Zarah
The first thing I felt was weight.
Not pain—
That came second.
The first was the absence of her.
Of that stretch in my belly.
Of the flutter.
The kick.
The constant presence that had kept me company for nine months.
Gone.
Born.
Out.
⸻
The second thing I felt was heat.
Low, slow, soft.
A hand on mine.
Thumb stroking.
And then I opened my eyes.
He was shirtless.
Hair wild.
Eyes red-rimmed and unblinking.
And in his arms
The smallest thing I'd ever seen.
Wrapped in one of his cashmere scarves.
Sleeping against his skin.
Her tiny fist curled beneath his collarbone like it was the only place she'd ever belong.
"Dominic."
He looked up fast.
The moment our eyes met—
His cracked.
He stood.
Crossed the room.
Dropped to his knees beside me, like he didn't even register the pain in his bones.
"She's perfect," he said hoarsely.
"Let me see her."
He passed her to me so slowly, I thought he might never let go.
Her weight in my arms—
Impossible.
Impossible that something so small could be this powerful.
That she could already smell like both of us.
That she could already know me.
"Hi," I whispered.
"Hi, little one."
Her eyes fluttered.
Hazel.
Lighter than mine.
But not green like his.
Somewhere in between.
Like the place we met.
Like the space we made.
"Wren," I whispered again.
She didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
She was here.
Breathing.
Ours.
Dominic leaned over me.
Wrapped his arms around both of us.
His mouth near my ear.
"I've never loved anything like this," he said quietly.
"You mean her?"
"I mean you. Like this. Soft. Changed. More."
I closed my eyes.
Tears slipped out.
Not from pain.
Not from fear.
Just joy.
Slow, full, aching joy.
We didn't need vows.
We didn't need another contract.
We didn't need to say anything else.
Because everything that mattered
Was sleeping in my arms.
And breathing against my heart.
Dominic
The wind was cool.
Salt in the air.
The kind of breeze that hinted fall was coming—but wasn't quite ready to arrive.
She was sleeping.
Both of them.
Zarah with her arm curled around the bassinet.
Wren with her thumb halfway to her lips.
I didn't want to leave them.
Even for this.
But it had to be done.
I unlocked my phone.
Dialed the number.
He answered on the second ring
out of breath, like he'd been expecting this call for years.
"Mr. Ward. I—congratulations. We saw the press release this morning. I was just about to send—"
"Listen carefully."
"Yes, sir."
I pulled out the original contract.
The one with the marriage terms.
The bloodline clause.
The naming rights.
And tore out the page I'd once been so proud of.
"Remove the inheritance stipulations."
"Sir?"
"It's no longer about protection."
"It's about giving."
"I—I don't follow—"
"Rewrite everything. Effective immediately."
I looked out over the grounds.
The gardens.
The private wing.
The future.
"Wren Vale Ward is my heir."
"She receives full estate rights, regardless of future siblings."
"She owns fifty percent of all holdings—now, not later."
"And Zarah?"
"Fifty percent. Joint control. Immediate effect."
"If I die, the company goes to them. Not the board. Not my cousins. Them."
Silence.
Then the soft click of a pen.
"Understood. Anything else, sir?"
"Yes."
I swallowed.
Eyes on the horizon.
"Add one clause."
"If either of them are harmed—physically, financially, emotionally—by anyone tied to this company..."
"I want blood."
"Sir?"
"Write it in Latin. Make it sound clean."
"But you and I both know what it means."
I ended the call.
Tucked the phone away.
And turned back toward the glass doors—
Where Zarah now stood holding our daughter.
Hair wild.
Eyes half-asleep.
But smiling.
Like she could feel the empire shifting beneath her feet—
And knew it was hers now, too.
