Chapter Twenty-Seven – Smoke in the Mirror
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Avanridge – Three Months After the Photo
They didn't leave.
They talked about it—packing bags, disappearing farther—but instead, they changed the locks, installed cameras (even though it cost a lot), and kept living. The tension never left the air, but it softened, like dust caught in sunlight.
Things were quite expensive, but with Nuria working at the coffee shop, Mireille at the bakery, money from the trust fund—secretly routed by Vivienne—and Asa finally well enough to work as an artist in a mall, they managed. He couldn't find a white-collar job since he had left all his credentials and certificates at the mansion—and he couldn't go back for them. He didn't want to feel useless and like a burden, as he had for months.
He loved to draw in secret. Even though he never wanted a career based on it, it seemed now to be his only way to survive and contribute.
It was sometimes hard to decide who should stay home with Stuart, but they always found a way.
And Stuart grew.
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Six Months Old
Stuart's first real giggle came during an early morning change. Asa had been fumbling with wipes and a rogue diaper when Stuart shrieked out a bubbling laugh, his wild-green eyes crinkling like Nuria's when she was too tired to pretend she wasn't amused.
Mireille burst into the room, hand over her heart. "I heard it from the kitchen. My grandson has joy."
Stuart weaned gently from breast milk to warm mush fed from small spoons shaped like rockets. The first time he tried puréed carrots, he spat them right into Asa's shirt, gurgled something obscene, and then leaned toward his mother for safety.
"He's a traitor," Asa muttered, wiping orange off his chest.
Nuria grinned. "He's a mama's boy."
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Nine Months
He crawled like a hurricane. Pulled books from shelves, yanked off Asa's hoodie strings, and pointed at the ceiling fan like it was a spaceship. When he took his first wobbly steps, Asa had tears in his eyes before he even realized they were falling.
"I missed everything," he'd whispered, arms wrapped around Stuart. "Until now."
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One Year Later – On a Rainy Thursday
They kissed again.
It wasn't planned. Stuart had fallen asleep early. Asa had made pasta with too much garlic. They sat beside each other on the old couch, her leg touching his. The quiet had weight. He turned to say something—anything—but Nuria moved first.
Her lips were soft and hesitant, but Asa responded like a man desperate to believe in good things again.
"I still love you," he breathed against her mouth. "I've always loved you."
Her fingers slid against his jaw, her voice a whisper. "Then love me better this time."
"I will," he promised. "Just give me the chance."
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Two Years Later – Stuart Turns Three
Asa planned a surprise—not for the child, but for her.
He asked Mireille to watch Stuart. Cooked dinner. Dressed up. Lit candles.
Nuria arrived home to jazz playing softly, the scent of lavender and cinnamon clinging to the air, and Asa standing with a small bouquet of wildflowers.
"You're taking me out?" she laughed.
"No," he said, extending a hand. "I'm bringing the world in."
They danced slow in the kitchen. Ate chocolate cake before dinner. Made love like they had something to reclaim.
That night, she whispered, "Let's not let fear ruin us twice."
And he held her like he believed in forever again.
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Present Day – Stuart is Almost Five
He runs.
Everywhere. Through the apartment. Into the bakery where Mireille works part-time, just near their house. Into Nuria's arms at full speed, yelling "Mama!" like she's the moon and the sun and the sky all at once.
Then later, onto Asa's shoulders, laughing, pointing. "Look, Daddy! I see the train tracks!"
At night, Asa reads to him from old fairytales, sketches dragons beside Stuart's drawings of very ugly flowers, and tucks him in with kisses on his forehead.
"Daddy?" the boy murmurs once.
"Yes, buddy?"
"You're the bestest daddy in the whole world.
Asa buried his face into Stuart's curls and fought not to break apart from joy.
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Mira Calls
Nuria fumbled her phone with one hand while pouring cereal for Stuart. The screen flashed: MIRA
She answered with a grin. "Hey—"
"You witch."
Nuria laughed. "Mira—"
"You vanishing pregnant goddess! Do you know what my life has been?! The office is a WAR ZONE. I keep pretending to water the pot of roses at work but the roses are all dead."
"I'm sorry," Nuria said softly. "Truly."
"I would've killed you if you hadn't made me godmother," Mira said. Then, quieter, "I just miss you. And I want to pinch that baby's cheeks until he forgets who his real mom is."
Nuria smiled. "Soon. When the time is right."
"You're happy, right?" Mira asked.
"I'm… healing. We're healing. It's real this time."
"Well," Mira sighed. "Then that's all I care about."
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Outside the Apartment — Same Week
The man stood beneath the flickering street lamp again.
Stuart was asleep. Asa leaned in the balcony doorway, arms crossed, hoodie tugged low.
The man never moved. Just waited. Watched.
He wore no mask, but Asa didn't recognize him.
Yet something about the stillness of him—the precision—it wasn't ordinary.
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Meanwhile, at the Leclair Estate
Dorian stood at Vivienne's office window, watching the wind toy with the hedges.
"I know where they are," he murmured.
Vivienne didn't turn. "Then why haven't you gone after him?"
Dorian's smile was like cut glass. "Because I want him to think he escaped. To build a life. A false sense of safety. Only then will he understand what it costs to betray a legacy."
"And if he never returns?"
"He will," Dorian said simply. "He's my son."
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Later That Night – Avanridge
Asa came to bed late.
Nuria rolled over, sleep-clumsy. "He wake again?"
"No. I just…" He lay beside her, exhaled, and pulled her into him.
She felt his heart beating fast.
"Asa?"
"I think they're done waiting," he whispered.
Nuria didn't ask who they were.
She just said, "Then let's leave before they do."
He kissed her temple. "Not yet. One more spring. He deserves to finish kindergarten here."
"And after?"
Asa met her eyes. "After… we go back. Face it. All of it."
Nuria's hand found his, fingers lacing. "Together."