Three days until the custody hearing.
Kian hadn't said much all morning. He stood by the kitchen window, coffee in hand, eyes locked on a world only he could see. The weight of the courtroom, of the possibility of losing his daughter again, clung to him like a second skin.
Naya watched him from the hallway, barefoot, robe tied lazily around her waist.
"Eat something," she said gently. "You won't win if you fall apart before you even get to court."
"I'm not falling apart," he muttered.
She stepped closer, reaching for his untouched toast. "Fine. Then I'll eat your breakfast and pretend you made it for me."
A reluctant smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. "You're impossible."
"And you're dramatic."
They both knew the joke was a cover. But it worked. It made the morning feel normal—if only for a minute.
---
Naya's phone buzzed.
"Today's the day," her manager had texted. "Full glam. Office intro. Everyone's watching."
After months of silence, scandal, and soul-searching, Naya was finally stepping back into her career. A rebrand. A reentry. A reminder.
She pulled herself together like armor—slim-cut blazer, soft waves, matte lipstick. Confidence wasn't a mood. It was her weapon.
As she stepped into the lifestyle media company's downtown HQ, heads turned.
Some whispered.
Some stared.
But no one dared to say she didn't belong.
Because she did.
---
Later that night, Kian was still buried in paperwork—legal files, background checks, behavioral reports. Proof that he wasn't just a capable father, but the better parent.
Naya walked in, kicking off her heels with a sigh. "You need a break."
"I can't afford one," he said without looking up.
"You're not just fighting for your rights, Kian. You're fighting to show your daughter what love looks like."
That made him pause.
He looked up, eyes darker than usual. "You'd think the truth would be enough."
Naya stepped closer, voice soft. "It will be. Because it is."
He reached for her hand.
She didn't pull away.
And in that moment—one so quiet and honest it almost hurt—it was clear: what started as performance had become something much more dangerous. Something real.
And neither of them was ready for it.