Chapter 427
Alexander
We reached the Bentley. I shifted Ethan carefully, managing to open the back door without waking him. Madison climbed in first, arranging herself on the seat.
“Hand him to me.”
I passed Ethan over, watching as Madison settled him against her lap. His head found her shoulder automatically, that same comfortable position from earlier.
I closed the door quietly and slid behind the wheel.
The drive to my penthouse took fifteen minutes. Madison stayed silent, one hand stroking Ethan’s hair while he slept.
I pulled into my private garage, the Bentley purring to a stop.
“We’re here.”
Madison looked around the underground space, taking in the security cameras and pristine concrete. “Nice garage.”
“It’s functional.” I climbed out, opening her door. “Elevator’s this way.”
She gathered Ethan carefully. I reached for him again.
“I can carry him.”
“I know. But let me help.”
She studied me for a beat, then nodded.
Ethan transferred to my arms without complaint, his small body warm and solid against my chest. Madison grabbed her purse and followed me to the private elevator.
The ride up was silent except for Ethan’s soft breathing. Madison stood on the opposite side, her eyes on our son instead of me.
The elevator opened directly into my penthouse.
“This way.” I headed down the hallway toward the guest room, Madison trailing behind.
The room was pristine, all neutral tones and expensive furniture. The bed was king–sized, probably excessive for a kid, but comfortable.
I pulled back the covers one–handed, then carefully lowered Ethan onto the mattress.
He mumbled something, his eyes fluttering open briefly. “Mom?”
“Right here, baby.” Madison appeared beside the bed, smoothing his hair back. “Go back to sleep.”
His eyes closed again almost immediately.
Madison tucked the blanket around him, her movements gentle and practiced. Then she stepped back, watching him for a moment longer than necessary.
“He’s really out,” I observed.
“Sugar crash. Combined with all that running around.” She moved toward the door. “Can I get some water?”
“Of course. Kitchen’s this way.”
I led her down the hallway, hyperaware of her presence behind me. The penthouse felt different with her in it. Less sterile,
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maybe. Less like a showpiece and more like an actual home.
“Nice place,” Madison said, her tone carefully neutral. (2
I smiled and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. “Water? Or something stronger?”
“Just water.”
I filled both glasses and handed her one. Our fingers brushed during the exchange. Neither of us acknowledged it.
Madison took a long drink, her eyes scanning the open kitchen and living area. “This is very you. Expensive, minimalist, designed for efficiency.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s an observation.” She set down her glass. “Where can I sit without ruining something?”
“Anywhere. The furniture’s meant to be used, not displayed.”
She settled onto the couch, still holding her water glass like a shield. I took the chair across from her, maintaining distance.
Silence stretched between us, not quite comfortable but not hostile either.
“Thank you,” Madison said finally. “For suggesting this. You were right about Ethan needing proper rest.”
“You don’t have to thank me. He’s my son too.”
“I know.” She picked at the glass. “That’s still strange to say out loud.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. You being his father. Him meeting you. This whole situation.”
I leaned back, studying her face. “What did you tell him? About me not being around?”
“Nothing yet. He’s too young to ask complicated questions.” She paused. “But eventually he will. And I don’t know what I’ll say.”
“The truth might work.”
“Which version? That his father didn’t know he existed? Or that his father chose someone else?”
The accusation landed sharply.
“Both are true,” I said quietly. “I didn’t know you were pregnant. And I did get engaged to Katherine. Those are facts.”
“Facts that will hurt him when he’s old enough to understand.”
“Then we’ll deal with it together. When the time comes.”
“You really want this. To be part of his life.”
“Yes.”
“Even when it’s hard? When he’s sick or throwing tantrums or asking why you weren’t there from the beginning?”
“Especially then.” I met her eyes. “I missed five years. I’m not missing any more.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she stood, moving toward the windows overlooking Manhattan.
“This view is incredible.”
I joined her, keeping an appropriate distance. “It’s why I bought this place.”
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“I can see why.” She pressed her hand against the glass. “You can see everything from up here. The whole city spread out like
you own it.”
“I don’t own it. Just observe it from a distance.”
“Same thing for someone like you.”
I wanted to argue, to explain that owning and observing weren’t remotely similar. But her tone suggested she wouldn’t believe
me anyway.
“You should rest too,” I said instead. “While Ethan’s sleeping. There’s another guest room, or you can use my room.”
“I’m fine here.”
“Madison.”
“I said I’m fine.” She turned from the window. “I’ll just sit and wait for Ethan to wake up.”
“That could be hours.”
“Then I’ll sit for hours.” Her expression was stubborn. “I’m not sleeping in your penthouse, Alexander.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” She crossed her arms. “Because it feels too intimate. Too much like something we used to do.”
“That was different,” I said quietly. “This is just practical. You’re exhausted.”
“I’m always exhausted. That’s what being a parent means.”
“Then let me help. Even just for a few hours.”
Madison shook her head, but her resistance was weakening. I could see it in how her shoulders sagged slightly, how her grip on her water glass loosened.
“Fine,” she said finally. “But just for an hour. And I’m staying on the couch.”
“Whatever makes you comfortable.”
She settled back onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. I grabbed a throw blanket from the closet and handed it over.
“Thanks.” She wrapped it around herself, already looking more relaxed.
I should leave. Give her space. But my feet wouldn’t move.
“Alexander?”
“Yeah?”
“You can go do whatever you normally do. Work, or whatever. I’ll be fine here.”
“Right. Of course.” I stepped back. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”
She nodded, already closing her eyes.
I forced myself to walk away, heading down the hallway to my office. But I couldn’t focus on work. Couldn’t stop thinking about Madison curled up on my couch, our son sleeping in my guest room.
This should have felt strange. Instead, it felt right in a way that terrified me.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
