her, wide-eyed, lips parted. Your mouth opened to form a response, but all that came out was:

“...Jinx.”

Tara was fully spiraling now. “ WHO DID YOU SLEEP WITH?! Did he look like a villain from an anime?! DID HE EVEN EXIST?! WAS HE A FEVER DREAM?! WAS HE A DEMON KING?! ”

You buried your face in one hand.

She gasped again. “IS YOUR BABY A PRINCESS OF THE UNDERWORLD—?!”

“I don’t know, okay?!” you snapped, exasperated. “It was one night. He was hot. I was drunk, dumped, and hormonal. There was red wine and weirdly expensive sheets—AND I LEFT BEFORE HE WOKE UP!!”

Tara just stood there, hand over her mouth, completely and utterly stunned.

And then, like always… she slowly started grinning.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “I love her even more now.”

You blinked. “...What?”

“She’s not just cute. She’s, like… mysterious. She’s got a backstory. Like— born of heartbreak and magic. This is some main character energy, MC. You’re literally the chosen mom.”

You stared at her. “You’re insane.”

She pointed at the baby. “And she’s iconic.”

You sighed, shaking your head—but when you looked back down at Onyx, now quietly dozing in your arms, you couldn’t help the tiny, helpless smile that curled your lips.

Insane?
Yeah.
But maybe this whole thing was.

And yet… it felt exactly right.

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．6→ 𝔊𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩.

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━─━────༺4 MONTHS LATER༻────━─━

You pushed Onyx’s stroller along the winding path of Varsity Park, the soft spring breeze ruffling her platinum hair as she cooed happily, batting at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. The smell of freshly cut grass mixed with blooming flowers filled the air, but despite the peaceful setting, a knot of unease tightened in your stomach.

You glanced around casually, trying to shake the feeling, but there they were—a group of four men dressed head-to-toe in black, sunglasses masking their eyes, moving with silent precision just a few paces behind you. Their presence was unsettling, and though they made no obvious moves, the weight of their watchful gazes pressed heavy on your nerves.

You kept your steps steady, not wanting to alarm Onyx or draw attention. Her safety came first, always.

Minutes crawled by as you weaved through the park, the men keeping pace without breaking formation.

Finally, your fingers trembled slightly as you slipped your phone out and quietly dialed Tara.

“Hey babe, can you come get me now?” you whispered into the phone, trying to keep your voice calm despite the racing in your chest.

There was a short laugh on the other end. “Babe? That’s new. Sure, where are you?”

“Varsity Park.”

“Okie dokie. I’m on my way.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Baby—hurry—my legs are killing me.”

“Oh... are you okay?”

“Nope. Not really.”

“What’s up?”

You glanced back again at the men, their faces unreadable beneath dark glasses. “Can’t say.”

You kept walking, every step weighed down by unease, but also determination. Whatever was coming, you’d protect Onyx no matter what.

After Tara ended the call with a quick, reassuring “I’m on my way,” you slipped your phone back into your pocket, heart still hammering in your chest. The men kept their distance—for now—but then one of them suddenly stepped forward, breaking the tense silence.

“Hello, ma’am,” he said smoothly, his voice low and measured.

You stopped, clutching the stroller handle a little tighter. “Hi?”

The man’s eyes, sharp beneath those dark sunglasses, locked on you. “Have you seen a tall man—silver hair, pale skin, red eyes—goes by the name Sylus?”

Your breath caught at the mention of the name.

You hesitated, swallowing hard. “Uh…”

The men exchanged glances, as if weighing their options. Then the same one smiled thinly, stepping back with a slight bow. “Aha, it’s alright. Ta-taa~”

They melted back into the shadows of the trees, their presence lingering like a cold whisper.

You exhaled shakily, realizing that Sylus was no longer just a name from a drunken night—he was a force pulling closer. 

FLASHBACK–

The living room was dim, the hum of the TV low in the background as Tara handed Macey a box of tissues. You sat cross-legged on the couch, holding a softly sleeping Onyx against your chest, her tiny hands curled into fists and a pastel-pink soother bobbing gently between her lips.

Macey wiped her face, sniffling. “I-I was just… really hoping for a little one, y’know?” Her voice cracked as she turned toward Tara, burying her face in her shoulder. “Like—look at you two. Look how happy you are.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I…” You offered a gentle, unsure smile, brushing a thumb over Onyx’s downy hair. The baby let out a tiny sigh in her sleep, hair like moonlight glowing under the warm lamp.

Macey pulled away from Tara, half-laughing through her tears. “It’s okay. I’m used to this. Happened a few times already, y’know? Not even surprised anymore.”

You gave a small nod, but guilt was sinking heavy in your chest. You looked down at Onyx, your arms instinctively curling tighter around her.

Macey tilted her head, sniffling. “You never really talked about the baby daddy, though. I mean—we know it’s not Theo.”

“No… it’s not.”

She leaned in a bit more, resting her elbow on the couch arm like she was settling in. “Well? Who is he? I mean, you met someone and—bam—nine months later, baby Onyx.” Her tone was teasing, but there was a subtle sharpness under it, something unreadable in her grin. “You gotta spill.”

You hesitated. “Well… I met him at a bar. The night Theo and I broke up. He bought me some drinks, and we ended up at a hotel.”

“Oooh!” Macey perked up too quickly. “So it was a one-night stand?”

“I—guess?”

“What was his name? What did he look like? His age? What did he do for work?? Come onnn, give me something. You're being so mysterious about your baby daddy.” She smiled too wide, and while it seemed playful, it was almost like she was trying to pull the words out of you.

You fidgeted a little. “His name was Sylus. He, uh… looked a lot like Onyx. Platinum hair, pale skin, red eyes…”

Macey blinked. “Sounds like an anime character.”

You laughed awkwardly. “Ahaha… yeah.”

There was a beat of silence.

Macey’s smile stayed, but her eyes lingered a little too long on Onyx. “Well… he must be something if he helped you make that cute of a baby.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You just held Onyx a little closer, pressing a kiss to her soft cheek.

Macey suddenly jumped up, brushing her damp cheeks. “Can I take a picture with Onyxie?”

You glanced down at the baby in your arms. Onyx had woken up, blinking slowly up at you with her sleepy crimson eyes—so much like Sylus’s. Her tiny hands curled near her face, her soft lips slightly parted as the soother bobbed gently. The light caught in her silvery lashes as she blinked at the world around her.

You hesitated.

Usually, it'd be okay. A quick photo with a friend. But Macey… liked posting. Everything. Even things you thought were private. She once posted a crying selfie with Tara after her cat passed, with the caption: “Some people understand grief. Some don’t. ❤️ #realonesonly.”

Your arms instinctively curled a little tighter around Onyx.

“I won’t post!” Macey chirped, catching the look in your eyes. “Pinky swear!!”

She held her pinky up toward you dramatically, grinning with her mouth open like she expected a camera to already be on her.

You swallowed the little lump of anxiety that had suddenly climbed into your throat. “…Oh. Okay.”

“Yayy!” She scooted close to you on the couch, brushing your arm as she reached out. “Can you angle her a bit? Like—yeah—there!” She gently tried to adjust Onyx’s position, but the baby let out a tiny grunt of protest and kicked her foot against your chest.

“Careful—she just woke up,” you muttered, gently settling Onyx against your shoulder and rubbing her back.

Macey giggled. “Omg, she’s got your sass already!”

You managed a polite smile, but your jaw was tight.

She leaned in again, phone lifted, snapping a few rapid shots with the front cam. “Just for memories!! I promise!!”

You nodded, saying nothing—just rubbing circles on Onyx’s back. The baby wriggled a little in your arms and let out a soft coo. You kissed the top of her fluffy head and avoided looking at Macey’s phone screen as she started reviewing the pics with a little hum of approval.

“She looks SO photogenic. Oh my god. Like a little elfin princess or something. That hair. Can’t believe she’s real,” Macey whispered.

You smiled, a quiet ache curling in your chest. “Yeah… she really is something.”

And you weren’t sure you were ready to share her with the world. Not yet.

Not with people who didn’t understand how much you had to protect her from.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“Hey baby,” Macey said softly as she curled up beside Ryder on their couch, resting her cheek against his shoulder. The apartment was dim, lit only by the flicker of the TV screen. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sweater as she waited for him to say something.

Ryder didn’t look at her. “Did you take the photos?”

Macey blinked, surprised. “I did, but I’m not exactly sure wh–”

“Listen,” he cut in, voice sharp. “I need you to pay attention—alright?”

She shifted, sitting up straighter. “…Mm?”

“That girl. Your friend—MC? She’s not your friend. She’s a liability.”

“Waaah? What are you talking about?” Macey let out a half-laugh, unsure if he was being serious. “She’s literally the sweetest. I held her baby today—”

“I know,” Ryder said tightly, finally turning his gaze on her. His dark eyes were cold, focused. “And that’s exactly the point.”

She blinked, confused. “What?”

“You said her baby’s father is Sylus, right?”

Macey hesitated. “…Yeah. Silver hair, pale skin, red eyes. The baby looks exactly like him, she claims..”

“There you go,” he muttered, jaw tight. “That’s the bastard.”

Macey frowned. “Wait. I thought you said Sylus was just some old rival. Someone you did business with and didn’t trust?”

“He owes me,” Ryder growled. “Big time. And he thinks he can disappear and dodge the debt? Nah. If he won’t come to me, we’ll give him a reason to crawl out of the shadows.”

“…A baby?”

Ryder smirked bitterly. “That’s his baby. His blood. His weakness. And it just so happens to be the perfect leverage.”

Macey swallowed thickly. “You want me to… what? What exactly are you saying?”

“Get her to let you babysit.”

“WHAT?!” She sat back, eyes wide. “No—Ryder, that’s her child! I can’t—are you serious?”

“Just once. Win her trust. Make it normal. Sweet. Girls like her fall for that kind of thing. And the second time…” He leaned in close, voice low and dangerous. “We snatch her.”

Macey gawked at him, mouth open, breath caught in her throat.

“…Why?” she whispered.

“Because Sylus will move heaven and hell for that kid,” Ryder said. “And when he does, we’ll make him pay. ”

Macey sat in stunned silence. Her hand curled into a fist on her lap.

“…But baby,” she said softly, “You know I… I like her. And Onyx—she’s so sweet. So tiny…”

Ryder’s voice turned icy. “For how long have we been trying?”

Macey flinched.

He kept going. “Three miscarriages. Three. And she just stumbles into a baby from a one-night stand. A baby with Sylus, no less.”

“I know,” Macey said quickly. Her voice was trembling now. “I know, you’re right…”

“She doesn’t deserve it,” he snapped. “She didn’t earn it.”

Macey’s lips trembled, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. But she nodded.

“…You’re right. She didn’t.”

Ryder leaned back, satisfied. “Good girl.”

Macey pressed her lips together tightly, forcing a smile.

“…I’ll make her trust me.”

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．7→ 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔶.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

━─━────༺༻────━─━

It was just past 7PM. You were pacing around the living room with Onyx in your arms, softly bouncing her as she fussed—probably from gas. The TV was on in the background, but you weren’t really watching, just letting the noise fill the quiet apartment.

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Tara 🐻 Calling…

You frowned slightly. Tara never really called during work hours unless it was urgent. You quickly picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” Tara’s voice was chipper but rushed, and you could hear the faint murmur of background chatter—probably from the office or a meeting room. “Jenna wants to see us tomorrow at 3.”

You blinked. “Wait, what? She knows I’m on maternity leave.”

“I told her that, babe, I did ! But she said it’s really important and that it ‘won’t take long.’”

You sighed and shifted Onyx higher on your shoulder. She was calming down now, sucking softly on her pacifier, her little fingers clutching at your shirt. “Where am I even supposed to leave Onyxie?”

“Uhh… maybe ask Poppy? Or Aleya? Didn’t they say they’d babysit anytime?”

You groaned quietly. “They say that but then flake last minute…”

There was a sharp clatter on Tara’s end, followed by muffled apologies and what sounded like her flipping through a folder. “Ah– crap, babe, I gotta go. Meeting just started and Jenna’s giving me the death stare .”

You rolled your eyes, smirking faintly. “Of course she is.”

“LOVE YOU LOTS, MAMA BEAR!” she said quickly before hanging up with a soft beep.

You stared at the phone for a second, heart a little heavier now.

Tomorrow. 3PM.

You looked down at Onyx, who was now dozing off in your arms, cheeks rosy and warm, her breath soft and steady.

“Where am I gonna leave you, huh?” you murmured.

She gave a tiny sigh, completely unbothered.

You were very bothered.

You slowly lowered yourself onto the couch, cradling Onyx against your chest as she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Your fingers gently stroked her silvery hair, heart still lingering on Tara’s rushed call.

You needed someone to watch Onyx for that meeting tomorrow. Poppy was flaky. Aleya had a new puppy and barely managed that. Your family was out of the question—they didn’t even know about Sylus, or Onyx, or any of it.

And then—
A name came to mind.
Macey.

She had offered. Repeatedly. Always cooing over Onyx, calling herself “Auntie Macey” like it was already official.

You bit your lip.

There was that weird moment the other day, when she got a little too excited about taking pictures. Something about it had tickled the back of your brain—but Onyx had started fussing, and you didn’t think much of it after. Macey had pinky-sworn not to post anything, and as far as you could tell, she hadn’t.

She was pushy, yes. A little too eager.
But maybe…
Just once wouldn’t hurt?

You sighed and looked down at Onyx again. Her tiny fingers curled against your chest like she was holding onto you in her dreams.

“I’d never let anything happen to you,” you whispered.

Still…
You couldn’t shake the slight chill that passed through you at the thought of leaving her with someone who once said—

"It’s okay, I’m used to miscarriages."
"How did you get a baby so easily?"

You shook your head, standing to rock Onyx gently.

Maybe Tara could just call in sick for you.
Because something about this—
Didn’t feel right.

Still unsure, still second-guessing every option in your head, you finally reached for your phone.

Your thumb hovered over Tara’s name for a second.
Then slid down.
To Macey .

You stared at it.
She was sweet. Always offering. Always doting on Onyx. She hadn’t posted any pictures… right?
And you really didn’t want to burden Tara again. She was already juggling so much.

So… you tapped Call .

It rang twice before she picked up.
“HELLOOOOO~?” she sang, like she was mid-laugh.

“Hey,” you said quietly, trying to sound casual. “Are you… busy tomorrow afternoon?”

“Depends. Do I get to babysit the cutest baby on the planet?”

You smiled, a little. “Yeah. Jenna’s making me come in for a quick meeting at three. I don’t think it’ll take long. I just… I don’t have anyone else.”

“I’d be honored ! Oh my god, I’ll bring toys, snacks—wait, can I bring Ryder too? Just for a bit?”

That made you hesitate.
“…Uh, why?”

“Pfft, chill, he’s obsessed with babies. He won’t even touch her. He just thinks she’s adorable.”

“Right… maybe. Just keep her close to you, please? No taking her out anywhere, not even for a walk.”

“Of course ,” Macey said, almost too quickly. “Are you okay, mama bear? You sound stressed.”

“I’m just… tired,” you muttered, eyes drifting down to Onyx’s face again. “Thanks for helping.”

“Anything for you,” she said softly.

You hung up.

 Your chest felt tight.

 But you’d already made the call.

Onyx looked up at you with those gorgeous crimson eyes—bright, unblinking, almost too knowing for a baby.

 And suddenly, that face flashed in your mind.

 The sharp smirk. The glint in his gaze.

“Kitten,” his voice echoed, smooth and low.

 “You’re sharp. Too sharp for most. But that only makes you more… interesting.”

You blinked hard, snapping back to the present.

 Onyx’s tiny fingers curled around yours, warm and soft, so different from the cold, dangerous presence that voice belonged to.

But the image lingered anyway.

 Like he was right there, just out of sight.

 Watching.

But you remembered how he felt…

 The warmth of his touch, the way his fingers traced your skin like you were something precious.

 How amazing it was to be wrapped up in him—his strength holding you steady, his presence making you feel safe in a way you’d never admit out loud.

And beneath all the sharp words and dangerous edges, he was kind.

 Gentle, even.

 The sort of gentle that didn’t come from weakness, but from someone who could break the world in half… yet chose to hold you instead.

You hated that you missed it.
Missed him .
Even if you weren’t sure you were allowed to.

"It was just one night, MC!"

That’s what you kept telling yourself—over and over like it would make the memories fade.
Just one night.
One night of stolen warmth, whispered words, and the kind of touch that left a mark no one could see.

But one night was enough to change everything.

 Enough to leave you with crimson eyes staring back at you from a tiny, perfect face in your arms.

 Enough to make your heart ache every time you remembered the way he’d looked at you—like you were more than a stranger, more than a mistake.

Onyx began to giggle—soft, breathy little sounds that made her tiny shoulders bounce.

 She reached up with those small, warm hands, fingers curling and uncurling like she was trying to grab the air… or maybe you.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as your chest tightened.

 Her crimson eyes caught the lamplight, making them glow just like his —that impossible, mesmerizing shade that had once pinned you in place, stealing the air right from your lungs.

 You’d seen them in the shadows that night, half-hidden by silver hair that caught the moonlight, and they’d looked at you like you were something worth protecting.

“Kitten,” you could almost hear it again, low and steady, wrapping around you like velvet.

 The way he’d said it—like it belonged only to you—had made your heart race in a way you hadn’t felt before or since.

 And when his hands touched you… God, the way he’d been so careful, so gentle, like you were fragile and precious—

You shook your head lightly, breaking the spell.

 Onyx’s giggles grew louder, her little legs kicking, as if she could feel your mood shifting and wanted to pull you back to her world—a world with no grudges, no danger, no secrets.

You kissed her tiny palm when it brushed your cheek, her skin so soft it almost hurt to feel it.

 One night. That’s all it had been.

 But here she was, the living proof that one night could echo forever.

Onyx’s happy giggles suddenly shifted into a soft, impatient whine—little fists clenching as she squirmed in your arms.

 You knew that sound instantly.

“Alright, alright, baby girl… I know what you want,” you murmured, adjusting her in your hold.

 Her crimson eyes blinked up at you, wide and pleading, and she let out another tiny cry, lips already rooting against your shirt.

You moved to the couch, settling back against the cushions as you unbuttoned your top.

 The moment your skin was exposed, she made a soft, eager noise—half whimper, half sigh—her warm little body pressing closer.

 You guided her to you, and she latched on immediately, her mouth working in quick, hungry motions.

The tension in your chest eased with each swallow she took, the rhythmic pull grounding you in the present.

 Her small hand rested against your skin, fingers curling and uncurling lazily, and you smoothed your palm over the silky hair at the back of her head.

You watched her drink, her lashes fluttering, her whole body relaxing into you.

 It was so quiet except for her breathing, the steady sound of her feeding, and your own heartbeat in your ears.

Moments like this—warm, still, safe—made the chaos outside feel far away.

 But no matter how much you tried to stay in this moment, you couldn’t help the way your mind wandered back to him .

 The man who had given her those eyes, that hair, that presence that seemed to fill the room even when he wasn’t there.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Onyx’s drinking slowed, her little gulps turning into soft, sleepy sucks, until finally she released you with a quiet sigh.

 Her lips were still parted, her breath warm against your skin, and her tiny fist was curled lazily against your chest.

You adjusted your shirt, careful not to jostle her, and pulled the blanket draped over the back of the couch around the both of you.
She was so warm, her weight melting against you as if you were the only place she wanted to be.

Your legs carried you on autopilot toward your room, the hall dimly lit by the glow of a nightlight.

 Once you reached the bed, you lowered yourself onto it, still holding her close, unwilling to let go.

 The mattress sank softly under your weight, and you shifted so you could lie on your side, Onyx nestled perfectly in the curve of your body.

Her breathing evened out quickly, those delicate lashes resting against her cheeks.

 You brushed your thumb gently along her jaw, marveling at how peaceful she looked, and the warmth in your chest deepened.

Your own eyelids began to droop, the steady rhythm of her breaths lulling you under.

 The quiet hum of the night outside your window mixed with her soft little noises in her sleep, wrapping you both in a cocoon of stillness.

The last thing you saw before sleep claimed you was the way her tiny hand twitched in a dream, still resting over your heart—

 as if she knew it belonged to her completely.

Sleep pulled you under fast, but it wasn’t the usual haze of exhaustion—

 it was warm, heavy, almost… intoxicating.

You were back in that hotel room, the air thick with the scent of rain from the open window.

 Sylus stood so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, his crimson eyes locking you in place.

 One gloved hand cupped your jaw, his thumb tracing lazily over your bottom lip.

“Kitten,” he murmured, the word low, velvet-soft, and dangerous in the way it made your pulse jump.

Then his mouth was on yours—

 slow at first, savoring, as if memorizing the shape of you.

 The taste of him was warm and deep, his lips moving with a gentleness that contradicted the strength in his hands.
Each kiss was deliberate, unhurried, his breath mingling with yours.

When you tried to pull back just enough to breathe, he chased you—

 catching your lips again with a quiet, almost pleading hum,

 his other hand sliding to the small of your back to draw you closer until there was nothing between you but heat and the unsteady pounding of your hearts.

The dream blurred, the kisses deepening, his teeth just grazing your lip before his tongue soothed the sting.
It felt endless—

 and you didn’t want it to end.

But then—

 a small, sleepy whimper pulled at the edges of your mind, tugging you back to the present.

 The warmth of Sylus’s mouth faded into the real warmth of the tiny body in your arms.

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．8→“𝔅𝔞-𝔟𝔞!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

━─━────༺༻────━─━

You smiled, grabbing Onyx’s diaper bag and her bottles. Your heart was beating a little faster than usual, but you chalked it up to nerves—this was the first time you were leaving your baby with someone other than Tara.

You pulled into Macey’s driveway, the porch light already glowing even though it wasn’t fully dark yet.

The minute Macey noticed your car up front, the door burst open. She ran like the wild, practically skipping down the steps and straight to your side.

“OH MY GOD, HI BABY!!!” Macey squealed, not even waiting for you to fully unbuckle Onyx before scooping her up with exaggerated care. She bounced her in her arms, nuzzling her nose into Onyx’s silver fluff of hair. “You’re so adorable, my whittle mini MC—” She finally looked at you, flashing a grin. “And hello to you too, MC—but AHHHH, ONYXIE!!”

You couldn’t help but grin, adjusting the diaper bag on your shoulder before handing it over. “Thanks for taking her on such short notice. I really can’t trust anyone with my baby.”

“OH MY GOSH, YES!!” Macey said dramatically, clutching Onyx closer like she was some prize. “In this DAY and AGE, we can’t trust anyone, no no no.” She shook her head so hard her earrings swung. “Like, what if they kidnap her? Or worse… kill her?”

You blinked, stiffening. “…Yeah… yeah.” You nodded slowly, though her words made your stomach turn.

Onyx made a soft cooing noise, and Macey’s whole face melted again. “Ugh, see?? She loves me already. We’re basically auntie and niece, right Onyxie?!”

You forced a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “She’s attached to anyone who cuddles her. But still, I’m really grateful. I’ll be back soon.”

Macey smirked, kissing Onyx’s forehead, her eyes not leaving the baby even for a second. “Don’t you worry, MC. I’ll take extra good care of her.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The moonlight spilled lazily through the tall glass windows of Sylus’ bedroom, painting silver across the dark sheets tangled around his body.

He was asleep, sprawled on his back, one arm flung across his forehead. His breaths came deep and even, though every so often his brow furrowed, as if even dreams refused to give him peace.

The room itself was quiet, save for the faint tick of an antique clock on the far wall and the steady hum of the city beyond. A glass of half-finished wine sat abandoned on the nightstand, crimson staining the rim.

His platinum hair was a mess, falling into his face. For once, without the weight of business, threats, or debts pressing at him, he looked… younger. Softer.

But then—his lips parted, a whisper escaping as if dragged from deep inside his chest.

“...Kitten…”

He shifted, restless. His long fingers curled slightly against the sheets, gripping them like he was holding onto something—or someone—that wasn’t there.

The clock ticked on. His body stilled again. But that one word lingered in the dark, bleeding into the silence like a memory refusing to fade.

The sheets beneath him shifted, but when Sylus opened his eyes, it wasn’t the cold emptiness of his bedroom he saw.

It was you.

You were there, in the dream, curled against his chest the way he always imagined you might be. Your hair tickled his jaw as you shifted, your warmth pressed into him, your breath soft against his skin.

“Kitten…” His voice was rough, low, but in the dream it didn’t make you flinch. Instead, you looked up at him with those eyes—bright, trusting, alive. And gods, that smile… it was a weapon more dangerous than any blade he’d ever held.

His crimson eyes softened as he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You leaned into it, like you belonged there. Like he was allowed to touch you.

And then your lips met his.

Gentle at first—hesitant, testing—before growing deeper, hungrier. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you tighter against him, as if he could fuse you into his very skin.

Every kiss sent heat spiraling through him, and he swore he could feel you, taste you, as if this dream had stolen pieces from reality. Your laughter ghosted against his mouth when he pressed his forehead to yours.

“You feel real,” he murmured, almost desperately. “Too real.”

You tilted your head, eyes glimmering. “Maybe I am.”

And for the first time in a long, long time, Sylus felt… safe. Like he wasn’t a man burdened with debts, blood, and enemies. Just a man holding the one person who made the world seem worth it. 

Sylus kicked the chair at the edge of his bed so hard it splintered against the wall. The crash echoed, sharp and violent. He grabbed the lamp from his nightstand and hurled it across the room; glass shattered, scattering shards like stars across the floor.

His breath came ragged, a guttural growl rising from his chest.

“DAMN IT!”

The veins in his forearm bulged as he grabbed a stack of papers from his desk and threw them, pages raining down like feathers, mockingly soft against his fury.

The door burst open—Luke and Kieran stumbled in, both half-dressed and disheveled, weapons drawn before they realized it wasn’t an intruder.

“Boss?!” Kieran blinked, eyes flicking from the broken furniture to Sylus, his fists still clenched and shaking.

“...What the hell happened?” Luke asked carefully, mask tugged up around his jaw, like he wasn’t sure if this was a fight he should step into.

Sylus stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, silver hair falling into his burning red eyes. He looked like a beast cornered in its own den.

“OUT!” he roared, voice sharp enough to slice stone.

The twins flinched, exchanging a look. Kieran mouthed something at Luke—again?—before Luke gave a short nod.

But neither of them moved.

“Boss,” Kieran tried again, softer this time, “...you’re bleeding.”

Sylus looked down. His knuckles were raw, split open against the wood of the headboard, blood dripping down onto the ruined sheets.

He snarled and turned his back on them. “Get out before I make you.”

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance—silent, quick, practiced.
Luke tugged his mask higher, hiding the frown that pulled at his mouth. Kieran lingered for half a second longer, eyes darting to Sylus’ bloody knuckles and the broken wreck around him.

But then—he stepped back.

The twins slipped out quietly, closing the door behind them with barely a sound.

The hallway felt colder.

Kieran let out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s the third time this month.”

Luke muttered, “Fourth.”

They walked a few paces before Luke finally spoke again, his voice low. “...It’s her.”

Kieran blinked. “Her?”

“You know damn well who.” Luke’s crimson gaze flicked sideways, sharp beneath the dim corridor light. “He keeps dreaming about that girl. The one-night stand.”

Kieran’s mouth twisted into something between a smirk and a grimace. “...Kitten.”

Luke didn’t answer. His silence was confirmation enough.

Inside the room, Sylus’ muffled growl carried through the door—low, broken, furious at himself.

Kieran shoved his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. “It’s weird, y’know… she left before him. That never happens. Boss always leaves first.”

Luke’s steps slowed. He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound almost like a sigh. “He’ll never admit it.”

“Of course he won’t.” Kieran gave a halfhearted laugh. “But… damn. You saw his face, Luke. That wasn’t just anger.”

Luke stayed quiet for a long moment, his crimson eyes reflecting faintly in the dim light of the hall. “No. It wasn’t.”

Kieran frowned. “He’s our boss. He’s supposed to be untouchable. Sharp, cold, always one step ahead. But lately…” He trailed off, searching for words. “Lately it’s like he’s… hurting.”

Luke finally looked at him, and for once, his usual deadpan expression cracked into something softer. “He is. And you and I both know why.”

They fell silent again, walking side by side.

Despite their different quirks—Luke’s calm, calculating edge and Kieran’s brash, emotional energy—they both shared one truth.

They loved their boss. They’d die for him.

And watching him unravel like this—it tore at them.

“...What do we do?” Kieran muttered, almost like a plea.

Luke glanced back toward Sylus’ door, where faint echoes of his fury still lingered. “What we’ve always done,” he said quietly. “We protect him. Even from himself.”

Kieran muffled a laugh against Luke’s shoulder before pulling back just enough to glare at him. “You’re older by like—thirty seconds!”

Luke arched a brow, deadpan as ever. “Nope. Four minutes.”

Kieran blinked. “...Four?!”

“Mm.” Luke’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile playing there. “You were slow coming out.”

Kieran shoved him lightly in the chest, cheeks heating. “Oh, shut up. You’re impossible.”

Luke just smirked, folding his arms. “Older. Wiser. More patient.”

Kieran rolled his eyes but the tension between them finally broke, the knot in his chest loosening a little. His laugh came freer this time, softer. “Fine, old man. You win.”

Luke tilted his head toward Sylus’ door again, his smirk fading back into calm resolve. “We’ll help him through this. Just like always.”

Kieran nodded firmly, side by side with his twin again. “Yeah. Always.”

They walked further down the hall, their boots echoing softly against the marble floor. For a long while, neither spoke—just the quiet weight of their thoughts between them.

Finally, Kieran broke the silence, his voice low and hesitant. “...Luke. What if she’s not good for him?”

Luke’s gaze flicked to him, sharp and knowing. “She isn’t.”

Kieran blinked. “That fast, huh?”

Luke nodded once. “Boss doesn’t let people in. Ever. And yet… one night with her, and he’s unraveling months later. That’s not love, Kieran. That’s weakness.”

Kieran bit the inside of his cheek, troubled. “Yeah, but—what if she’s different? What if she could—”

“No.” Luke’s tone was final, like a blade cutting clean. “She’s making him soft. And soft will get him killed.”

Kieran’s hands tightened into fists. He didn’t like it—he wanted Sylus to be happy—but Luke’s words rang true. They’d seen too many leaders fall because of softness, because of weakness.

“...So what do we do?” Kieran asked quietly.

Luke exhaled, cold and steady. “We make him forget. Slowly. Carefully. We distract him, keep him busy, drown her memory in everything else. She fades, and he comes back to himself.”

Kieran frowned. “That easy?”

Luke gave a humorless smile. “Nothing’s easy with him. But we’ll do whatever it takes.”

Kieran hesitated, then nodded. “For him.”

“For him,” Luke echoed.

And just like that, the twins’ unspoken vow was made—protect their boss at all costs.
Even if it meant stealing away the only piece of softness he had left.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“You got her, Mace?” Ryder’s voice was low but edged with excitement, his grin sharp enough to cut.

Macey shifted, clutching her phone tighter than she meant to. Her pulse jumped. “I… yeah.”

“Great.” Ryder leaned in, planting a quick kiss on her cheek, his hand squeezing her thigh like a reward. His eyes glinted with hunger—more for what was coming than for her.

“Now it’s time.”

Macey’s throat went dry.

Ryder stood, pacing like a wolf ready to pounce. “Time to get some money, bitch.” He threw his head back with a laugh, dark and wild, already pulling out his phone to make a call.

Macey tried to laugh with him, but it came out weak. Her eyes flicked to the corner where Onyx’s diaper bag sat, innocent and small.

Her stomach twisted.

She wanted a baby so badly it ached in her bones. And here Ryder was—planning to snatch one.

Her hands shook, but Ryder’s voice snapped her back. “Stay sharp, Mace. You’re the key to this. Without you, she won’t trust us.”

“I-I know..”

“You love me, right?” Ryder’s eyes burned into her, hungry, unforgiving.

Macey’s chest tightened, but she forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Of course I do.”

“Then prove it.” His grin stretched wider, cruel. “Do this, and everything we’ve ever wanted will finally be ours.”

Macey swallowed hard, her throat thick with guilt. Her gaze slipped again to the diaper bag in the corner. To the tiny world tucked inside it.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

I can do this. I have to. For him. For us.

She told herself that on repeat, even as her stomach churned.

Behind her, a small, sweet sound broke the silence.

Onyx, lying in her carrier, blinked up with wide ruby eyes and kicked her tiny legs—
“Ba-ba-ba!”

The baby’s giggle bubbled out, innocent and warm.

Macey froze, her heart cracking right down the middle.

Ryder, though, only smirked. “Even she knows what’s coming.”

Onyx squealed again, clapping her tiny hands.

“Ba-ba!”

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．9→“𝔐𝔞𝔪𝔞’𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔫!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

━─━────༺༻────━─━

You glanced around Jenna’s office again, the silence pressing in heavier with each second. Her chair was empty, desk neat—like no one had touched it since last night. The fluorescent lights hummed above, sharp and cold.

Your phone buzzed against your palm as Tara’s voice came through, frazzled.

“I’m on my way! The train’s stuck.”

“Well… Jenna’s not here?” Your voice felt small in the echo of the office.

“Oh, maybe she’s late!” Tara yelped, her voice muffled like she was elbow-deep in her bag.

“But… she’s never late,” you muttered, frowning. The wrongness sat in your stomach like a stone.

“OKAY, I’LL CALL YOU ONCE I GET THERE, ALRIGHT??” Tara cut in, clearly juggling too much.

“Okay… stay safe,” you whispered before the line went dead.

You turned in a slow circle, scanning every surface. No note. No memo. Not even a stray sticky note on the desk. Strange. Too strange.

Your hunter’s watch buzzed faintly against your wrist. Still no alerts, no warnings. You bit your lip, hesitated, then tapped in a direct call.

It rang. Once. Twice.

Finally, Jenna’s voice answered, groggy but sharp: “MC? What’s wrong? Why are you calling so early in the morning?”

Your stomach dropped. “Uhh, Captain… where are you?”

“I’m at home. What’s wrong?”

You froze. “Uhmm… Didn’t you call for me and Tara to meet you at 7? Or did we make a mistake and it was actually p.m.?”

“No.” Her tone hardened. “I didn’t call any of you. Are you at the office?”

The walls suddenly felt closer, colder. “…Yes. I’m here, and Tara is on her way.”

“Who told you I called you?”

“Tara told me?”

“Who told Tara?” Her voice cut like a blade. “Add her to the call.”

With shaking fingers, you pressed the add button. “Tara?”

“Huh?? Captain Jenna!” Tara’s voice rang, surprised.

“Are you on your way to my office?” Jenna demanded.

“Yes, Ma’am!”

There was a pause, thick and tense. Then Jenna’s voice dropped. “I’ll be on my way. Be wary, both of you.”

“Hm?” Tara sounded confused, but you knew Jenna’s clipped tone all too well.

“And MC.”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

Her voice was firm, commanding. “Stay calm. There’s something wrong.”

The line went quiet, the hum of the office lights pressing against your ears. 

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Not longer than half an hour later, both Jenna and Tara were in the office with you.
Jenna stood stiffly near her desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they flicked between the two of you.

“Tara,” Jenna began, her tone even but edged. “Who informed you to get here?”

“You did.” Tara blinked, brows furrowing.

Jenna’s expression darkened. “I…?”

“Yes! You said it was important. That’s why I called MC—” Tara’s voice cracked slightly, nerves obvious.

“I’m just—” Tara shook her head quickly, running a hand through her hair. “I’m just here because I was informed.”

Jenna turned slowly toward you, pointing. “And you shouldn’t even be here. You have a BABY to look after.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Well… I guess we solved some stuff. I… we can go?”

Jenna’s stare softened just a fraction as she exhaled. “You can go. But Tara—” her gaze snapped back to the younger girl, “I need some information from you, please.”

“A-Am I in trouble?” Tara blinked, voice small, almost guilty.

“Not if you did nothing.” Jenna’s lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile. “You’re fine, Tara.”

Then she glanced back at you, her tone firm once more. “Please go home and rest.”

“I’m in no rush!” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Onyx is with a friend right now, so everything’s alright.”

Jenna’s eyes lingered on you, as though she wanted to argue—but she held her tongue. Instead, she gave the faintest nod, then looked back at Tara.

The air in the office felt heavier, as though something unsaid hung between the three of you.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

You slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the car door with a soft thunk. The office building loomed behind you, but your thoughts were already elsewhere. You reached for your phone immediately, thumb hovering over Macey’s contact.

You hesitated.

Macey had been so excited when you dropped Onyx off—like a child on Christmas morning. Maybe… maybe you should give her a little more time. Just an hour. Let her play babysitter, let her have her moment.

Still, your chest tightened with that familiar tug—your arms felt strangely empty without your baby. You gave in, pressing the call button.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Then—

“Uhhh, MC?” Macey’s voice popped up, slightly breathless, like she hadn’t expected you to call so soon.

“Hi, Mace!” you greeted brightly, forcing your smile into your voice. “How’s Onyx?”

“Sh-She’s cute as ever!” Macey rushed, and you could hear a little squeak of laughter in the background.

Relief softened you instantly. “Yeah, that’s my girl. So I’m done here—should I come and get her, or do you wanna keep her for a bit longer?”

There was silence.

A heavy, unnatural silence.

You frowned, glancing at the phone as though that would help. “Mace?”

The call cut.

You blinked, staring at the black screen. “Weird…” Maybe Onyx had started fussing when she heard your voice. Maybe Macey just dropped the phone. Babies were unpredictable, after all.

You tried again. The line connected.

“MC!” Macey answered almost immediately this time, her voice higher, tighter.

“Do you want me to come and get her?” you asked carefully.

There was muffled talking in the background, too far away for you to catch. Someone else’s voice. Male.

Then Macey laughed, the sound sharp, a little too forced. “Oh no! We’ve got her, me and Ryder—take the time off, Bae.”

You swallowed, gripping the steering wheel without realizing it.

“…Okay,” you said slowly, trying to keep your tone light, normal. “Thanks, Mace.”

But even as you ended the call, the unease in your stomach only grew heavier. 

You wandered aimlessly, a paper cup of coffee warming your hands as your eyes skimmed store after store. At first, you thought maybe you’d window shop—find something for yourself, maybe even pick up something nice to wear that wasn’t stretched out by pregnancy or stained with baby spit.

But every path you took seemed to circle back to babies.

A cluster of mothers stood near the fountain, strollers lined up like a little parade. Their voices were soft, laughing, cooing at their little ones. Tiny hands flailed in the air, baby giggles bubbled up like music. You caught yourself smiling before your chest tightened.

You passed another store—rows of baby toys stacked neatly, a display of plush animals in the window. A giant stuffed bunny seemed to stare at you, ears flopping. For a moment, you imagined Onyx hugging it, drooling on it, babbling happily.

You pressed a hand over your mouth, stopping mid-step.

It had only been three hours. Just three. And already you missed her so much your arms ached.

You sighed and sat down on a bench near the play area. Kids shrieked happily, running through padded tunnels, while their parents watched from the sidelines. You set your coffee down, leaning forward, staring at the empty space in front of you like you half-expected Onyx’s stroller to be there.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but when you checked—no new calls. Not Macey. Not Ryder. Not anyone.

“…God, I’m pathetic,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes before anyone noticed.

Still, you couldn’t shake it. That longing, that gnawing guilt. Like you’d left a piece of yourself behind.

You pulled yourself together, straightened your shoulders, and forced a smile. It’s fine. It’s just a few hours. Onyx is safe. She’s fine.

To distract yourself, you wandered into a boutique. Soft pastel dresses lined the racks, and the faint scent of lavender hung in the air. You let your fingers trail over a silky blouse, imagining how it might look on you if you weren’t constantly in spit-up-stained hoodies.

But then you caught sight of the children’s section tucked in the back. Baby dresses. Little knit cardigans. Shoes so tiny they could fit in your palm.

You froze.

Everywhere you turned, it was like the universe was taunting you with the reminder: You’re not with her.

So you bought nothing, leaving with empty hands.

The food court was next. You sat at a corner table, poking at a tray of fries you didn’t really want. Your phone sat face-up beside you. You stared at the screen so long the display dimmed, then locked. Still no call. No photo update from Macey like you’d half-expected.

You told yourself not to overthink it. Macey was probably just wrapped up in cooing over Onyx, forgetting to text. She was harmless. Right?

Still… that pit in your stomach deepened.

You rubbed your chest as though you could push the feeling down, but your eyes drifted to a young couple at the next table. The woman had a baby in a sling, bouncing her gently as the man cut her food into small bites. The baby squealed, a sweet sound that cracked your heart open.

You swallowed hard. Three hours felt like three days.

“…Maybe I should just…” you whispered under your breath, picking up your phone. But your thumb hovered, trembling over Macey’s name in your contacts.

No. You didn’t want to seem paranoid. Overprotective. Crazy.

Instead, you slipped the phone back in your pocket and stood, forcing yourself to keep walking, to keep distracting yourself.

But that gnawing pit? It didn’t ease. It grew.

By the time you’d circled the mall twice and grabbed a coffee you didn’t even finish, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your heart ached. Your arms literally ached. Like they knew Onyx belonged there, nestled in them.

So you grabbed your keys and drove.

The closer you got to Macey’s street, the lighter you felt—like a balloon tugging free of its string. You actually smiled, humming softly to yourself, imagining Onyx’s little giggles, the way her fists would curl around your shirt when you picked her up.

Your chest warmed at the thought of feeding her again, watching those ruby eyes flutter as she drifted to sleep in your arms.

By the time you pulled into Macey’s driveway, you were practically buzzing. You killed the engine, hopped out, and grabbed the diaper bag you always carried—just in case.

Your knuckles rapped on the door. Once. Twice.

“Mace!” you called playfully, grinning wide. “Mama’s here for her little bean!”

Your pulse raced with excitement, with love, with relief.

Because finally—after hours of trying to distract yourself—you’d get your baby back where she belonged.

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．10→𝔗𝔬 ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔎𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔰

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The neighborhood was silent. Too silent.

You knocked again—five sharp raps that echoed into the still air. No footsteps, no voice calling back.

Your gut twisted.

Hesitant, you tried the handle—only to find it already turned.

Unlocked.

You froze for half a second, then pushed it open. This was Macey’s house. Your friend’s house. She was supposed to be watching your baby. It would be fine, right?

But the moment you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

The house… was empty.

The entry carpet that had “Wipe Your Paws!” stitched in big goofy letters—gone. The shoe rack, usually cluttered with sneakers and Ryder’s work boots—gone.

You swallowed hard and stepped further in, your socked feet brushing against bare floorboards.

No pictures on the walls. No smell of Macey’s favorite vanilla candles.

The living room yawned back at you like a hollow shell. No plush throw blankets. No mismatched couch cushions. Not even a television.

Your pulse hammered.

You moved upstairs. Every door you opened revealed more nothingness. Rooms stripped bare, curtains gone, closets yawning empty.

By the time you stumbled back down, your knees were shaking.

And worst of all—

The play mat. The baby bottles on the counter. Onyx’s little blanket you left in the diaper bag by the couch.

All gone.

Onyx was gone.

Your chest caved, your vision blurred, and the silence of the house seemed to roar in your ears.

Your hands were trembling so hard you almost dropped your phone when you yanked it from your pocket.

Call her. Just call her. She’ll answer. She’ll explain.

You scrolled frantically until you found Macey’s contact, the little selfie of her blowing a kiss mocking you now.

Tap.

The line rang once. Twice. Then—

This number is not in service. Please check the number and try again.

You froze.

“No… no, no, no, no, no—” You tapped the call button again, harder this time, like your force could change the result.

This number is not in service. Please check the number and try again.

Your breath hitched, loud and ragged in your throat. You could barely even see the screen anymore through the tears burning in your eyes.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Try Ryder. He’ll answer. He has to answer.

Your thumb shook as you scrolled, found Ryder’s name, hit call.

Ring.

Ring.

This number is not in service.

You gasped out loud, a choked sound that tore from your chest.

“What the—what the fuck…” You dropped onto the bare wooden step of the stairs, clutching your phone so tightly it hurt. You tried again, knuckles white—Macey. Ryder. Macey. Ryder. Over and over.

Each time the same cold, robotic voice answered you, driving nails into your chest:

This number is not in service. This number is not in service.

You gripped your hair with your free hand, tugging hard as your voice broke. “Why… why can’t I—why can’t I call you?! WHERE’S MY BABY, MACEY?!”

You stood, pacing frantically, every step too fast, too uneven. “You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t do this. You wouldn’t.”

But the empty house whispered the truth back to you.

She would.

She did.

And Onyx… your Onyx… was gone.

You staggered to the front door, the world spinning, trying to think through the tidal wave of panic. Call Tara. Call Jenna. Call the police.

But all you could see in your mind was your baby’s tiny hands reaching for you that morning, crimson eyes wide and trusting—

—and now, she was gone.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Your thumb jabbed at Tara’s name before you even realized what you were doing.

The line rang. Once. Twice.

Then—

“MC! Hey—are you okay? I just left Jenna’s office, what’s—”

“TARA!” Your voice cracked so violently you almost dropped the phone. “Tara, she’s gone. SHE’S GONE!”

There was a pause. Then the sound of Tara’s chair scraping, loud clatter in the background. “Wait—wait, slow down—who’s gone? What do you—”

“ONYX! SHE’S NOT HERE!” you screamed, clutching the phone like it was the only thing tethering you to life. “Macey’s house—it’s EMPTY, Tara! Everything’s gone, the furniture, the pictures—her phone number doesn’t even EXIST anymore—Ryder too, it says their NUMBERS DON’T EXIST—”

“W-what?!” Tara’s voice broke into sobs instantly, sharp and panicked. “No, no, no, no… oh my god—”

Your legs buckled, and you dropped to your knees in the middle of the hollow living room, your forehead pressed to the cold floorboards. “They TOOK her, Tara! My baby—my little girl—they TOOK her!!”

On the other end of the line, Tara was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe, her words fractured and gasped. “Not Onyx… not—she’s so little… oh god, MC—”

“Listen to me.” Another voice cut through, calm, low, commanding. Jenna.

You froze, clutching the phone tighter.

“She’s with me,” Tara sobbed, “J-Jenna’s here—”

“MC. Deep breath.” Jenna’s voice steadied you like a rope in a storm, but your chest was still shuddering violently.

“I—she’s—my baby—”

“I know,” Jenna said firmly. “I know. But right now, Tara needs you to hold on. I need you to hold on. Do you understand me?”

Your head bobbed frantically even though she couldn’t see you. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—”

“Yes, you can. You will.” Jenna’s tone softened just a little. “They don’t just vanish without a trace. We will get her back.”

On the other end, Tara sniffled hard, trying to listen, but every now and then her voice cracked again, whispering, “Not Onyx… not Onyx…” like she was trying to convince herself it wasn’t real.

“Tara.” Jenna’s voice sharpened. “Stay with her. She needs you calm.”

“I—I’m trying…”

“Good.” Jenna’s focus returned to you. “MC. Where are you right now?”

“In… in Macey’s house,” you whispered, your throat raw. “It’s empty. Everything’s gone.”

“Stay there. Do not move. Lock the door if you can. We’ll be there in ten.”

The line went quiet except for Tara’s sobs and Jenna’s steady breathing.

You pressed the phone to your forehead, rocking back and forth, whispering to no one but yourself.

“Please… please keep her safe. Please keep my baby safe…”

You staggered back against the wall, the silence of the hollow house pressing down like a suffocating weight.

“It was… it was Macey,” you whispered, your chest tightening so hard it hurt. The word tasted poisonous on your tongue. “Macey. My friend. My best friend—”

Your voice rose into a ragged scream that tore at your throat. “SHE WAS MY FRIEND!”

Your phone nearly slipped from your hands as you fumbled it back up to your ear. Tara’s voice was still there, trembling, crying softly. “MC—”

“It was her!” you shouted, your voice breaking on every word. “She smiled at me this morning, Tara! She said Onyx was adorable, she told me to take the day off—”

You started pacing the barren living room, the sound of your footsteps hollow, frantic. “She knew how much I loved her—she knew! She said she’d keep her safe—”

Your knees gave out, and you dropped to the floor, clutching at your hair, gasping. “And I trusted her. I trusted her with the only thing that matters to me!”

“MC—MC, please, breathe—” Tara’s voice wavered, but she was trying so hard to steady herself for you. “I know, I know, but Jenna’s right—we’ll get her back, I swear—”

“NO!” You slammed your fist against the floorboards, the sound echoing through the empty room. “You don’t understand! It’s MACEY! She held my baby, she laughed with her, she kissed her little cheeks—she looked me in the eye and told me she loved Onyx like she was hers—”

Your voice broke into sobs so violent you could barely choke out the words. “Why—why would she do this to me? Why would she take my baby?”

On the other end of the line, Tara was crying harder now too, and you could hear her muffling her sobs with her sleeve. Jenna’s voice came through, calm and sharp:

“MC. Listen to me.”

You shook your head furiously, tears blurring your vision. “No—I can’t—I can’t do this—”

“Yes, you can,” Jenna snapped. “You will. Because Onyx needs you. Right now. Not tomorrow. Not later. Now. She needs you clear-headed, not broken.”

The silence after that cut deep. You were still trembling, still gasping, but her words dug into your chest.

“She was my friend…” you whispered again, softer this time, broken.

Tara’s voice came through, quiet, aching. “I know. I know, MC. That’s what makes it hurt so much.”

You curled into yourself on the floor, clutching the phone like it was the only lifeline left.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The room was dim, smelling of old smoke and damp concrete. A long table sat in the middle, covered in maps, papers, and weapons that glinted under a flickering lightbulb. At the head of it sat a man with sharp eyes, his presence alone heavy enough to make Macey’s knees buckle.

“Did you bring her?” His voice was gravel, steady, commanding.

“Yes.” Ryder’s tone carried pride, a dark satisfaction as he stepped forward. His grip on the carrier was firm, and the soft whimper of Onyx echoed faintly in the silence. “We brought his child.”

The man’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He leaned forward, peering at the baby with those cold, calculating eyes. “Good. Very good. That will bring him crawling.”

But then his gaze slid to Macey. She flinched, her whole body trembling as though the weight of his stare alone could crush her. “And this…?” He pointed at her, his voice edged with disdain.

“She was bait.” Ryder didn’t hesitate. He slid an arm around her waist, tugging her against him protectively, as if shielding her from the judgment in the man’s eyes. “My future wife.”

Macey swallowed hard, pressing into Ryder’s side, her hands clutched together in front of her as though in prayer. Her voice cracked when she whispered, “I-I did what you asked. I did it all. Please don’t hurt me.”

The man gave her one last look, his expression unreadable, before dismissively waving his hand. “Your usefulness is spent. For now. Do not test me.”

Macey clung tighter to Ryder, eyes darting to the carrier—Onyx was shifting, a little whimper growing louder. She forced a smile through her trembling, whispering down at the baby. “Shhh… Onyxie, it’s okay. Auntie’s here.”

But the man’s sharp gaze lingered on the baby again, and this time, his smile spread wider, darker. “No. She is not yours. She is his.”

Onyx shifted in the carrier, her tiny fists flexing, her crimson eyes blinking open against the dim, flickering light. The baby let out a soft coo—innocent, unbothered by the tension that made even Macey shiver and shrink back.

The man leaned forward, his breath slow, steady, his gaze never leaving the child. His eyes narrowed, sharp recognition flickering across his face as Onyx’s pale lashes fluttered.

“Platinum hair,” he muttered, his voice low, almost reverent. “And those eyes…”

The baby gurgled, looking right at him with that unguarded, curious expression only infants had. She reached up with one tiny hand, fingers curling in the air like she could grab hold of the man’s presence.

Macey tried to smile nervously, adjusting the carrier straps. “S-See? She’s adorable, right? Just like her mama—”

“Silence,” the man snapped, his tone cold enough to cut through her words like a blade.

His gaze darkened, a dangerous smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No. Not like her mother. This child…” He stepped closer, the light glinting against the cold steel of his rings. “This child is the image of Sylus. Crimson eyes… platinum hair… there is no mistake.”

Ryder stiffened, his arm tightening protectively around Macey as he glanced down at Onyx. The baby let out a delighted babble, giggling like she’d found something amusing in the tension around her. Her tiny voice rang out, pure, sweet—mocking the darkness in the room.

The man’s smirk widened. “So it’s true. The Leader of the Onychinus left behind a legacy. His blood runs through her veins.”

Onyx kicked her feet happily at the sound of voices, her little giggle bubbling louder, like she was laughing at some private joke only she understood.

The man exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he studied her. “She is his. And that… makes her more valuable than you can comprehend.”

Macey’s heart hammered against her ribs, and she dared to whisper, “B-But… she’s just a baby…”

The man’s eyes cut to her, sharp and cruel. “Exactly.”

The man drew closer, slipping a small silver dagger from within his coat. The blade gleamed in the dull light, catching against Onyx’s pale skin.

Macey’s eyes widened. “W-Wait! What are you doing?!”

Ryder’s grip on her arm tightened when she tried to lunge forward. “Stay back, Mace.”

“But she’s just a baby!” she screamed, her voice cracking, tears already burning at the corners of her eyes.

The man ignored her. He lifted Onyx gently, almost mockingly tender, and with a swift motion, pricked the pad of her tiny finger. A bead of crimson welled up immediately, glistening like a ruby against her pale skin.

Onyx let out a startled wail, her little body squirming against the carrier straps.

“No!” Macey sobbed, struggling harder, but Ryder shoved her back against the wall, pinning her with one arm. His expression was hard, merciless—like stone.

“Ryder, please! Don’t let him hurt her!”

Ryder’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t budge. He couldn’t.

The man held up the dagger, tilting it so that the single drop of Onyx’s blood slid down the steel. He watched as it shimmered unnaturally, glowing faintly under the dim light.

“…Perfect,” he breathed, his smirk widening. “His blood… his legacy. Even diluted, it holds power.”

Onyx cried harder, her tiny fists shaking, her voice breaking into soft hiccupping sobs.

Macey’s knees buckled, her desperation spilling into every word. “Please, give her back! She’s innocent—she doesn’t know anything!”

Ryder, face pale and jaw locked, ripped the carrier off her shoulders and handed Onyx—screaming now—into the man’s waiting arms.

Macey gasped, horrified, reaching out as though she could grab Onyx from the air. “No, Ryder!! How could you—she’s just a baby!!”

The man chuckled low, rocking the infant against him like she belonged there. “No, she’s not just a baby. She’s Sylus’s daughter. And with her… we’ll bring him to his knees.”

Onyx’s cries echoed through the hollow, empty house—small, helpless, but ringing with the weight of something much greater.

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．11→𝔏𝔲𝔨𝔢 & 𝔎𝔦𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔫'𝔰 ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔲𝔢 𝔐𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫!!!

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━─━────༺༻────━─━

The lounge was dim, lit only by the amber glow of a lamp that hung crooked over the twins’ card table. Luke leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs, while Kieran shuffled the deck lazily, the rhythmic shff-shff-shff filling the room. They’d been at this for hours now, making up new rules every twenty minutes, arguing over who was winning, but never actually keeping score.

“I told you, jack of spades beats anything under a nine,” Kieran said smugly, tossing his card onto the pile.

Luke narrowed his eyes. “That’s literally not even a rule.”

“Was two minutes ago.” Kieran grinned.

“You’re cheating.”

“I’m winning.”

Luke dropped his hand dramatically onto the table, sending cards fluttering. “You’re insufferable.”

“Better than being a sore loser,” Kieran countered, stacking his ill-gotten cards.

Just as Luke was about to fire back, Kieran’s phone buzzed against the wooden table. Both of them froze, then glanced down at the screen.

Unknown Number.

Luke tilted his head. “Ooooh. Mystery caller.”

Kieran smirked. “Bet it’s another one of those scammers. ‘Hello sir, your extended ship warranty is about to expire—’”

Luke barked a laugh. “Don’t forget the classic: ‘Send me ten gold coins and I’ll make you a king.’”

Grinning, Kieran swiped to answer and hit speaker. “Let’s have some fun.”

The line crackled. A deep, gravelly voice came through.
“We have something of your boss’s.”

The twins blinked, then looked at each other.

Luke mouthed, what the hell?

Kieran played along, leaning closer. “Do you, now? His favorite wine? His coat collection?”

There was a pause, then the voice lowered, serious.
“His… baby.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then—

Luke slapped the table so hard the lamp shook. “A BABY?!” His laughter burst out like a dam breaking. “Oh, that’s rich—our boss?!”

Kieran doubled over instantly, wheezing. “Oh my god—Boss—with a baby?! HA!” He covered his mouth, tears already streaming down his face. “That’s the funniest crap I’ve ever heard—oh my god, say it again, say it again!”

The voice growled. “You think this is a joke? The child is silver-haired, crimson-eyed—his carbon copy. If you ever want her back, you’ll—”

“OH, OH, STOP, PLEASE,” Luke howled, clutching his stomach. “Carbon copy—Kier, can you imagine?! Boss with some chubby little toddler strapped to his leg while he signs off smuggling papers?!”

Kieran slammed a fist onto the table, laughing so hard his chair nearly tipped. “Or—or feeding her soup with that stone-cold face, no expression—just dead serious like, ‘Eat, child.’”

The two collapsed into hysterics, choking on their own laughter.

The voice on the other end seethed, but Luke, still gasping, leaned toward the phone. “Listen, buddy. I don’t know what sick fantasy you’re playing at, but our boss doesn’t even like people. A kid? HA! Try again, idiot.”

And with that, Kieran hit end call, still laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes.

For a while, the room was filled with their laughter, bouncing off the walls, echoing until it hurt.

But then… it slowed.

Luke slumped back in his chair, panting, catching his breath. He rubbed his face, still smiling faintly. “…That was wild.”

“Yeah,” Kieran agreed, though his voice carried a different weight now. He glanced at the phone lying on the table, still lit with the last call’s log. “…Silver hair. Crimson eyes.”

Luke’s smile faltered. “Coincidence.”

“…Was it?” Kieran’s brows furrowed, his laughter gone now, replaced by something colder. “They sounded serious. Too serious.”

“Come on,” Luke scoffed, trying to shake it off. “Boss doesn’t do kids. He barely does us.”

But his own words rang hollow, even to him.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The lamp buzzed faintly, and the deck of cards sat forgotten between them.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Half an hour later, the twins had moved on from cards to sprawling across the couch, the TV flickering in front of them.

Some spy show played—overdramatic, explosions every five minutes, agents in trench coats whispering about conspiracies. Luke was glued to it, eyes wide, shoveling chips into his mouth. Kieran, on the other hand, rolled his eyes every other scene.

“Who writes this garbage?” Kieran muttered as another agent picked a lock in two seconds flat with a paperclip. “This is NOT how espionage works.”

Luke grinned, mouth full. “Shut up, it’s fun.”

Kieran reached for the remote. “Fun? He just hotwired a tank with chewing gum.”

Before Luke could smack his hand away, Kieran’s phone buzzed again on the coffee table.

Unknown Number.

Both brothers froze, eyes flicking to the screen.

“…No way,” Luke whispered.

Kieran groaned. “Persistent little scammer.”

Luke leaned forward. “Answer it.”

Kieran sighed, swiping. “What do you want now?”

At first, only static. Then—

LOUD BABY BABBLING.

High-pitched coos and squeals burst from the speaker. A soft wail followed, unmistakable, raw and real.

Luke shot up from the couch. His heart lurched. “…That—that sounded—”

A man’s voice cut through the noise, calm but sharp. “Believe us now? The child is in our care. Pale skin. Silver hair. Crimson eyes. Your boss’s blood. If you want her alive—”

Luke’s throat went dry. He could hear it, clear as day: a baby fussing, little hiccup-cries, even the sound of something rattling, like a toy being shaken to calm her. His chest tightened.

But Kieran’s jaw set, hard. He ripped the phone off speaker, pressing it to his ear. “Listen here, jackass. Nice sound effects. You download those off the internet?”

The man’s voice sharpened. “This is no joke. Tell your boss—”

CLICK.

Kieran cut the call, tossing the phone onto the couch like it burned.

Luke stared at him, stunned. “Kier—why’d you do that? Did you hear that?!”

“It was fake,” Kieran snapped, running a hand down his face. “Too fake. Some idiot trying to get under our skin.”

Luke’s chest still hammered. He paced in front of the TV, running through what he heard. “But the cries… the way it—hell, I could feel it. That wasn’t some soundboard. That was—”

“It was fake,” Kieran repeated, firmer this time. His voice shook just slightly, betraying a flicker of unease he couldn’t hide. “We’re not calling boss about this. You know what he’s like—he’ll spiral. He doesn’t need this crap.”

Luke turned to him, face pale, voice low. “…But what if it wasn’t fake?”

Kieran didn’t answer.

The spy show kept playing in the background—gunshots, car chases—but neither twin heard it anymore.

Two minutes later, the phone buzzed again on the couch.

Unknown Number.

Luke and Kieran exchanged a look. Luke’s face was pale, restless, while Kieran’s expression was already sour with irritation.

“Don’t answer,” Kieran muttered. “It’s bait.”

But before Luke could stop himself, he snatched up the phone. The second his thumb hovered, the call switched—

Video Call.

Luke froze. His chest tightened. His thumb pressed accept almost on instinct.

The screen flickered.

For a second, it was just static and blurred shapes. Then it cleared.

A man stood in the shadows, face half-hidden, but that wasn’t what grabbed Luke. No—what seized him, shook him to the bone, was the tiny figure in his arms.

A baby.

Not just any baby—her.

Her skin was pale, almost luminous against the dim backdrop. Her eyes flashed crimson when the man shifted her closer to the light, wide and curious, darting around like she was trying to make sense of the world. A tuft of platinum hair curled messily on her head, soft and unmistakable.

Luke’s breath caught in his throat. “…Oh my god.”

The baby squirmed, babbled—high, sweet, real. Not audio. Not fake. Her little fists waved, grabbing for the man’s shirt, and when she turned her head just so, Luke’s stomach dropped.

“She—she looks exactly like him,” Luke whispered, voice cracking. “Kier, look at her. The eyes—the hair—she’s—”

Kieran leaned over reluctantly, eyes narrowing at the screen. He forced out a scoff. “It’s AI. Or IA, whatever the hell they call it. Some deepfake crap. Kids these days can whip up a fake video in five minutes.”

Luke turned on him, incredulous. “Kier, are you serious? That—” He jabbed a finger at the screen. “—that’s not a filter! Look at her movements! She’s real! She’s—” His voice softened, almost reverent. “…She’s him. Boss. It’s his baby.”

The man on the other side chuckled darkly. “So you believe now. She’s precious, isn’t she? Just like her father.” He tilted the baby higher, and she squealed, reaching for the camera, her tiny fingers spreading wide like she wanted to touch.

Luke’s heart broke. He pressed closer to the phone, eyes wide, lips trembling.

“Boss has a child?” he whispered, almost in awe. “He—he never said—he never told us—”

Kieran yanked the phone out of Luke’s hands, his jaw clenched. “Cute trick,” he said into the mic, his tone sharp and mocking. “But we’re not idiots. You can play your little game with someone else.”

The man’s smirk didn’t falter. “Oh, you’ll believe. One way or another.”

The baby babbled again, giggled like she found it all funny.

And then—CLICK.

Kieran ended the call and tossed the phone back onto the couch. His hands were trembling, though he masked it by dragging them down his face.

Luke was still staring at the blank screen, chest heaving, eyes glassy. “…She looked too much like him, Kier. Too much. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it.”

Kieran shook his head violently. “It’s fake. It has to be. Because if it’s not—” He stopped, swallowing hard. His throat bobbed, his mask slipping for just a second.

Luke’s whisper filled the silence. “…If it’s not… then boss has a daughter.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Luke slammed the apartment door behind him, nearly tripping over his own feet as adrenaline coursed through him. His mind was spinning. The baby—the crimson eyes, the platinum hair—it had to be real. He couldn’t ignore it. He had to know the truth.

“Kier!” he shouted, fumbling for his jacket. “I’m going. I’m going there. I need to see for myself.”

Kieran’s eyes widened, panic snapping through him. “Luke—wait! Hold on! You can’t just—”

“I have to!” Luke interrupted, voice tense, almost breathless. “If it’s not Boss’ child… maybe it’s a relative. An innocent kid caught up in something they don’t deserve. I can’t just sit here!”

Kieran ran after him, grabbing his shoulder as Luke swung the front door open. “Luke, listen to me. You’re not thinking straight! It could be dangerous! You don’t even know who’s holding the kid!”

Luke shook him off, determination burning in his eyes. “I have to know, Kier. I can’t let some kid get hurt. I won’t. If Boss’ child—or anyone related—is in danger, I can’t just—”

Kieran sighed, frustration and fear mingling in his expression. “…You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

“I learned from the best,” Luke muttered under his breath, and without waiting another second, he sprinted down the street.

Kieran groaned, but sprinted after him anyway, hands outstretched as he tried to catch up. “Luke! Don’t do anything reckless! At least let me think this through!”

But Luke didn’t slow down. Every step pounded in his chest, each beat echoing his fear, his hope, his determination. He wasn’t just running toward an address—he was running toward answers, toward a truth he couldn’t ignore.

Kieran’s pace matched his brother’s, even as dread coiled tighter in his gut. “…God help us if we’re too late,” he muttered, eyes fixed on Luke’s back, willing him to be careful, but knowing his brother wouldn’t stop.

The streets blurred past. The city lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows over the pair as they barreled toward a truth that could change everything—Luke desperate to protect the innocent, Kieran desperate to protect Luke.

And somewhere, just ahead, the unknown waited.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Luke’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, the city lights blurring past him as he weaved through traffic. Kieran sat beside him, laptop balanced on his knees, eyes scanning multiple maps and tracking signals. The van was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from Luke, who was grinding his teeth in frustration.

“Almost there,” Kieran muttered, voice low but urgent. “I’ve triangulated the signal from the call. Whoever has the baby is moving slowly, but the last ping… it’s a warehouse district, industrial area. Probably a safehouse.”

Luke’s grip tightened. “…Warehouse. That’s it? Nothing more specific?”

Kieran’s fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up street views and blueprints from municipal records. “It’s not public, obviously. But there’s a set of coordinates—just a mile ahead. Looks like a small complex, old shipping containers, one office building. Minimal security visible from the street, but there’s likely cameras.”

Luke nodded, swallowing hard. “Alright… we go in quick, fast, and clean. I’m not losing her. Not if she’s innocent.”

Kieran shot him a sharp look. “Careful with that attitude, Luke. You’re not just risking yourself—you’re risking a kid’s life. And you’re Luke—not Boss. We can’t do anything stupid.”

Luke exhaled, tension radiating off him. “I know, I know… but I can’t just sit here!”

The cityscape fell behind them, replaced by rows of rusted warehouses and empty streets. Kieran’s laptop glowed on his lap, the digital map tracking the tiny ping—the baby’s location—every few seconds.

“Three blocks away,” Kieran said, eyes narrowing. “Keep it slow. We don’t want them to see us coming.”

Luke slowed the van, creeping along the cracked asphalt. Shadows of shipping containers loomed, long and menacing. A flicker of movement near one of the corners caught his eye. “…Is that them?”

Kieran leaned forward, squinting at the laptop. “Could be scouts. Or security cameras’ reflection. Either way, stay hidden. I’ve got eyes on the building’s access points—one main entrance, a side door, and a loading dock. If we enter from the side, minimal exposure.”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “…Side door. Got it.”

The van crept closer. Luke’s heart thudded like a drum in his chest. He stole a glance at Kieran, who was intensely focused on the coordinates, cross-referencing with satellite images and recent street cams. The twins had always been inseparable in moments like this—one moving, one calculating, both perfect in sync.

“…We’re close,” Kieran whispered. “Signal’s moving slightly… they’re shifting her inside. It’s not static.”

Luke swallowed, fingers tightening around the wheel. “…I hope we’ll get a baby sister…”

Kieran’s voice was calm but tense. “Remember, Luke. Eyes open, head clear. We can get her without alerting them—if we move smart.”

Luke exhaled, nodded, and glanced out at the looming building. “…Alright. Let’s get her.”

Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．12→𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢.

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━─━────༺༻────━─━

The van came to a stop a few blocks from the warehouse. Luke killed the engine, the hum of the city fading into eerie silence. The shadows of shipping containers stretched long under the dim streetlights.

Luke turned to Kieran, voice low but resolute. “Honestly… I don’t even care who this kid is. We’re getting in there, saving a baby, and then leaving. Simple as that. These assholes can’t keep anyone hostage, not a kid.”

Kieran’s lips pressed into a tight line, hands tightening on the laptop. “…Let’s just be careful. We don’t know how many are inside. It could be traps, cameras, guns…”

Luke grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Exactly why we do this fast. In and out. We’re ghosts tonight.”

The side door Kieran had scoped out loomed ahead. Luke motioned for him to follow, and they crept up, ducking behind crates and barrels. The faint hum of fluorescent lights leaked through a cracked panel, and muffled voices drifted from inside.

Luke pressed a finger to his lips. “Hear that? People.”

Kieran nodded. “…Probably the ones who took the kid. Or guards.”

Luke shot him a look. “…Then let’s get to the baby before they notice us.”

They slipped through the side door. The interior smelled of metal and dust, dim light casting jagged shadows across stacks of crates. A low murmur of voices echoed from a small office at the far end, and in the center of it all… a crib.

Luke froze. His breath caught in his throat.

The baby stirred, tiny hands flailing, eyes crimson red catching the dim light. Platinum hair curled softly over her forehead. Luke’s stomach dropped, a tight ball of awe and fear constricting him. “…No way…”

Kieran stepped closer, scanning the room. “…It’s just a baby, Luke. Look at her—cute, sure, but we don’t know if this has anything to do with Boss.”

Luke’s jaw clenched, barely holding back a whisper. “…Look at her. The hair. The eyes. She is him. She’s Boss’ daughter.”

Kieran scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. It’s… too coincidental. I’m not jumping to conclusions.”

Luke bent closer to the crib, eyes wide, heart hammering. “We’re not leaving her here. Doesn’t matter if she’s Boss’ kid or not—someone innocent is being held.”

Kieran finally sighed, muttering, “…Fine. Let’s just get the kid, guns if we need, and leave before they notice us.”

Luke grinned. “…Exactly.”

They moved fast. Luke swept the baby into his arms, cradling her gently, her tiny fingers curling around his thumb. Kieran grabbed a few pistols and magazines off a nearby rack—someone had left them carelessly—and then they bolted toward the side exit.

But the alarms didn’t wait. A loud BLARING SIREN cut through the air.

“Shit!” Luke cursed, sprinting with the baby in his arms.

Kieran followed, firing off a few warning shots toward the warehouse doors to keep attention away from them. Footsteps pounded behind them—shouts in a harsh, guttural language that made their blood run cold.

“Move!” Luke shouted, vaulting over crates, weaving through shadows.

The baby giggled softly, seemingly amused by the chaos around her. Luke’s breath hitched. “…You’re fearless, huh, little one?”

Kieran cursed under his breath, taking point, blasting a crate near the warehouse exit to create a diversion. Sparks flew, wood splintered, and a blinding flash bought them precious seconds.

They reached the van. Luke slammed the passenger side door open, still cradling Onyx. Kieran hopped in the driver’s seat, tires squealing as they peeled out of the industrial lot. Shots rang behind them, bullets pinging off metal, but the van surged forward.

Luke’s hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the weight of the baby and the realization hitting him over and over: This child looked exactly like Sylus. Platinum hair, ruby eyes, the smallest, sharpest features mirroring their boss.

Kieran glanced over, sweat on his brow. “…Alright… we’ll see if it’s true. DNA. ASAP. If she’s Sylus’… then we’re…gonna have to explain... But for now, she’s safe.”

Luke whispered, cradling Onyx close. “…It doesn’t matter. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.”

The van skidded around a corner, leaving the warehouse and chaos behind. Onyx babbled happily, reaching up for Luke’s face, her tiny hands tugging at his shirt.

Luke laughed breathlessly. “…Yeah, yeah. I know, kid. We’re gonna figure it out. Just stay with me, alright?”

Kieran shook his head, half in disbelief, half in awe. “I still can’t believe… she really does look like him.”

Luke smirked. “…And I believe it. Boss has a daughter.”

Onyx squealed, clapping her tiny hands, babbling a string of incomprehensible yet incredibly cute sounds, as if approving of the escape.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Inside the secure lab at the base, the hum of machines and the faint flicker of fluorescent lights filled the room. Luke set the baby girl gently in a padded infant seat, watching her stir and blink up at him with curious crimson eyes. Every tiny movement, every delicate blink made his chest tighten—he could feel it in his bones, this baby wasn’t just any child.

Kieran was already at the table, carefully unwrapping a small, blood-stained cloth Luke had retrieved from Sylus’ personal belongings—a relic Luke had risked a lot to acquire. “…This is really happening,” Kieran muttered, eyes scanning the lab. “We’re actually about to confirm it.”

Luke nodded, leaning over the infant seat. “…Keep her calm, alright? No sudden noises.” He cooed softly, reaching a finger toward her tiny hands. The baby girl instinctively wrapped her fingers around his, and Luke felt his heart squeeze. “…Yeah, yeah. You’re safe here, I promise.”

Kieran placed a sterile swab near her tiny mouth. “Okay… spit sample. She’s a trooper, huh?”

Luke smiled faintly. “…She doesn’t know the chaos she’s about to unleash. Or who she’s connected to. Just a baby… pure, innocent.”

The baby girl let out a tiny coo, and Kieran carefully swabbed her inner cheek, depositing the sample into a small vial. Luke cleaned the surface of Sylus’ blood cloth and guided it into the DNA analyzer.

“…Ready?” Kieran asked, voice tense.

Luke took a deep breath. “…As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They activated the machine. Lights blinked, numbers and sequences streamed across the screen, the whirring of the centrifuge punctuating every heartbeat. Luke and Kieran leaned in, eyes locked on the monitor, the baby girl staring up at them as if she understood the gravity of the moment.

Minutes stretched, each second heavier than the last. Luke’s fists clenched, then relaxed, then clenched again. “…Come on… come on…” he whispered, almost pleading.

Finally, the machine beeped—a confirmation window flashing across the screen. Kieran’s eyes went wide. “…No… it can’t be…”

Luke’s breath caught, heart hammering. He leaned closer, scanning the results. The sequences matched. Every single marker. “…It’s her. It’s him. She’s… Boss’ daughter.”

Kieran shook his head, staring at the screen in disbelief. “…I don’t believe it. How… how is this possible? Look at her! She’s… she’s so tiny. Too young… too perfect…”

Luke gently lifted the baby girl from the seat, cradling her close. “…Look at her eyes. The hair. The features. I knew it before the test… but now it’s confirmed.” He paused, voice low, reverent. “…She’s his. She’s Boss’ daughter. And we… we have her.”

The baby girl yawned, tiny hands stretching, a soft babble escaping her lips as if approving of the confirmation. Luke’s chest tightened further, a mix of awe, fear, and protectiveness washing over him. “…Yeah… that’s right. You’re safe, little one. We’ll make sure of that.”

Kieran leaned against the table, running a hand through his hair. “…So… now what? If the Boss finds out…”

Luke’s gaze softened, but his tone was firm. “…Then we prepare. But for now… for right now… she’s our priority. Nothing else matters.”

The baby girl cooed again, reaching a tiny hand up to Luke’s cheek. He smiled, a mix of wonder and resolve in his eyes. “…Yeah, little one. You’re ours to protect. I swear it.” 

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The doors slammed against the wall with a metallic clang, the sound echoing through the base like a thunderclap. Sylus stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, his crimson eyes burning with an edge of rage that made the air feel heavy.

His voice was low, sharp as a blade.
“I’ve called you both multiple times today, yet I couldn’t find you.”

Kieran nearly jumped out of his chair. Luke froze mid-breath, exchanging a frantic glance with his twin. With one swift movement, they shoved the baby carrier behind them, blocking her from sight.

“What? Sorry, Sir,” Kieran stammered, forcing a crooked smile. “We… uh… we were just—”

“Playing cards!” Luke blurted, his voice cracking. “Yeah, boss, we were just—cards, you know. Wanna join?” He grinned nervously, sweat already forming at his temples.

Sylus narrowed his eyes, his expression carved from stone. He took a step forward.
“What are you both doing?”

The silence was suffocating. Then—

Buuurp.

The unmistakable sound of a baby’s burp echoed from behind them.

Sylus stopped cold. His gaze sharpened, like a predator catching a scent.
“…Move.”

Kieran’s grin faltered. “Ahh… Boss, there’s… nothing here.”

“Step aside,” Sylus ordered, voice low, dangerous. “Are you hiding a dead carcass?”

“N-No!” Luke squeaked, his eyes darting toward the hidden bundle.

Sylus’ patience snapped, his tone like a whip. “Then step aside. You dare disobey me?” His hand raked through his platinum hair, crimson eyes narrowing to slits.

The brothers exchanged one last panicked glance—then stepped aside.

And there she was.

A tiny baby girl sat in her carrier, drool glistening on her chin as she gnawed on her own fingers. Her wide ruby-red eyes blinked up at Sylus, her silvery hair glinting under the fluorescent light. She giggled, squealed, and smacked her little fists against the blanket.

Sylus froze.

For one long, heavy moment, he simply stared. His breath caught in his throat.

The baby’s gaze found his, and her lips curled into a gummy smile. Then—suddenly, as if recognizing him—she whimpered and let out a faint cry.

Sylus took a slow step closer. “…Where did you get this baby from?”

Neither Luke nor Kieran answered immediately. They shifted, guilty, as Sylus crouched near the infant, his shadow falling over her small form. His jaw tightened. He could not ignore it—the eyes, the hair, the resemblance. It was uncanny.

Luke opened his mouth, but Sylus cut him off.
“Don’t lie to me. This child—” His voice dropped, trembling with something uncharacteristic. “—looks like me.”

The silence was deafening.

Finally, Kieran swallowed hard. “…Boss, listen. We—we got a call. Someone said they had your baby, and we thought it was a scam, we laughed it off. But then they sent a video, and she—she looks exactly like you, and—”

“You went,” Sylus growled, his voice rising, “to strangers who dared mock me with this nonsense—and brought this back here?!”

Luke stepped forward defensively, clutching the baby seat instinctively. “Boss, wait! She’s not nonsense! She’s real. Look at her!”

“I am looking!” Sylus snapped, his crimson eyes flashing like fire. His voice cracked with frustration. “Do you think me so blind that I don’t see the resemblance? That I don’t feel it gnawing at me?!” He turned away, pacing like a caged animal, one hand pressed to his forehead. “…This is madness.”

Kieran spoke quickly, trying to calm him. “We—we tested her DNA, Boss. Just to be sure.”

Sylus’ head snapped toward him, his expression darkening. “You what?”

The room chilled instantly.

Luke tried to explain, his words tumbling out in a rush. “We had your blood from the cloth, and—we only needed a spit sample, nothing that hurt her! And it matched, Boss. Every marker. She’s your daughter.”

The fury in Sylus’ eyes could have leveled the entire base. He strode toward them, each step sharp, deliberate, deadly.

“You dared—” His voice dropped to a growl, trembling with rage. “—to take my blood. To meddle in things you cannot comprehend. To test this child without my consent. Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

Luke flinched, holding the baby closer to his chest. But the little girl let out a happy squeal, smacking her hand against Luke’s arm, as if oblivious to the storm around her.

Sylus stopped dead. His eyes flicked to her. That tiny smile. Those ruby eyes.

His hands curled into fists.

“…Who is her mother?” His voice was softer now, but there was venom under every word. “Tell me.”

Kieran and Luke exchanged a look, uncertain.

Luke whispered, “…We don’t know, Boss.”

Sylus froze, his mind instantly conjuring her face—the sharp eyes, the way she’d laughed despite the venom in her veins, the way she had whispered against his lips—

Kitten.

His chest clenched.

He spun away, unable to look at them, at her, at any of it. His fists shook at his sides, and when he spoke again, it was a roar that made the walls tremble.

“Get out. Both of you.”

“Boss—” Luke began, desperate.

“OUT!”

The baby startled at his voice, her lips trembling before she began to wail.

Sylus closed his eyes tightly, the sound slicing through him like a blade.

Luke, pale and stricken, reluctantly carried her toward the door, whispering to soothe her cries. Kieran followed, his expression torn between guilt and worry.

The doors closed behind them, leaving Sylus alone.

He pressed both hands to his face, dragging them down until his crimson eyes were visible again—haunted, furious, and burning with questions.

“…Daughter…” he muttered, voice low, shaken.

The baby’s cries echoed faintly down the hall, clawing at him even through the walls.

And for the first time in years—Sylus felt something he couldn’t name.

The room was still, only the faint hum of the fluorescent lights filling the silence. Sylus’ chest rose and fell heavily, his rage still simmering—but beneath it, something else had begun to take root. Something he didn’t want to name.

The echo of her cry haunted him until, finally, he couldn’t bear it. He turned, his crimson eyes locking onto the small figure in the carrier.

She had quieted now, her tiny chest rising and falling in soft hiccups, her ruby gaze blinking up at him as if waiting.

His boots clicked against the floor as he crossed the room slowly, cautiously, like a man approaching a dangerous cliff edge.

And then—he bent down.

With surprising gentleness, he slid one arm beneath her head, the other under her back, and lifted her out of the carrier. She was feather-light in his arms, her warmth spreading against him immediately.

Sylus froze, staring down at her.

Her little hands curled and uncurled, one of them brushing against his chest like she belonged there.

“…You’re real,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice low and rough.

He studied her face closely.

The silvery hair—his.
The ruby eyes—his.

But then, his gaze dropped lower. Her nose. Small, delicate, slightly upturned.
“…She has your nose,” he whispered under his breath, and a small, incredulous laugh slipped from him.

He traced her tiny features with his eyes, every detail pulling memories he’d tried to bury. Her lips, shaped with a faint downturn when she pouted—just like her. The soft curve of her chin.

And then he noticed it. A tiny mole, right beneath her left eye.

Sylus’ breath hitched.
“…She even has your mole.”

His laugh this time was strained, almost bitter. “Of course she does.”

The baby cooed suddenly, as if responding, and reached up with one flailing fist. She smacked his jaw clumsily, her tiny fingers curling in the air.

Sylus blinked, his lips parting as the corner of his mouth twitched into something unfamiliar—something dangerously close to a smile.

“You’re bold,” he murmured. “Just like her.”

Then, as he shifted her slightly, his eyes caught something near her shoulder.

A small hospital tag, still attached to the blanket. He narrowed his eyes and carefully tilted her to read it.

ONYX.

The letters were printed in neat black ink. His brows furrowed. Onyx. A strange, powerful name.

Beneath it, the faint signature of a surname. He stared, lips parting as he mouthed it silently. It wasn’t his. It was hers.

His heart clenched painfully.

He looked further—her tiny sock had embroidery stitched across it. A gift, no doubt, from her mother. “Onyx,” it read again, stitched in soft pink thread with a little heart.

Sylus exhaled sharply, the sound caught between a laugh and a growl. His crimson eyes burned as he stared down at her, every part of him torn.

“…Onyx,” he repeated quietly, testing the name on his tongue. It tasted foreign and familiar all at once.

The baby cooed again, her ruby eyes never leaving his face, and Sylus felt the ground shift beneath him.

Because for the first time in his life—he saw himself reflected in someone so small.

And worse… he saw her.

Sylus’ arms stiffened around the little girl, though he didn’t put her down.

Onyx yawned, a soft squeaky sound, and pressed her tiny fist against her mouth. The sound alone cracked something in his chest wide open.

His jaw tightened.

She had her alone.

The thought sliced through him like a blade.

He couldn’t stop the memories from flooding back. That night in the bar nearly a year ago—her laughter, low and warm, the spark in her eyes that made him forget himself. The way she’d stood up to him without fear, as if he weren’t Sylus, the man who commanded shadows and spilled blood like wine.

And then… the heat, the closeness, the way she’d let him near when no one else dared.

He hadn’t thought of her in months—refused to. He buried her memory under work, under violence, under drink.

But now, holding Onyx, there was no denying it.

That woman. She had carried his child. She had delivered her into the world alone, without him.

His crimson eyes darkened, the muscles in his jaw ticking.

“Reckless woman,” he muttered under his breath.

The baby stirred, as if his tone unsettled her, and Sylus instinctively adjusted his hold, rocking her slightly without realizing. His hands moved with a gentleness his men would never believe possible.

“You really thought you could do this without me?” he hissed, though the words weren’t for the baby—they were for her. “You thought you could vanish, disappear, keep her a secret? From me?”

Onyx blinked up at him, wide ruby eyes unafraid, a bubble of spit forming at her lips before popping with a soft noise.

Sylus stared. His breath caught, his fury twisting into something heavier, deeper.

He imagined her—sleepless nights, her arms full of this tiny, squirming thing. The sound of crying in the dark. No one to help her. No one to shield her.

No one but herself.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

The idea of her struggling, alone, made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

But just as quickly, anger rose again. Hot, sharp.

She hadn’t told him.
She hadn’t come to him.
She hadn’t trusted him.

“You selfish woman,” he whispered harshly. His silver hair fell forward as he leaned closer to the baby. “Did you think I wouldn’t care? That I wouldn’t want her?”

His voice cracked at the edges of his rage, though he quickly shut his mouth, glaring at the far wall as if it had personally betrayed him.

Onyx reached up suddenly, her tiny fingers catching a strand of his hair. She tugged clumsily, letting out a delighted squeal.

Sylus froze. He looked down slowly, crimson eyes locking onto hers. The baby kicked her feet in her socks, her embroidered name flashing again.

Onyx.

Sylus’ lips parted, and for the first time, he felt himself unraveling. His hold tightened—not harshly, but possessively, as if he were silently vowing that no one would ever take her away.

But beneath it all, that thought burned like a curse:

She had you alone.

And Sylus knew, with growing certainty, that when he found her—when he found the woman who had dared to hide this from him—he wouldn’t know whether to kiss her, hold her… or destroy her.