The morning after her decision, Reina moved through the world as though her skin no longer fit. Every sound seemed too sharp, every shadow too heavy. The city outside gleamed in cruel sunlight, the storm gone, leaving the streets slick with gold reflections. Yet inside her chest, the storm only thickened, thunder rolling behind her ribs.

She had made her choice. She would play Lucien’s game. For Ezra. Always for Ezra.

But the cost of that choice pressed against her lungs like iron. She had seen the truth in Damian’s eyes the day before,the haunted longing, the grief that had never loosened its grip. He had confessed to losing his wife, to searching in vain for years. He had begged her to tell him he was wrong.

And she had given him silence.

Her silence was both shield and dagger, protecting her son even as it sliced open the fragile connection forming between them.

Now, as she buttoned Ezra’s tiny jacket, her fingers trembled. He was humming again, his little voice untroubled, the tune rising and falling without care. He never noticed the storm in her chest. Children were merciful that way, resilient. He still believed the world was mostly good.

She would kill to keep it that way.

By the time they arrived at Damian’s building, she felt as though she were stepping into enemy territory with every footfall. The marble lobby gleamed, the endless glass catching the sunlight like spears. Security greeted them again, their eyes darting briefly to Ezra,polite, professional, but unmistakably curious. Word was spreading. Even silence had a way of speaking.

Damian was waiting.

This time he stood in the middle of the lobby, as though he’d been pacing there for too long, his phone untouched in his hand. The moment his gaze found them, he moved forward, purposeful, steady.

“Reina,” he said, her name laced with that same rough edge that unsettled her.

“Mr. Stone.” Her voice was clipped, professional, a shield of formality.

But Ezra broke the tension, chirping happily. “Hi again! Did you know your building is sooo tall? It touches the sky!”

Damian’s lips softened. He crouched slightly, his eyes warming as they met Ezra’s. “Is that so? Then maybe one day we’ll climb to the very top, and you can see how small the city looks from above.”

Ezra’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” Damian said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “But only if your mother approves.”

Reina’s throat constricted. She forced a polite smile, resting a hand on her son’s shoulder. “We’ll see. Let’s not keep Mr. Stone from his work.”

But Damian’s eyes lingered, not on Ezra, not even on her, but on the unspoken distance she was trying so desperately to maintain.

His office was quiet as always, a sanctum of glass, steel, and shadows. Ezra darted immediately to the bookshelf again, already familiar with the landscape. Reina followed more slowly, her eyes skimming the skyline spread beneath the towering windows.

“Coffee?” Damian offered.

“No, thank you.”

The words were curt, but her pulse betrayed her, thrumming too fast when he stepped close enough that she could smell his cologne, sharp and clean with an undercurrent of cedar.

He studied her face, searching again. Always searching. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s hardly your concern.”

His gaze flicked to Ezra, who had pulled a stack of building blocks from his backpack, scattering them neatly on the rug by the coffee table. “It is,” Damian said, voice low. “Because whatever is haunting you is starting to touch him, too.”

Her breath stuttered. She turned sharply. “Don’t presume you know anything about us.”

But Damian didn’t flinch. He stepped closer, the distance between them narrowing dangerously. “Then tell me. Tell me why every time I look at you, it feels like I’m seeing a ghost. Tell me why I’m drowning in the same eyes, the same voice, the same fire.”

“Stop.” The word broke out, jagged.

He didn’t. He leaned in, his voice rough. “You can deny me all you want, Reina. But you can’t deny yourself. I see it when you look at me—you feel it too.”

Her hands trembled. Her throat closed. She opened her mouth—but Ezra’s voice rang out, clear and innocent.

“Mommy, look!”

He had crawled to the corner of the office where a low cabinet stood, half-hidden beside the bookshelf. One of its doors hung slightly ajar. In his little hands, he held a rectangular tin box, old and scuffed, the kind that begged to be opened.

Reina’s chest seized. “Ezra”

Too late. His tiny fingers pried it open.

And the world shifted.

---

Photographs spilled across the rug like broken glass, glossy fragments catching the sunlight. Ezra gasped softly, picking one up with his small hands.

It was torn clean down the middle.

One half showed a woman in a wedding dress, her smile radiant, her eyes luminous. The edges of the photo were frayed, as though someone had touched it too many times, worn it thin.

The other half lay just beyond Ezra’s reach, face-down on the rug. Damian froze, his body rigid as stone. His eyes locked on the photograph with a hunger so raw it nearly tore Reina in two.

Ezra lifted the torn half toward his mother. “Mommy, look! This lady looks like you!”

The room went silent.

Reina’s breath caught violently, her body trembling. Damian’s gaze whipped to her, fire and disbelief and something dangerously close to hope colliding in his stare.

Ezra scrambled, flipping the second half of the photo upright. He giggled. “And this man,he looks like Mr. Stone!”

The two halves belonged together. The photograph had once been whole, capturing a bride and groom locked in forever. Torn apart, yet still speaking.

Reina’s knees nearly gave out. Her vision blurred. She snatched the photo from Ezra’s hands, her voice sharp. “That’s enough.”

Ezra blinked up at her, startled. “But, Mommy”

“Put the rest back,” she snapped, harsher than she meant to. The boy’s lip trembled, his eyes wide.

Guilt stabbed her, but before she could soften, Damian’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Where did you get that?”

She froze. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.

Damian stood there, his eyes blazing, his chest rising and falling too hard. His voice was hoarse, shaking with something deeper than anger. “Why do you have that photograph?”

Reina’s fingers clenched around the torn image, the paper crumpling under her grip. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She tried to speak, but the words tangled, strangled.

Damian stepped forward, his voice raw. “That’s my wife. That’s” His throat closed, his breath shuddering. “That’s Sabrina.”

The name crashed into her like a tidal wave.

Reina’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. Ezra looked between them, confusion etched on his small face.

Damian’s eyes locked onto hers, fierce and unyielding. “Tell me the truth, Reina. Tell me why you have her face. Tell me why my son” He broke off, his gaze flicking to Ezra, something fierce dawning in his stare. “…has my eyes.”

The world stopped.