Neva has fairly soothed the children with a nice, warm bath. Now, she has Inaya seated on the bed, gently dressing her with practiced tenderness.
She had already finished drying their hair, pampering them with sweet-scented lotions and oils, smoothing down every soft curl and kissable cheek.
Isaiah, now warmly dressed, stands quietly by, clinging to her—his small arms wrapped around her legs—as his mother buttons up Inaya's pink sweater-frock.
Just an hour before, she had found her daughter crying, thrashing in Ace's arms as he struggled to bring her into the house, while an agent named Sky knelt by the car, gently trying to persuade Isaiah.
He had been calm at first, quietly seated in the back seat, but wary, distant.
Neither of them had believed that they were truly safe—or their reassurations that they were really brought to their mother.
Isaiah finally burst into tears after he saw her—really saw her. The wall he'd built around himself crumbled in an instant, and Neva caught him in her arms, soothing him, whispering reassurances until he melted against her chest. She held them both close, murmuring that they were home now, that everything would be okay.
"Mumma?" Inaya's sweet voice breaks through the hush.
Neva hums gently in response, kneeling as she slides a sock onto her tiny foot.
She moves to the other, her fingers careful and warm, then pulls the woolen pants down over both ankles, tucking her in warmly.
"Where is Papa?"
Neva freezes.
This—she dreaded the most.
She doesn't look at them right away and reaches for the comb placed on the nightstand.
"We have to help Papa find us," an unwavering Isaiah utters, his voice steady and firm—far too old for his years.
Neva says nothing.
Instead, she stands and gently brushes through Inaya's dark, wavy hair, letting the silence speak where words fail her.
They knew.
Their mother had been taken—and now they had, too.
Strangers had broken into their home, stolen them away, and everyone they trusted—servants, guards, the people who filled their daily world—had vanished like shadows.
And they are worried for their father, who is somewhere, alone, searching.
Guilt gnaws at Neva's insides like a slow burn.
"We're safe," she whispers, as if saying it softly makes it amore true. "No one here is bad."
She carefully works through a stubborn knot, her fingers steady as she eases it free with the wooden comb. "Isaiah, Naya… me and your papa are just playing a game."
Isaiah looks up, curious. "What game, Mumma?"
Neva glances down at him, and her heart clenches at the sight—those wide, trusting eyes shining with belief, with hope born from the lie she's weaving like silk between them.
A foolish, cursed lie.
Neva smiles softly and tenderly caresses Isaiah's cheek. "It's a game," she murmurs, "where we hide... and Papa seeks."
She marvels—bitterly—at how the lie rolls off her tongue so smoothly. At how effortless it is to twist the truth into comfort...
But the moment it leaves her lips, the weight returns.
Apprehension claws at the edges of her mind again, sharp and merciless.
She has stolen them away—from their dear papa. From the only life they knew.
Perhaps there was another way, another choice she could've made.
A better one. But what?
She doesn't live for herself anymore.
These were her children—her heart split in two—now caught in the tangled mess of her past and decisions she can no longer undo.
And still, she doesn't know how long this fragile myth can hold.
How long she can carry the weight of their sorrow when every tear, every frightened question, points to her.
But now, she can't keep pretending—can't go on as though she never knew Rhett.
Her throat closens.
Even the mere thought of returning to Ishmael leaves her breathless.
"I don't want to play this game!" Inaya cries out, her voice cracking as tears brim in her eyes. "I want Papa!"
"Enough, Naya. Your eyes are already red and swollen from all this crying," Neva says, discarding the comb onto the bed and reaching for a napkin from the tissue box on the nightstand.
She gently wipes the tears that trail down Inaya's chubby cheeks, her heart aching with every fragile sob.
"I'll make you both your favorite chicken curry for dinner," Neva says, swooping Inaya into her arms.
"I want strawberry yogurt for dessert," Isaiah chimes in.
Neva smiles softly and lifts him too, balancing them both on her hips—one on each side, snug and secure. "Sure," she says.
---
Neva walks into the living room and finds everyone already gathered, seated on the sofas. A heavy silence clings to the air, a cloud of glumness weighing the room down.
The twins eye the group warily. Inaya clings tighter to her mother, burying her face into the crook of Neva's neck the moment she catches Ace's gaze.
Sky offers her a kind smile.
She's one of Rhett's most trusted agents—the woman who helped Ace bring Neva's children back to her.
Neva offers her a small smile in response.
Sky sits beside Ace, while across from them, May and Niall occupy the opposite sofa.
On the single chair, Rhett sits with Rhean quietly curled up on his lap.
The boy's swollen, mournful eyes flicker to her—and then to the twins in her arms.
Neva's chest tightens. Her gaze dulls with guilt.
She's made him deeply upset.
"Do we have to leave?" Rhett asks, feigning casualness, though he can feel Isaiah's sharp, scrutinizing stare on him.
The boy isn't fooled.
Isaiah knows this man only looks like his father—just as Ishmael had said.
And he's studied him before—watched him closely when he came into their home, threatening his real father, all while keeping their mother hostage.
But his mother had said they were good people, and that it was all just a game.
And that greatly confuses Isaiah's young mind.
"It's fine," Neva says quietly, bending to lower her children onto the floor.
"Have you all had dinner?" she asks as she straightens.
"Everyone did, except your husband and son," May replies casually.
Neva freezes, astonished still.
Her cheeks flush with warmth—feverish—an unexpected rush of heat at hearing Rhett referred to as her husband.
"Papa," Inaya suddenly blurts.
Neva's thoughts scatter as Inaya breaks into a run—her little feet pattering across the room as she rushes toward Rhett.
Rhett stiffens, stunned by the sound of Inaya calling him Papa.
Across from him, Neva withers at the sight of Rhean clinging even tighter to his father—as if bracing for the moment Inaya might try to take him away.
He's afraid. Afraid that her daughter might seize his father from him.
Neva's cheeks burn with embarrassment as Inaya throws her arms around Rhett's knees.
Her wide, doe-like eyes blink up at him expectantly, waiting for him to lift her onto his lap—puzzled by the subtle differences in his face and hairstyle… and by the grumpy boy already sitting there, glaring at her like she's trespassing.
And it hits her.
A jolt—like lightning through her chest.
The sheer absurdity that is her life.
Rhett is her husband—the man she had been estranged from for years.
And now, she has the audacity to bring the children she bore with another man under his roof?
Neva can't lift her gaze to meet Rhett's eyes, nor to meet the eyes of the others in the room, silently watching the scene unfold like a slow, unbearable tragedy.
The air thickens with awkward silence—so heavy it chokes her, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
She feels the weight of their quiet judgment creeping over her like a shadow she can't escape.
Then, breaking the oppressive stillness, Ace quips,
"Congrats, Boss. You've got a daughter now."
A loud clashing sound rings in Neva's ears, shattering the fragile moment.
"Naya!" she shrieks, horror twisting her voice as Inaya falls silent, crumpled against the glass coffee table.
The sickening thud—that was the sound of her daughter's ribs slamming into the stone-edged rim.
Gasps ripple through the room, terror swiftly swallowing the silence.
Rhett reacts first. He places Rhean down and rushes to Inaya.
Neva stumbles in her panic, nearly tripping over herself as she hurries forward—toward her daughter, who lies too still, too quiet.
Her heart pounds violently in her chest.
Something is wrong. Very wrong.
As Neva drops to her knees beside Rhett, who cradles Inaya in his arms, the child's searing cries rip through the room.
Neva turns pale at the sight of blood trickling from Inaya's nose.
Rhett swiftly stands, carefully carrying Inaya to the couch.
He lays her down gently and checks her nostrils for breath. A bluish bruise is already blooming across her forehead.
Neva kneels beside her, tears welling in her eyes as she sees her daughter lying so still, her tiny hands resting over her chest.
"Does your chest hurt?" Rhett asks softly.
But Inaya only sobs harder, reaching out and calling for her mother.
"Let me—let me see where it hurts," Neva says, her hands trembling as she gently tries to pry Inaya's from her chest.
"Oh dear," May gasps, dread in her voice.
The adults gather around the injured child, their eyes filled with alarm and concern.
"Call a doctor, Niall," May urges, casting a quick glance at her husband.
Niall nods and immediately steps away to make the call.
"I think she's bruised… maybe even cracked a rib," Sky says, her voice tight with worry.
Inaya's choked sobs only make Neva's own tears spill freely.
Rhean stands frozen nearby, his eyes wide with shock.
The weight of what he's done crashes over him—the regret of his crude, impulsive, brutal act sinking in fast.
And before he can sense it coming, a sharp punch on his jaw sends him stumbling back.
And before he even senses it coming, a sharp punch lands square on Rhean's jaw, sending him stumbling backward.
Dazed, Rhean blinks up at the boy—the boy who his mother is his little brother—his face dark with fury.
Isaiah lunges at him, tackles him to the floor, and lands another blow to his jaw.
The adults watch in stunned horror as chaos erupts—fists flying, nails scratching, hair being yanked. The boys thrash wildly, locked in a frenzied brawl.
Before they can seriously hurt each other, Rhett intervenes. He yanks Rhean off by the underarms, lifting him into the air as the boy kicks and thrashes.
Rhean snarls at Isaiah, legs flailing, arms clawing for another chance to strike, struggling against his father's iron hold.
His hair is disheveled, his face marked with shallow bruises.
Isaiah, too, seethes with fury, glaring at Rhean. His tousled hair falls over his eyes, his lips bruised, and he claws to get to the older boy—only restrained by Ace, who holds him back just in time.
And when Rhett carries a squirming Rhean out of the living room, the boy's chest heaves—then numbs. His thrashing stills.
For Neva rushes toward Isaiah and knees before Isaiah, pulling him into her embrace.
His heart breaks when she doesn't even glance at him.
---
"It's your fault, you know?" Sky says, casting a bored look at Ace.
"What? How is it my fault?" he shoots back, incredulous.
Sky just shrugs, arms crossed, lips pursed in judgment.
"You irked Rhean, you fueled the fire," Sky tosses over her shoulder as she strides toward the kitchen.
Ace trails behind her, arms flailing slightly in frustration. "I didn't do anything! The kid's just unstable."