The world became a small, warm circle of three. The grand spaces of the Collins Estate now held the tiny, mighty sounds of a newborn. Arthur's cries were the new command that ruled their days and nights.
The rhythm was brutal and beautiful. Every two hours, like clockwork, Arthur needed to be fed. Wayne became an expert partner in the quiet, midnight dance. He would wake to the soft grunts before the crying even started, carefully lift Arthur from his bassinet, and bring him to Ariyah in bed. He'd fetch glasses of water, adjust pillows, and sit in the dim light watching them, his eyes full of a quiet wonder. When Ariyah pumped milk, Wayne took over the next feeding, cradling their son against his chest with a bottle, talking to him in a low rumble about stocks and horses and how much his mommy loved him.
Their First Public Outing
When Arthur was eight weeks old, the invitation came: a low-key charity luncheon for a children's hospital, a cause dear to the Collins family. Ariyah felt a flutter of nerves. The outside world felt like a distant planet.
Wayne simply laid out a dress for her on the bed a stunning, forgiving wrap dress in deep emerald silk that draped beautifully over her postpartum curves. "We'll go for an hour. Just to show him the world," he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Marcus will drive. Security will be there. No one will get close."
He dressed Arthur himself, in a soft cashmere onesie, and then expertly secured him in a sling of grey linen, wearing the baby against his own chest. Arthur, lulled by his father's heartbeat, slept peacefully.
The moment they stepped from the car, a handful of discreet paparazzi, kept behind a barrier, began to quietly click their cameras. Ariyah took a steadying breath, but then she felt Wayne's free hand find the small of her back. He didn't look at the cameras. He looked down at her, a small, proud smile on his lips. "Ready, my love?"
She nodded. He walked them inside, his posture straight, one hand securely cradling the baby sling against him. Throughout the luncheon, he never put Arthur down. He greeted donors and friends with Arthur sleeping against his heart, his other hand always touching Ariyah her elbow, her back, her hand. The look on his face was not the cold, closed-off expression of the business world. It was one of fierce, open, protective pride.
The next morning, the picture was everywhere. It showed the three of them entering the venue: Ariyah, radiant and smiling in green, Wayne, handsome and powerful with his son strapped to him, looking down at her with utter devotion. The headline read: "The Collins Dynasty: Secure and Smiling."
Ariyah showed it to Wayne over breakfast. He glanced at it, then back at her. "They got it right," he said simply, before kissing her.
Ariyah's body was a landscape of recovery. One afternoon, a few weeks later, she stood in her bathroom and really looked at herself. Her stomach was softer, marked with faint silver lines. Her breasts were full and heavy. She felt stretched and tired. A wave of sadness hit her. She didn't look like the woman in that newspaper photo.
He found her there. He didn't say anything. He just came up behind her, wrapped his strong arms around her, and met her gaze in the mirror. He kissed her shoulder.
"You see something different," he whispered, his hands smoothing over her stomach. "I see the map of where my son lived. I see the curves that nourished him. You are more beautiful to me now than you have ever been in your life, Ariyah. You are a goddess."
His words, and the raw truth in his eyes, washed the sadness away. Later, he helped her gently apply cream to the healing places, his touch so tender it made her want to cry for a different reason.
Their first fight happened in the hazy, gray hour before dawn. They were both operating on two hours of broken sleep. Arthur had been fussy all night. It wasn't about anything important. It was about a missing pacifier.
"I put it right here," Ariyah said, her voice thin with exhaustion.
"I didn't touch it," Wayne replied, his tone clipped.
"Well, it's gone! Nothing is ever where it's supposed to be in this house!"
"This house is full of people to help you. Just ring for someone," he said, rubbing his eyes.
"I don't want to ring for someone! I want you to understand!" she snapped, tears of pure frustration springing to her eyes.
They stared at each other, shocked by the sharpness. In the heavy silence, Arthur began to wail.
They looked at the screaming baby, then back at each other. And suddenly, a tired, helpless laugh bubbled out of Ariyah. Wayne's stern face cracked, and he shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He pulled her into a hug, baby and all.
"We're tired," he muttered into her hair.
"We're a mess," she whispered back, clinging to him.
They were on the same team, even when they were frayed at the edges.
When Arthur was six weeks old, Dr. Vance gave Ariyah the all-clear. That night, after they put Arthur down, a new kind of tension filled their bedroom. It was nervous, sweet, full of promise.
Wayne had asked Eleanor to stay in the guest wing for the night to listen for the baby monitor. He had a plan.
"I'm taking my wife out," he told his mother.
"Out?" Ariyah asked, feeling a flutter of panic. "But Arthur "
"Is with his grandmother, who is more than capable," Eleanor said, shooing them toward the door. "Go. Be adults. Remember what that's like. He'll be perfect."
Wayne took her to a quiet, exclusive restaurant high above the city. He held her hand across the table. They talked about things that weren't baby-related. They laughed. He looked at her the way he used to like she was the only woman in the world.
After dinner, he didn't drive them home. He drove them to a luxury hotel. He had booked the penthouse suite.
"A whole night," he said, leading her into the beautiful, silent room. "Just us. No monitors. No cries. Just you and me, my love."
It felt thrilling and strange. She was nervous. Her body felt different.
He understood. He went slow. He poured her a bath in the huge tub, washing her back with a soft cloth. He dried her with a fluffy towel, kissing each part of her as he did.
In the bed, with the city lights twinkling below, he began to worship her. He started at her feet, massaging them, kissing her ankles. He moved up her legs, his mouth and hands gentle and sure. He spent long, tender minutes kissing the silver lines on her belly, telling her again how powerful she was.
When he finally took her breasts in his hands, he was reverent. He kissed them, nuzzled them, whispering how beautiful they were, how they had fed their son. There was no rush. Only a slow, deep rebuilding of their connection.
When he entered her, it was with a careful, aching slowness that made her gasp. It didn't feel the same as before. It felt deeper, more emotional. It was less about wild passion and more about coming home. They moved together in a quiet rhythm, their eyes locked, sharing breath. Afterward, he held her so tightly she could feel his heart pounding against her back.
"I love you, Ariyah," he said into the dark, his voice rough. "More every day."
Back in the rhythm of the estate, new traditions bloomed. Sunday dinners with Eleanor and Thaddeus became sacred. Thaddeus would hold Arthur, showing him the family portraits in the hall, telling him stories in a gentle voice. Chloe visited often, turning up with loud toys and teaching Arthur to grab for her sparkly earrings.
Wayne changed too. He turned a sunroom into an office and worked from home most afternoons. He took important calls with Arthur sleeping in a sling on his chest. His employees learned to hear the occasional baby gurgle in the background.
The best moment came on an ordinary Tuesday morning. Ariyah was feeding Arthur in the nursery chair. He finished, pulled back, looked right into her eyes… and gave her a big, gummy, unmistakable smile .
Her heart stopped. "Wayne!" she called out, her voice trembling.
Wayne appeared in the doorway, a pen still in his hand. "What's wrong?"
"Look." She turned Arthur toward him. "Sweetheart, smile for Daddy. Come on."
They spent the next ten minutes making silly faces and cooing. Finally, Arthur beamed again, a joyous, toothless grin for his father.
Wayne's face transformed. He looked from his smiling son to his tearful wife, and his own eyes grew shiny. He crouched down and kissed Arthur's head, then leaned up to kiss Ariyah.
That night, after another long day, they finally got Arthur to sleep. They collapsed on the big living room sofa, too tired to move. Wayne poured them each a small glass of wine. He pulled her feet into his lap and began to rub them. They didn't turn on the TV. They just sat in the comfortable quiet, listening to the sound of their own breathing.
Wayne looked at the baby monitor, its green light glowing steadily. Then he looked at Ariyah, her head leaning back, eyes closed.
"We're doing it," he said softly.
A smile touched her lips without her opening her eyes. She reached out, found his hand, and laced her fingers with his.
"We are," she whispered.
They fell asleep just like that, tangled together on the couch, a perfect, exhausted team. The first, hardest frontier was behind them. They had crossed it together.