I looked at the ring in my palm. The stones caught the hallway light. I'd drawn this exact design five years ago. Every curve. Every angle. I'd kept the sketchbook under my mattress like a diary.
I turned the band toward the window.
*K & S Forever.*
The engraving sat there, small and permanent, exactly where I'd once imagined my own initials would go.
I raised my eyes to Kian's face. He was smiling. Waiting. Like he'd just handed me the world and expected me to cry with gratitude.
"You stole my design," I said.
The smile flickered. "What?"
"This ring." I held it up between us. "I drew it. Five years ago. In my sketchbook. The one I kept by my bed. You photographed the pages while I was asleep, didn't you?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. His jaw tightened.
"You had it made," I continued, my voice flat and mild, like I was reading a grocery list. "You used my design to propose to Sawyer. And now you're here, holding the same ring — still engraved with her initials — asking me to be grateful you came back."
I stepped forward and pressed the ring into his coat pocket, right over his chest. He flinched like I'd burned him.
"You stole my work to marry another woman," I said. "And now you're recycling her leftovers to propose to me. Even your audacity is secondhand, Kian."
His face went white, then red. "Brynn, that's not—"
"Get out."
"You don't understand what I'm offering—"
"I understand perfectly." I stepped back and reached for the door. "You're offering me a used ring, a dead woman's role, and a child you can't raise alone. You think I've been waiting here like a backup plan. You think I'm still the girl who cried over you."
I started to close the door.
"I know you're not married!" he shouted. The desperation cracked through his voice now, loud and raw. "I checked! There's no record, no ring, no husband anywhere—"
Behind me, I heard the patter of small feet on hardwood.
"Mommy?" Lily's voice came from the end of the hall. "Why is that man yelling?"
I turned my head. "Baby, go back to the kitchen—"
But she was already running toward me, curious and fearless, the way four-year-olds are when they don't know the world has monsters in it yet.
She reached my side and grabbed my leg, peeking around me at the stranger in the doorway.
Kian went very still.
His eyes locked on Lily. I watched him take her in — the dark curls, the round face, the small hands clutching my jeans. I watched him do the math.
Five years since the breakup.
A child who looked about four.
His mouth opened slightly. His gaze snapped back to me, and something lit up behind his eyes — something possessive and bright and completely unhinged.
"She's mine," he said.
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"She's mine." He said it louder now, his voice climbing. "You were pregnant when we broke up. You didn't tell me. You kept her from me—"
"You're out of your mind."
"I have rights!" He stepped forward, and I slammed the door so hard the frame rattled. My hands shook as I threw the deadbolt. Lily looked up at me, eyes wide.
"Mommy?"
"It's okay, baby." I picked her up, settled her on my hip even though my belly made it awkward. "It's okay."
Kian's voice came through the door, muffled but loud. "You can't keep me from my child, Brynn! I'll get a lawyer! I'll get a court order! You can't just—"
I carried Lily down the hall toward the kitchen, pressing my thumbnail hard into my index finger. The pain was small and sharp and real. It kept my breathing steady.
Lily wrapped her arms around my neck. "Who was that man?"
"No one," I said. "No one important."
Behind us, Kian kept shouting. His fists hit the door once, twice. Then his voice dropped lower, and I heard him say something I couldn't make out.
Then footsteps. Moving away.
I set Lily down at the kitchen table and pulled my phone from my pocket. My hands were still shaking. I pressed Magnus's name.
It rang four times before he picked up.
"Brynn." His voice came through low and warm, and I felt something in my chest crack just slightly. "What's wrong?"
"Kian was here," I said. "He saw Lily. He thinks—" I stopped. Swallowed. "He thinks she's his."
Silence.
Then Magnus spoke again, and his voice was different now. Colder. Flatter.
"Where is he now?"
"Gone. He left."
"Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but building security." I heard movement on his end — a door closing, footsteps, the muted sound of voices being dismissed. "I'm getting on a plane. I'll be there in eight hours."
"Magnus—"
"Eight hours," he repeated. "Stay inside. I'm coming home."
The line went dead.
I set the phone down on the table and looked at Lily. She'd gone back to her coloring book, purple crayon in hand, humming softly to herself.
She had no idea.
I pressed my thumb into my finger again and stared at the door.
