At the Reed family's old estate…
Emmett stood at the front door like a little stone statue, rooted to the spot. Aunt Qian had been coaxing him for what felt like forever.
"Young Master," she sighed, "let's go back and have dinner first. Young Madam will be back soon."
"You've said 'soon' a hundred and eighty-three times," Emmett replied solemnly. "Mommy still isn't back."
He tilted his head, big eyes turning sad.
"Granny Qian, if Mommy still isn't back… does that mean she doesn't want me anymore?"
"How could that be?" Aunt Qian said quickly. "Our young master is so cute and so smart. Who could ever not want you?"
"Then why isn't Mommy back yet?" Emmett's shoulders drooped. "I haven't seen Mommy for ten hours and three minutes."
Aunt Qian: "…"
Here we go again. They were back at the same loop for the hundred and eighty-third time.
The front door opened behind them.
Lucian rolled out in his wheelchair, face cold.
"Inside," he ordered.
Emmett sniffed and refused to even look at him.
"Emmett Reed. I'm talking to you."
"Uncle Ethan says men whose wives don't like them always have bad tempers," Emmett said gravely. "Daddy, I understand you. And I feel sorry for you. But I still can't listen to you."
"Emmett." Lucian's voice dropped, dangerous now.
Emmett sighed theatrically.
"Don't worry, Dad," he said. "Even if nobody wants you, I'll still take care of you when you're old. I'll send you off nicely."
He patted Lucian's arm with all the solemnity of a filial son.
Lucian: "…"
A voice came from the drive.
"Young Madam."
"Mommy's back!"
Emmett launched himself forward like a baby bird spotting its nest, racing across the courtyard.
Lucian watched his son vanish in an instant, his face going dark as soot.
So much for 'never abandoning me,' he thought. Truly my good son.
And that woman, Mia Stone—what kind of spell had she cast, to turn his usually sharp, rational child into a wagging, lovestruck puppy?
Lucian's indifferent gaze followed Emmett and landed on Mia.
Her clothes were soaked through. She looked utterly bedraggled.
"Mommy, did you get caught in the rain?" Emmett grabbed her hand anxiously. "It's all my fault. If I'd gone to pick you up earlier, you wouldn't have gotten wet."
Looking at the little boy's worried face, the ice around Mia's heart melted a fraction.
She bent down and stroked his cheek. "It's not your fault, Emmett. I just didn't pay attention to the weather."
"Mommy, go take a hot shower," Emmett urged. "If you stay in wet clothes, you'll catch a cold."
He tugged on her hand, trying to drag her upstairs.
Mia's arm flinched at his pull.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" he asked immediately.
"Nothing," she said. She let him lead her up the stairs.
As they passed him, Mia paused for the briefest moment.
"Mr. Reed," she murmured.
Lucian answered with a noncommittal grunt. His nose twitched, catching a faint metallic scent as she went by.
His brows drew together.
Upstairs, Emmett practically pushed her into the bathroom.
Only when she peeled off her wet clothes did Mia realize the bite on her arm—left by that child—had already stuck to the sleeve.
She gave the fabric a hard yank.
The cloth tore away along with a strip of skin. Fresh blood welled out at once.
Her expression barely shifted.
It was as if the pain didn't exist.
When Mia came out of the bathroom, towel-dried and in clean clothes, Emmett was waiting at the door, holding a steaming bowl in both hands.
"Mommy, drink!" he said, presenting it to her. "Granny Qian said if you drink ginger tea, you won't catch a cold."
Mia crouched down and ruffled his soft hair.
"Thank you, Emmett." Her voice gentled. "Just seeing you already makes me feel much better."
Emmett ducked his head, smiling shyly, his eyes shining with joy.
He hadn't seen her all day. He'd missed her so much it hurt. Now he stuck to her like a little shadow, trailing her every step.
Lucian finally couldn't take it anymore.
He reached out and hooked a hand in the back of his son's T-shirt, lifting him clean off the floor.
"It's late," he said. "Bath. Bed."
"I don't want to," Emmett protested. "Mommy just got back. I want to stay with Mommy."
"Your mom is tired."
The words slipped out of Lucian's mouth surprisingly easily, the "your mom" sounding natural on his tongue.
Emmett glanced at Mia's slightly pale face and relented.
"Okay. I'll go shower then. Good night, Mommy."
"Good night," Mia said.
Still, she walked him back to his room, ushered him into the bathroom, and closed the door gently behind him.
Inside the bathroom, Emmett stripped off his clothes in a few quick motions and padded toward the bathtub on bare feet.
On the left side of his waist, just above his hip, a birthmark stood out against his fair skin—dark and sharp-edged, like the silhouette of a soaring hawk.
Back in the hallway, Mia stepped out of the children's room and almost ran straight into Lucian.
He sat waiting in his wheelchair just a few steps away.
"Mr. Reed," Mia said.
She lowered her eyes in a brief greeting and moved to pass him.
His hand shot out and closed around her wrist.
"Push me back to the bedroom."
Once they were inside, Lucian wheeled himself over to a cabinet and took out a first-aid kit. When he turned back, Mia was still standing where she was.
"Sit," he said.
Mia knew he'd noticed the wound on her arm, but she shook her head.
"It's just a surface injury," she said. "Nothing to worry about."
"So what's the plan?" Lucian asked mildly. "Use that 'surface injury' to play the victim in front of me? Or were you going to 'accidentally' smear your blood on my sheets so everyone thinks I couldn't keep my hands off you, forcing me to keep you as Mrs. Reed for life?"
Mia stared at him for a beat.
"Mr. Reed, your imagination is impressive," she said. "You'd make an excellent web novelist. Want me to recommend a few sites?"
"Then why did you refuse?" he countered.
Mia drew in a breath.
"I'll do it myself," she said simply.
She rolled up her sleeve, revealing the torn, bloody skin on her arm, then picked up a cotton swab, dipped it in antiseptic, and began carefully cleaning the wound.
Even with only one free hand, her movements were clean and efficient.
Lucian watched her for a moment.
"You studied medicine?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes."
"The information I received says you majored in fashion design at university."
"I learned in prison," Mia replied calmly. "You get hurt a lot in there. I picked up a few things."
Lucian gave a short, humorless laugh.
"You really don't avoid talking about prison, do you?"
"What's the point?" Mia wrapped a strip of gauze around her arm and tied a neat knot with one hand. "It's just the truth, isn't it?"
She lowered her sleeve again.
"There," she said. "Now you can relax. My blood won't dirty your sheets, and no one will mistakenly think you've lost your virtue."
She paused, then added, "I'll sleep on the sofa tonight."
Lucian's mouth curled in a cold smile.
"Playing hard to get," he said. "You're not bad at it."
Mia: "…"
Are all powerful men this narcissistic? she wondered. The drama never stops.
She opened her mouth to retort, but a knock at the door cut her off.
It was Aunt Qian.
"Young Master, Young Madam," she called cheerfully, "Madam sent me to get a few things."
She stepped aside and waved her hand. Several servants filed in behind her.
In a matter of minutes, they had carried out the sofa, the extra pillows and quilts, and even rolled up the rug on the floor.
Aunt Qian surveyed the room, now containing only one large bed, and nodded in satisfaction.
"Young Master, Young Madam, have a good rest," she said with a bright smile.
Then she shut the door firmly behind her.
Lucian: "…"
Mia: "…"