They were worried because I stopped crying.
Not just "Oh, she's a quiet baby" worried.
They panicked.
But not right away.
Because in the beginning, no one noticed.
Everyone was too distracted by their new roles: father, co-parent, rival, man still in love.
After the twins were born, the infamous Ashford love triangle didn't collapse—it morphed into a cold war fought with baby wipes and 24-karat pacifiers. Caelum Ashford, the golden-eyed thrill-chaser, and Dorian Ashford, the blue-eyed boardroom prince, weren't just trying to be good fathers.
They were trying to win Aurora Drayke back.
Being "the better dad" was the new battlefield. Every perfectly prepared bottle, every sleepless night, every whispered story or swaddling attempt wasn't about us. It was about her.
They had both lost her.
And now they thought they could earn her forgiveness by loving their daughters loudly—in public, in front of each other, like it meant something more.
And while they competed for the heart of the same woman all over again...
I stopped crying.
And for five whole days, no one noticed.
Let me back up.
Before I was Selene Ashford Drayke, black-haired, green-eyed daughter of a man too cold to speak and a woman too tired to fight, I was just a jaded thirty-year-old office drone who read Golden Bonds on the bus to work.
Then the bus crashed. I died saving a child.
And somehow, the universe decided to drop me into the very book I'd been reading as one of the twins.
Twins with different fathers.
You read that right.
Aurora Vance was never just the heroine.
She was the powerhouse who built empires for men who couldn't hold her.
She met Caelum Ashford first. Son of the disgraced Ashford brother who eloped with Liora, the luminous golden-eyed woman both brothers loved. Well it seems every generation share the same fate of loving and fighting over the same woman, after all both Caelum and Dorian's fathers who were brothers by the way, loved Liora and in the end she choose Caelum's father. And now their sons are repeating the same history.
Caelum was reckless, brilliant, and rich enough to treat the laws of physics as suggestions. But he had one thing other men didn't: Aurora.
She helped him build his first company. Wrote the code. Designed the security. Fueled the launch.
They were a perfect team—until success ruined everything.
When the company exploded, Caelum dropped out of college to chase the dream full-time.
Aurora chose to finish her degree.
The long distance didn't work. Then came the fatal accident that almost took Caelum's life. He disappeared. Went quiet.
When he returned, he handed her a massive check.
"For your work. And for everything else."
That was goodbye.
She became a millionaire before twenty-five.
Then came Dorian.
He recruited Aurora into one of the Ashford subsidiaries. Recognized her brilliance. Promoted her. They worked together, became close. Dated.
But Dorian could never quite let her in.
He was clinical. Distant. Obsessed with control.
And every time his emotionally unstable ex called, he went to her.
No explanation. No boundaries.
Aurora finally broke after one last night together. He disappeared before morning.
She left him a note:
"We're done."
Three days later, she walked into a bar.
And there was Caelum.
Golden eyes. Regret in every smile. Still magnetic.
They drank. Talked. Hooked up.
And that night?
Twins.
I was born first: Selene Ashford. Green eyes like Aurora. Black hair like Dorian.
Liliane followed. Golden eyes like Caelum. Golden hair like her mother.
Aurora nearly died giving birth.
And once the shock of the DNA test settled in, the Ashford men—still in love with her—started their performance:
The Redemption of the Rich and Romantically Incompetent.
They weren't changing diapers to be good men.
They were trying to be better men—for her.
And me?
I stopped crying.
Because I had nothing to prove.
I had a trilogy's worth of trauma to prepare for.
The alarm bells rang five days later.
A nurse, flipping through charts, casually said,
"Strange—I haven't heard this one cry in days."
Aurora's head snapped up. "What?"
Moments later, I was in her arms. Her voice trembled as she rocked me.
"Selene? Baby, why aren't you crying?"
Dorian looked confused.
Caelum watched me like I was a line of code no one could debug. Then he joked,
"Leave it to Dorian to give you the broken baby."
It didn't land.
Not with Aurora.
Not with Dorian.
Not with me, either.
Caelum was promptly kicked out of the room after Aurora ordered him to put Liliane down.
Dorian, ever the ice sculpture, tried to reassure her.
"I was a calm baby too. My parents told me I rarely cried."
Which sounded sweet... if you didn't know better.
I did.
Let's not forget: his parents threw him at nannies like they were allergic to emotional bonding. They had no idea what kind of baby he really was. He probably stopped crying because every time he showed a feeling, they left. He became quiet to survive. Polite to be loved.
The pattern looked familiar.
Aurora took me from Dorian's arms. His logical explanations didn't calm her. She ended up demanding a doctor be called immediately to examine me.
An hour later, I was stretched on a private pediatric table under my mother's worried eyes and my father's barely contained tension. The doctor kept prodding and murmuring, clearly sensing the tension in the air.
Eventually, I took pity on the poor man and let out a fake cry.
The doctor nearly sighed in relief.
"There we go. Nothing wrong with your baby," he said, handing me back to Aurora.
I stopped crying instantly.
He nodded.
"It seems she likes you. She's content when she's with you—that's why she doesn't cry. But I'll continue monitoring her just in case."
Aurora nodded, still frowning.
Dorian followed the doctor out to ask more questions, probably in bullet points.
Thankfully, Liliane started crying at that moment, and Aurora turned her attention toward her. She placed us both down in the crib again, cradling my sister like she was made of starlight.
And I?
I was free from the spotlight.
Thank God.
I've decided: I'm here to enjoy this rich life, maybe rule over everyone while they fought for love—and this time, lose my virginity before I die and finally complete my damn therapy.