Thomas wasn't sure when it changed.
Maybe it was the way she hummed lullabies to Bryce in the studio late at night, soft and sweet—even when her voice was hoarse from recording. Or how she always turned off her phone during dinner, no matter how many deals or producers were calling, because, as she said with that small, serene smile, "My son eats with me, not my stress."
Or maybe it was the way she smiled when she thought no one was looking, just a little tired, a little wistful, like her heart lived somewhere far away.
She was younger than him—thirteen, maybe fifteen years—but somehow, she felt older. Wiser. More haunted.
He had found her on the shore like some forgotten myth, bruised, nameless, broken. A girl with no past, clutching a future she didn't even know she carried. He'd called the doctors. Paid for the best. Given her a name. Given her a home. Protected her.
That was how it began.
Now, he wasn't sure who was protecting whom.
In the beginning, he told himself it was admiration. Respect. The fierce pride of a mentor watching his protégé bloom into a star the world couldn't ignore. He wore that mask well—tailored suits, clinical detachment, and the constant refrain of what's best for her career. But behind every gesture was something unspoken. Something clawing to the surface.
He watched her become Anna—a name he had chosen, and the world fell to its knees. Music videos. Billboard charts. Sold-out arenas. Magazine covers with her face, her story, her light.
And yet, she still came home every night like a small storm retreating into stillness. Cooking pasta barefoot in his kitchen. Falling asleep on the couch with Bryce tucked into her side. Practicing melodies on the piano at midnight when she thought no one could hear.
He had everything, and yet he wanted more.
He was obsessed.
He told himself it was wrong, she was vulnerable when he found her, still healing from wounds no one could see. She didn't remember her past, didn't want to. And maybe that was what drew him in deeper. The mystery of her. The quiet resilience. The fact that she trusted him when she had no reason to trust anyone at all.
He was in love with her.
Painfully. Completely.
There were moments he nearly broke. When she laughed and the sound lanced through his chest. When she fell asleep during long flights and curled instinctively into his side. When Bryce started calling him Uncle Tom, and Anna never corrected it.
He dreamed of more. Of dinners that didn't end in silence. Of rooms that didn't feel so large when she left them. Of waking up with her voice in his ears and her warmth in his bed.
But Thomas Quinn was not a man who acted on impulse.
Anna deserved the world, and she was already building it with her bare hands. She had talent, grace, resilience. Millions adored her. And most days, she didn't need anything more than his guidance, his discretion, his quiet presence.
So he remained the man beside her. The one who watched every red carpet from the sidelines. The one who read every article before she did. The one who waited outside every recording booth, just to make sure she had water, tea, and silence when she needed it.
He buried his feelings where she'd never find them.
Even when it hurt.
Even when she came home crying and wouldn't say why.
Even when he saw the flicker in her eyes that said she was remembering things, parts of herself she didn't speak of, pieces he couldn't touch.
Even when he wondered, just once, what it would feel like if she turned to him in those quiet, uncertain hours… and stayed.
But she never did.
So he stood still.
And watched her soar.