Eva’s office smelled like burnt coffee and old files. Her desk was buried under briefs, witness statements, and stacks of paperwork that no one but her would touch for free.

The client across from her, Mrs. Alvarez, was sweet and stubborn — a seventy-year-old grandmother fighting a landlord who thought he could steal her apartment out from under her. Cases like this didn’t make money, but they gave Eva something better: purpose.

Across the room, Sophia cooed on a playmat spread near the bookshelves. Jeremy, Eva’s paralegal, crouched beside her, flipping through a board book with one hand and showing her car pictures on his phone with the other.

“Look, kiddo,” Jeremy said softly. “BMW. Ferrari. Vroom-vroom.”

At first, Sophia giggled, reaching for the screen with eager little fingers. Then Jeremy swiped again, landing on a picture of a red sedan crumpled on the side of a highway.

The scream that tore out of her throat wasn’t baby-soft. It was raw. Piercing. The kind of sound that ripped straight through bone.

Eva was out of her chair in an instant. She snatched Sophia up, clutching her tight against her chest. “Shh, moya malyshka, it’s okay,” she whispered, rocking her. But Sophia kept wailing, face red, fists flailing, until Eva’s own pulse thundered in her ears.

“Christ,” Jeremy muttered, dropping his phone. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not your fault,” Eva cut in sharply, though her arms tightened around the baby like she could absorb the scream into her own skin. “She’s okay.”

Across the desk, Mrs. Alvarez frowned, her gnarled hands curling around her purse straps. “She’s not just crying,” the older woman said quietly. “That’s fear. My granddaughter used to cry like that after her parents died. Car accident. She was just a toddler, but she knew. They know, even when they can’t say it.”

Eva froze, every muscle in her body stiff.

Mrs. Alvarez’s voice softened. “Your little one… maybe she’s seen something. Maybe she remembers in her bones. That sound… that’s not six months old.”

Eva opened her mouth, the question trembling on her tongue — what else did your granddaughter remember? — but she never asked.

The office door creaked open. Lyra, her assistant, leaned in, face pale.

“Eva… someone from CPS is here.”

“CPS?” Eva repeated, her voice flat as a gun barrel.

Lyra nodded, uneasy. “They’re waiting in reception.”

Mrs. Alvarez touched her hand. “Don’t let them scare you, mija. That baby’s yours as much as blood.”

Eva’s jaw clenched. “She’s more than that.”

She handed Sophia gently to Jeremy, though her grip lingered an extra beat, like her body didn’t trust anyone — even him. Then she squared her blazer, reset her mask, and walked out into the waiting room.

The woman sitting there was all business: pressed gray suit, clipboard balanced on her knees, a polite but clinical smile. Her badge read CPS Investigator – Martha Greene.

“Ms. Ivanova?” she asked, rising.

“Yes.” Eva’s tone was clipped.

“I’m here regarding the welfare of the child in your care — Sophia Ricci.”

Eva’s eyes narrowed. “On whose request?”

Martha adjusted her glasses. “We’ve received concerns. Several, in fact. About instability in the home environment. Exposure to dangerous associates.” She flipped a page. “The name ‘Marcella Bianchi’ was mentioned.”

Eva’s blood went ice cold. Of course. Grayson’s shadow was already here.

Sophia whimpered faintly from Jeremy’s arms down the hall, and Eva’s spine stiffened like steel.

“You’re wasting your time,” Eva said coolly. “Sophia is safe. Safer than she’s ever been.”

“That may be,” Martha replied, voice gentle but firm, “but I still need to conduct a home review. Today.”

Eva’s laugh was short, humorless. “You want to step into my home? Question me? Maybe ask a six-month-old to testify?”

Martha’s smile didn’t waver. “We just want to make sure the child’s needs are being met. Trauma at that age can be… formative.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Eva’s mask slipped just for a second — enough for the investigator to notice.

Eva leaned in, lowering her voice to something that hummed with quiet threat. “You can walk through every room I own and you won’t find one thing wrong. But if you’re here because someone whispered in your ear? Because certain politicians want leverage?”

Martha blinked, taken aback.

Eva’s eyes were glacial. “Then you’re not protecting children. You’re running errands.”

The silence that followed was sharp, suffocating.

The investigator’s clipboard clicked as Martha adjusted her pen.

“I’ll still need to see the child.”

Eva’s stomach turned, fury pressing against her ribs. Her fists itched to break something. Then, before she could speak, the door swung open.

Alessandro filled the frame, suit immaculate, watch catching the light too calmly.

“Then you’ll see her,” he said smoothly, stepping inside as if the entire room belonged to him. “But you’ll also see me. I’m her guardian of record.”

He paused, then let his gaze flick deliberately toward Eva, his voice softening just enough to hit her ribs like a knife.

“And together, we are the guardians her late parents chose. Their will, their trust, their bloodline—everything rests here. With us.”

Sophia whimpered once in Jeremy’s arms before Alessandro reached out. The baby’s face broke into a smile, arms stretching toward him as though she’d been waiting all morning.

What a brat, Eva thought, forcing her mouth into a line so the smile tugging at it wouldn’t show.

Then she saw it.

The watch. Slim, steel-banded, circling his wrist, the lasit had always belonged there. Her watch. The one she had given him back when she still believed in him, in them. He had never worn it. Not once. And now—now he wore it here, in front of her, in front of everyone, while holding Sophia like he was born to it.

She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe he still had it, let alone that he’d strap it on for this. The air punched out of her chest in silence, but Alessandro never looked at her. He was busy playing the part, voice smooth, steady, unshakable as he spoke to the investigator.

Eva’s gaze flicked past him. Martha was watching Sophia with a look Eva knew too well: pity. Not for a fussy baby, but for something heavier. Something broken.

Eva’s stomach knotted.

She didn’t trust therapists, never had. She didn’t believe in strangers fixing wounds carved in bone. But one truth slammed through her chest like a hammer: Sophia wasn’t just crying. She was reacting. Remembering. Carrying echoes of something she should never have to bear.

Just like Eva had.

And the thought of Sophia ending up like her—hard, haunted, blood-soaked—made Eva’s grip on her composure splinter. For the first time, she wondered if love and guardianship weren’t enough. If this child needed something that neither Alessandro’s power nor Eva’s steel could give.

________________________________________

The meeting ended with clipped smiles and a promise that “CPS would be in touch.” When the door finally shut behind Martha Greene, the office exhaled in silence.

Sophia, oblivious to adult wars, had wriggled free of her blanket and was back on the playmat, smacking a stuffed giraffe against her leg like it owed her money.

Alessandro crouched, brushing her dark hair off her forehead, his voice lowering in that tone Eva hated for how natural it sounded. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

Eva folded her arms. “She has to be.”

His gaze flicked up, catching hers. For a heartbeat, something softened — then he straightened, smoothing his tie back into place. “We should all eat. Lunch, maybe. The three of us.”

Eva’s brows arched. “Lunch? You think you can stroll in here, play the hero, and then take me out like this is a date?”

Alessandro didn’t flinch. “It doesn’t have to be a date. Just food. For her. For us.”

Her answer was immediate, sharp. “No.”

As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly.

Sophia squealed with laughter, dropping her giraffe to clap her hands at the sound.

Eva couldn’t help it. Her lips twitched. “Classy. You show up, hijack my office, and beg for lunch like a starving college kid.”

Alessandro’s smirk was slow, dangerous, but tinged with something lighter than she’d seen in months. “Even kings eat, Eva. And queens.”

Her heart betrayed her with a flutter she immediately strangled. She shook her head, turning back to her files before he could see it.

“Go buy yourself a sandwich, Alessandro. You’ll survive.”

But from the way he lingered, watching Sophia kick her little legs on the playmat, Eva knew he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon.