Chapter 3 The Unexpected Child

SOFIA'S POV

"You didn't think to mention this in the contract that you have a child?"

Josh's voice cuts like broken glass, sharp and slicing through the silence of the living room. His eyes flick to the little girl sitting cross-legged on the cream rug, humming as she arranges puzzle pieces.

I keep my voice even. "She wasn't part of the contract. She's part of me."

Josh stepped closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear, eyes burning with barely contained anger. "You brought a child into my home without permission."

I kneel beside Eliza, brushing a loose curl from her forehead. She looks up at me with wide brown eyes, unaware of the storm building just feet away.

"You don't have to be involved," I say quietly. "She'll stay out of your way. She's six and needs a home." I didn't admit that the babysitter I'd arranged had a family emergency and my backup plan fell through, that I had nowhere else safe to take her.

"She needed your home," he snaps. "Not ours."

Ours. I never expected him to use that word. It makes the cold coil tighter around my ribs.

"She has no one else," I say, standing. "And I wasn't leaving her behind. If that's a problem-"

"It is a problem." His voice drops to a growl. "A child running through the hall, nannies, distractions, noise. This wasn't part of the deal, Sofia."

"No," I agree, forcing myself not to look away from his fierce gaze. "But I didn't think I needed to warn you about having a heart."

Josh stares at me for a long, pulsing moment. Then he scoffs, turns on his heel, and walks straight into the study, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make Eliza look up from her puzzle.

"Is he mad?" she asks in her small voice.

I crouch beside her, smoothing her hair. "No, sweetheart. He's just surprised. Adults get grumpy with surprises sometimes."

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

The silence in the mansion has changed.

Before, it was sharp, sterile. The kind of silence that echoes off untouched furniture and unused rooms. Now it's full of soft hums and light footsteps. Eliza fills it without trying, her laughter like tiny sunbeams piercing through the frost.

But Josh avoids her like she's a ghost haunting his perfect world.

I hear his footsteps vanish down hallways whenever he hears hers. During dinners, it's tense, quiet meals across a ten-foot table, he keeps his gaze fixed on his plate while Eliza chatters on about colors and clouds and the dreams she had the night before.

"Why doesn't he talk to me?" she asks me once, eyes blinking up at me as I tuck her into the guest room she's claimed as her own.

"Some people take time," I say, adjusting her covers. "Like flowers that bloom slowly."

She frowns. "He's a cactus."

I bite back a laugh. "Maybe."

Maybe he's worse than a cactus. Maybe he's stone-walling, unyielding. Maybe his walls are higher than I realized.

But I also see the small things. The way he pauses by the staircase when she's playing below, just long enough to listen. The way his eyes flick to the living room doorway when he hears her hiccuping from crying after a bad dream. He never steps in, but he notices. And that's something.

Three nights later, I found him in the kitchen.

It's late. I'm padding toward the fridge for water when I spot him at the counter, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. There's a whiskey glass in his hand and a tired slump in his shoulders that I've never seen before. He looks almost human, the armor of Josh Reynolds, corporate titan, momentarily set aside.

He doesn't look up when he speaks. "Is she yours?"

It takes me a bit to realize he's not talking about whiskey.

"Yes." I replied with my head lowered.

"And her father?" He asked, still not meeting my gaze.

I grip the fridge handle, heart tapping out a nervous beat. "Not in the picture."

"That's vague." He smirked, taking another sip of his whiskey.

"It's also none of your business." I snapped, grabbing a bottle of water with more force than necessary.

His gaze lifts then. Dark and unpredictable. "Everything under this roof is my business."

"No," I say, stepping toward him, voice low. "Our marriage is a business. She's family, there's a difference."

Josh tilts the glass to his lips. "You think this place is fit for a child?"

"No," I say, honestly. "But I'll make it fit."

There's a long stretch of quiet. Then he nods to the hallway, a gesture of dismissal or perhaps reluctant acceptance.

"She stays. But she's yours. Don't expect me to play daddy."

I exhale, a mix of relief and bitterness pooling in my chest. "I never asked you to."

"Good." He walks past me, brushing close enough that I catch a trace of his cologne. It clings to the air long after he's gone.

The next day, Eliza finds his office. I hear the sound of her little feet thudding down the hall, followed by the unmistakable creak of the heavy oak door. By the time I get there, it's too late.

She's inside standing in front of his desk, holding a crooked drawing made with her chunky crayons. A stick figure man in a gray suit, a woman with curly hair, and a tiny girl between them. Underneath it, in shaky pink letters: FAMILY.

Josh is staring at the paper like it might explode.

"Eliza," I say gently, stepping into the room. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's not bother-"

"I made it for him," she says, holding the paper higher. "See? That's you, and that's Mommy, and that's me!"

I swallow the knot rising in my throat. "Eliza" I tried again.

Josh rises slowly from his chair. His face is unreadable as he rounds the desk, stopping just in front of her.

"Is that me?" he asks, pointing to the drawing.

She nods. "You're the one in the suit. I gave you a smile because you don't smile much."

He stares at it for another second. Then without a word, he takes the paper from her and walks to the trash can.

My heart drops.

"Josh," I stepped forward.

But he's already dropped it in.

Eliza blinks. "Why did you?"

"Because," he says, voice cool. "We're not a family."

Her lip trembles. I move to her side, arms wrapping around her small frame, pulling her close. She buries her face in my waist, sniffling.

"Come on, sweetheart," I whisper, rage building inside me. "Let's go."

As I led her out, I looked over my shoulder just once. Josh is standing by the window, back turned.

He never looked at us.

That night, I didn't sleep. I watch Eliza curled up beside me, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the blanket like she's afraid of being pulled away.

I should have known better. Should've never let her near him. She's not part of this war. She's the only pure thing left in my world. And now she's hurt. I stare at the ceiling, fists clenched.

This wasn't part of the plan. But now, it is.

He doesn't get to destroy what's mine.

Not again.

I slipped out of bed once Eliza is deeply asleep. I need clear thoughts, not clouded by emotion. My revenge requires precision.

And then, when I pass Josh's study again, I notice something strange. His door was left open. The lights were on. And on the far wall, just behind his desk, the crayon drawing is pinned up. I froze.

Something twists in my chest. Something I don't have a name for, but I ignored and turned to leave, a voice breaking the silence behind me.

"You weren't supposed to see that." Josh said.

But I don't know what to say, I don't know how to reconcile the man who threw away a child's drawing with the one who secretly rescued it. So I ignored and went straight to my room.

The next morning, a package awaited me at the breakfast table. Inside was a photograph, my father, standing beside Josh, both smiling.

A note accompanied it: "Things aren't always as they seem."

My hands trembled. Trying to read the meaning of the letter, but I couldn't.