Felicity's POV.
Something about seeing my dad that way, fragile but still fighting, tugged at the little girl in me who had missed him at every childhood recital, who used to scan every auditorium seat hoping he would show up. Now I was sitting beside his hospital bed, and our conversation slowly shifted from buried grief to warm laughter. The sharp edges of pain softened into something gentler. Not healed. But warmer. Slowly, I was warming up to him like cocoa by a winter fire.
"There's more," he said quietly.
My stomach tightened. "I think that's enough for today. I can't take any more pressure."
He exhaled slowly. "I didn't just leave because of politics." His jaw tightened, pride and shame clear on his face. "I signed documents."
My pulse quickened. "What documents?"
His fingers trembled as he reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a dark brown leather folder, worn at the edges. An old crest was embossed on the front, a stag beneath a crown.
"I never removed you from the line of succession," he said softly.
My breath caught. "What?"
"My father wanted it done quietly. He wanted you erased from the record." His eyes hardened slightly. "I refused."
The monitor beside him beeped steadily, then louder for a moment before returning to its steady tone. Or maybe it was all just in my head. Maybe it was just my heart pounding too loudly in my ears. Either way, I was dumbstruck.
"I stepped down publicly," he continued. "But legally…" His gaze locked onto mine. "You are still my heir."
The word echoed in my head. Heir.
"I don't want a title," I whispered.
"I know." His voice softened. "But whether you want it or not, it is yours. You are a legitimate heir. You are my baby girl," he drew a slow breath. "When my father died, certain matters were quietly reinstated. I was restored. I never signed a divorce. I kept the marriage all these years. That makes me a Duke again, and your mother a Duchess. And you, sweetheart," he said with a wink, "are a very unofficial mini Duchess."
"Wow," I breathed. "That's… a lot."
He swallowed slowly. "There's land in northern Scotland. A coastal estate. Titles. Trust funds. Historical holdings. Everything is legally tied to my bloodline."
"To me," I said faintly.
"To you. This will require your signature," he said carefully. "Just sign the document and it will all be yours. But there is one condition. Marriage. Take your time and think it over. You do not need to be rushed."
I glared at him. "Excuse me? No. No. No. There is nothing to think about. I want to live my life freely, not enter a marriage that just happened now, a marriage of unconvenience. No."
"As I said, take your time, but not too long. The estate transfers fully upon your marriage," he clarified. "It's an old rule. You don't have to decide now, but not forever. I'm not as young as I used to be, and if I die, it's gone."
"No, don't say that," I said quickly, emotion rising in my throat.
Before I could say more, the door creaked open. The doctor stepped inside, clipboard in hand and a gentle, practised smile on his face.
"Visiting hours are over," she said gently. "Please say your goodbyes."
I nodded and turned toward her, then back to Dad. "Can you send my mom to come in before we go?"
"Of course," the doctor replied before slipping out.
Mom entered moments later, her expression equal parts brave and uncertain. Her fair skin glowed softly under the hospital light. She wore a simple cream dress, no jewellery except her wedding band, which she never removed.
Dad looked at me, not as a Duke, not as a fallen noble, but as a father. "You have a choice, Felicity," he said softly. "Accept your inheritance and step back into that world."
His breathing faltered. "Or walk away. And let my father's legacy end with me."
I turned to Mom. "So you knew."
"I knew about the deal," she said quietly.
My heart cracked again. "You knew he stepped down."
"Yes."
"You knew I was still legally tied to them?"
She hesitated. "I suspected."
Dad looked at her, something unspoken passing between them.
"You both let me grow up not knowing who I was."
Joy's voice shook. "We wanted you free."
The envelope sat between us, heavy, sealed, waiting. And suddenly I understood. He didn't just leave. He sacrificed, failed, protected and broke us.
"Okay. I'll think about it, but nothing's decided yet. Hi, Mom." I said, reached for her hand and led her to Dad. "Look, I know things got messy between you two, but it's not too late. Forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting. It just means choosing to move forward."
I turned to Dad and inhaled deeply. "You're going to get better, okay? Because you're coming to my matriculation, my graduation, and someday, my wedding." I added with a dry laugh, "Not now. Relax. But someday. So hang in there. As for forgiveness…I'm not there yet, but I'm thinking about it. I'm trying."
He whispered, "That's enough for me. Take your time, my girl. I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."
He turned to Mom. "Joy… I'm sorry for all the ways I failed you. If you'll give me a chance, I'd like to try again. To be better. To make this work, if you'll have me. Properly. No ultimatums. No silence."
Mom hesitated, then smiled softly, blinking back a tear. "When you're out of this hospital, you owe me a real, proper date. No hospital gowns, no hospital food, and no cheap flowers this time."
Dad chuckled weakly. "Deal."
We shared one last hug before the rest of the crew slowly came in: Christopher, Grayson, Charlotte, Benjamin, and, unfortunately, Mia. Goodbyes were exchanged, some teary, others hopeful. Then came the surprise.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Dad," I said. "We're staying at a hotel nearby."
"No," he interrupted, his tone suddenly firm. "No hotel. You'll stay at the estate. Your house. The royal estate."
"Dad, but—"
"No ifs, no buts. Paddingtons sleep under one roof. That's final."
I glanced at Mom, who simply raised a brow as if to say, Here he goes again. He's still dramatic.
"Fine, you win," I muttered, already dreading the drama this would bring. I had no idea how complicated that decision would become.
>>>>>>>>>>
Christopher's POV.
The ride back to the estate was quiet. Too quiet. Felicity's mother sat in the front, while Felicity and I sat in the back seat, our shoulders brushing, but neither of us spoke. I wanted to say something, anything, but the air was too heavy, as if even our thoughts weren't allowed to speak. When we arrived, I stepped out first, rounded the car, opened her door, and held out my hand, waiting, hoping she would take it. She hesitated, then placed her fingers in mine.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as her fingers slipped into mine, as they belonged there.
I gave her a small smile. "Always."
Charlotte greeted us with a warm hug and ushered us into the grand Scottish estate. It was imposing, with marble floors, gold sconces, and portraits of ancestors who looked permanently unimpressed, watching our every move.
We settled in, freshened up, ate a proper royal dinner none of us really had the appetite for, and headed upstairs. But sleep did not come. Not even close. My insomnia decided to keep me company. So I stepped outside for some air, and there she was. Felicity. Wearing a silky nightgown that made my breath hitch. The moonlight brushed her softly, her curls pulled into a messy bun, like she was halfway through a photo shoot and did not even know it.
"Oh," she said, surprised. "I didn't know you'd be out here."
"Couldn't sleep," I admitted.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around herself. "Me neither. Not even close. My brain won't shut up."
I moved a little closer. "How are you holding up?" I asked softly. "If you need me, I'm here. Always."
She turned toward me and her brave face finally shattered. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks before she could stop them. Instinct took over. I just pulled her into my arms, like I could shield her from everything breaking inside.
"I'm sorry," she whispered into my chest.
"Don't be," I murmured. "Cry. I've got you."
We stood there beneath the cold Scottish sky, wrapped in moonlight and heartbreak. Her heartbeat pressed against mine. Her tears were soaking through my shirt. And all I could think was: One month. One chance. Don't mess this up. A hurricane heart beating wild inside my chest. Loud. Reckless. Terrified. One month to prove I wasn't the storm. One month to show her I could be her shelter.
>>>>>>>>>>>
Mia's POV.
"Excuse me, but I'm not hungry," I snapped, pushing my chair back from the royal dining table with a screech.
I stormed out, my heels clicking down the hallway. Once in my room, I slammed the door hard enough to shake the walls. Then came the tantrum. Perfume bottles? Shattered. Porcelain brush set? Smashed. My designer heels? Flung across the room.
"How dare she?" I hissed at my reflection in the mirror. "How dare Felicity take my man? My prince. My future husband!"
I needed air before I exploded. So I stepped outside, and the night was cold. But what I saw burned hotter than rage. There they were. Felicity and Christopher. In the garden. Holding each other under the bloody moonlight. My breath caught. My pulse roared. My chest cracked in two.
"So…" I said aloud, fists clenched. "That's the girl he's in love with? My cousin? Of all people," I threw up air quotes and let out a bitter laugh. "Fine. Then she's the girl I'll ruin. Because no one messes with my man and gets away with it even if she's family."
Because nobody takes Mia's man and walks into a fairytale. Not without consequences. Not on my watch and she left.