Back at home, the mansion felt... unusually quiet.
Lucien tossed his keys onto the marble island and looked around with a frown. "Too silent."
He wandered through the hallways—empty, clean, and devoid of bossy sibling banter.
Seraphine placed a hand on his shoulder. "I miss his snoring."
"Please," Lucien replied dryly, "I taught you to fix that with deadbolt discipline."
She giggled softly. "Still. I liked the chaos. You know how he effortlessly makes everyone upon the verge of crying."
"And the crisis," Lucien said, leaning in to kiss her temple. "Now I have to cook dinner instead of arguing procedural lampshade placements."
She smirked. "Try raising a baby."
Just then, a piercing wail tore through the house.
"Daniel!" Lucien said, already moving.
They found him standing half-awake in his crib, tears shining on his chubby cheeks. Lucien scooped him up and bounced him against his shoulder, cooing softly. Seraphine rummaged for a bottle while humming a gentle lullaby.
Within minutes, Daniel quieted into sleepy whimpers. Lucien walked into the nursery, tucking him gently into a bassinet beside the rocking chair. The soft creak of the chair echoed faintly in the hushed, dimly lit room. A warm amber nightlight painted the walls in soft gold, throwing long shadows that danced quietly with the rhythm of Daniel's breathing.
Seraphine leaned against the doorway, arms crossed gently, watching Lucien with tired yet peaceful eyes. He pulled the blanket up to Daniel's chin with a careful touch, brushing a hand over the baby's downy hair, Seraphine smiled warmly at this gesture. Never knew Lucien would turn out to be those fantasy dads.
For a moment, there was only silence—thick, still, and safe.
Lucien didn't turn around as he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.
"He's going to grow up in a world I've spent years fighting to survive in… and now I have to make it safe for him."
Seraphine stepped closer, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. "You already have made it safe. He has you. He has us."
Lucien exhaled slowly, standing to face her. His hands fell to his sides, and there was something almost lost in his expression—a flicker of vulnerability few had ever seen.
"I think about what kind of man he'll become. What if… what if he inherits the darker parts of me? The temper. The violence. The weight of everything I've done."
She reached out and touched his chest lightly. "He'll inherit your strength. Your loyalty. Your heart. And if there are shadows, then we'll teach him how to live with them… not be consumed by them."
Lucien's lips quirked into a tired smile. "You make it sound so easy."
"It won't be. But he'll grow up loved. And not many can say that."
Lucien looked down at Daniel, his features softening. "He'll have everything I never had. Peace. Safety. Parents who would go to war for him but teach him how to choose peace instead."
Seraphine laughed gently, resting her head on his shoulder. "Let's teach him how to choose his battles… and how to win the right ones."
There was a pause. Daniel shifted slightly in his sleep, his tiny fingers curling toward nothing.
"I want him to build something bigger than we ever could," Lucien said quietly. "Not just inherit our name but change what it means."
Seraphine nodded slowly. "He will. With a father like you, and a little sister in the future to keep him humble—"
Lucien's head snapped toward her, eyebrows raised. "A what?"
Seraphine grinned, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Relax, Castellano. Not anytime soon. But maybe… one day."
Lucien chuckled softly and pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her hair.
"One day. But for now… let's just protect this."
He looked one last time at Daniel's sleeping form—calm, safe, utterly unaware of the battles his parents had already fought for him. And would continue to fight.
Because for him, they'd burn kingdoms.
For him, they'd build a future.