Evans shrugged, a slow grin curving his lips. "Well, I couldn’t let you brood anymore. It’s exhausting watching you scowl every day."

Sam laughed again. "Come! Come, dearie," he said, his eyes glistening as he looked at Ivy and Mary. "Evans, help them in! Irene, get someone. John is in the house—get him to help!"

Ivy waved a dismissive hand, her lips curling in a stubborn smile. "I can manage," she said. "I’ll be fine."

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and started up the porch steps.

Irene led Sam to his armchair, fussing over him as he pretended to protest. Mary settled on the sofa, Evans beside her, while Ivy wandered a bit, her gaze taking in family photos—some faded, some recent.

Once everyone was settled, Ivy moved toward Evans again, her eyes sharp with purpose. She waited until Irene had disappeared into the kitchen before whispering, "I need to talk to Winn."

Evans sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I still think it’s a bad idea," he said quietly, keeping his tone low so the others wouldn’t hear. His jaw tightened. "You’re still healing, Ivy and I have no information on your attackers yet. Mike is working as fast as he can. Winn doesn’t need to know where you are yet."

She folded her arms, her chin lifting in defiance. "You don’t understand," she said.

"Give it time." His hand brushed hers briefly.

"It’s been three weeks," Ivy whisper-yelled. "You promised to let me talk to him, Evans. You promised."

Evans sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You also promised to do whatever I asked," he reminded her. "Would you please trust me to handle this?"

Ivy exhaled shakily, her fingers trembling as she pressed them to her temple. "It doesn’t make any sense if he still loses the investors, does it?" she argued. "The mall project is hanging by a thread. I have to help him." She turned away, blinking hard to stop the tears that threatened.

Evans straightened. "Please..." he said gently. "Okay, give me until Monday morning. And I will personally bring him to you."

Ivy hesitated, biting her lip. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs, her pulse fluttering in her throat. "Promise?" she whispered.

"I promise," Evans said firmly, holding her gaze. "Calling or texting may be risky. So I’ll find a way to get him here, in person. Monday." He gestured toward her stomach, his lips twitching in the faintest smile. "Right now, let Dad bask in the joy of reconnecting with his daughter, granddaughter...and great-grandchild."

Ivy nodded slowly. "Okay," she said quietly. "Monday."

When Ivy turned to the others, laughter greeted her. Sam was in his armchair, gesturing animatedly with one hand while Mary sat on the couch, eyes bright as she listened to him.

"I still can’t believe I’ve got my little girl back," Sam said. "And a granddaughter! My God, I must have done something right."

Ivy smiled faintly. Her mother never talked about this side of the family. Growing up, the only relatives she’d known were her father’s brothers—stern men who smelled of cigars and never stayed long.

Her mother’s side had been a blank space, an absence she’d learned not to question. Now, surrounded by laughter and stories that felt both foreign and familiar, she wondered why. Why had her mother hidden this love, this light?

She sat quietly, watching the way Mary and Sam leaned toward each other, their gestures mirroring unconsciously. Maybe she should have asked, back then. Maybe if she had pried, demanded, searched—she could have saved them from everything that had happened.

Maybe they wouldn’t have gone through all the loss, the pain, the danger that had nearly taken everything from them.

But then, if they hadn’t gone through all that, she wouldn’t have met Winn.

That thought alone sent a rush of warmth through her, flooding her with memory—the way his hands had felt on her skin, the quiet, steady way he looked at her; how he whispered her name in the throes of passion. He had made her feel seen, cherished, alive. Her lips curved softly, her heart swelling.

She couldn’t wait to tell him—to see his face when he realized there was a piece of him growing inside her.

A tiny heartbeat. A tiny miracle born of love.

*****

Sylvia was planning to kick off her heels, make herself a cup of tea, and melt into the scent of her favorite lavender bath oil. She had barely entered the house before the doorbell rang. She tugged her hair loose from its knot and sighed. The night had barely begun, and already it was being stolen from her.

When she opened the door, her father’s driver stood there, his posture respectful. "Miss Kane," he said. "Your father says to join him in the car."

Sylvia blinked once, twice, before groaning audibly. "Of course he does," she muttered under her breath. Tom Kane had impeccable timing—always appearing when she least wanted to see him, always pulling strings she hadn’t agreed to be tied to. "I’ll be right out," she said finally. The driver nodded quickly and left.

Sylvia turned back into the hallway, muttering to herself. She slipped on a pair of flip-flops, abandoning her designer heels by the door. She didn’t even bother picking up her phone.

Sure enough, the moment she stepped out of the house, Reese appeared from the shadows. He stood tall and broad, his dark jacket stretched across his shoulders. "What did he want?" he asked.

"Dad wants me," Sylvia answered, exhaling through her nose. "Asked me to join him in the car."

"Everything okay?"

"Is it ever okay with Dad?" she shot back, her lips curving into a wry, tired smile.

"I’ll be right here. If you need me."

Sylvia’s irritation melted a little. She tilted her head, giving him a half-smile. "I know, Reese." She started walking out of the compound to the sidewalk. Behind her, she could feel Reese’s eyes following her every step.