"My husband knew our unborn son was in distress, but when his lieutenant begged him to come home, he looked at his mistress and said, “Not yet.”

The supervised visits continued twice a week for two months.

Lucian never missed a single session. He never arrived late. When a major snowstorm paralyzed Manhattan in early January, shutting down traffic and grounding flights, Lucian walked four miles through freezing slush to reach the Westchester center on time.

He learned how to support Leo’s head while feeding him a bottle of pumped milk. He learned the specific rhythm of patting the baby’s back to burp him. He learned how to change a diaper without fumbling, ignoring the soiled clothes that stained his expensive dress shirts.

Serena observed every interaction from the corner of the room, silent and vigilant.

One Tuesday in late January, as the visit drew to a close, Leo fell sound asleep against Lucian’s broad chest, his tiny fingers curled tightly into the fabric of Lucian’s sweater.

“Time is up, Mr. Moretti,” Mrs. Gable announced softly from her desk.

Lucian looked down at his sleeping son, his expression etched with a deep, quiet sorrow. He gently transferred Leo back into the portable bassinet Serena had brought.

As Mrs. Gable stepped out to sign the custody compliance logs, Serena began fastening the bassinet’s canopy.

“He likes the sound of your voice,” Serena said quietly, not looking up.

Lucian froze, surprised by the sudden break in her silence. Over the last two months, she had spoken to him only in monosyllables regarding feeding schedules and diaper changes.

“What?” Lucian whispered.

“When you read that children's book to him,” Serena said, adjusting the blanket around Leo’s shoulders. “His heart rate settles. He falls asleep faster.”

Lucian swallowed past the knot in his throat. “I read to him because... I want him to know my voice. I don’t want him to ever wonder who I am.”

Serena looked at him. Really looked at him.

Lucian had changed. The slick, untouchable aura of power had been replaced by a rugged, humbled exhaustion. He had lost weight. There were silver streaks in his dark hair at the temples. The expensive arrogance that had defined him for years had been burned away.

“He will know who you are, Lucian,” Serena said softly. “The question is whether he will respect who you are.”

Lucian stepped closer, stopping precisely two feet away, respecting the invisible boundary she had drawn between them.

“I resigned from the board permanently yesterday, Serena,” Lucian said. “I transferred all remaining personal voting shares to you. Aegis Holdings now owns one hundred percent of Moretti Enterprises.”

Serena frowned slightly. “Why did you do that?”

“Because you built it,” Lucian replied honestly. “And because I don’t want you to ever think I’m trying to buy my way back into your life through leverage. If I ever earn the right to stand beside you and Leo again, I want it to be because I’m the man you deserve. Not because of a contract.”

Serena looked into his eyes, searching for calculation.

She found none. Only raw, unvarnished surrender.

Her throat tightened, but she kept her voice level. “It’s a start, Lucian. But a title doesn't heal a wound.”