The judge's ruling came on a gray morning that felt like smoke and iron.
Maya sat in the stiff courtroom chair, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the legal jargon echoing through the chamber. Lila dozed in her stroller beside her, unaware of the war raging above her small head.
"Supervised visitation," the judge declared at last, her voice calm, detached. "Two evenings per week, one weekend afternoon. Both parties will comply."
The gavel struck.
Maya's breath shattered.
Her grip tightened on the edge of the table. No. No, no, no.
She wanted to scream, to beg, to throw herself across the room and tear up the papers. But she couldn't. Not here. Not with so many eyes watching.
Beside her, Ana swore under her breath. "This is bullshit."
Maya swallowed hard, forcing down the panic clawing at her throat. She leaned over, brushing Lila's cheek, grounding herself in the soft warmth of her daughter. It's just hours. Just a few hours. She's still mine.
Across the room, Damon rose from his chair. His silver eyes caught hers instantly, sharp and unreadable. For once, there was no smugness in his gaze, no Alpha arrogance. Only something raw, something that sent a tremor through her chest despite herself.
He looked at Lila.
And his face softened, just for a heartbeat.
Maya jerked her gaze away.
She wouldn't let herself believe it.
The first visit was torture.
The court had assigned a mediator, a kind but stiff woman named Ms. Keller, to supervise the exchanges. They met in a sterile office with white walls and glass doors, every surface polished to dull perfection.
Maya arrived first, Lila on her hip, Ana at her side like a shield.
When Damon entered, the air shifted instantly. His presence filled the room, heavy and magnetic, his wolf prowling beneath his skin. Lila stirred at the sound of the door, turning her small head.
And then she saw him.
Her eyes lit up.
Maya's chest constricted as her daughter let out a delighted squeal, chubby hands reaching toward Damon without hesitation.
"No," Maya whispered, but Lila wriggled, insistent.
Damon froze in the doorway, as if the sound had pierced him. Slowly, carefully, he stepped forward.
"Maya," he said softly, almost as if asking permission.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Every instinct screamed to turn away, to shield Lila from him. But Keller's sharp eyes were on her, ready to note any "uncooperative behavior."
Her arms tightened once, fiercely, and then—God, it almost broke her—she set Lila down.
The little girl toddled unsteadily across the carpet, straight toward him.
Damon knelt, his large frame folding down with surprising gentleness. He opened his arms.
And Lila barreled into them.
Maya's heart cracked clean in two.
The next hours blurred.
Damon held his daughter as if she were made of glass, staring at her with an intensity that was almost unbearable to watch. He traced her tiny fingers, marveled at her small laugh, whispered her name over and over like a prayer.
"Lila," he breathed, silver eyes damp. "My Lila."
Maya sat stiffly across the room, every muscle coiled. She hated him for looking so undone, hated him for making Lila giggle as if she'd known him forever.
But what she hated most was the flicker of warmth that sparked in her chest when she saw how careful he was—how his massive hands trembled as he cradled their daughter, as if he feared his own strength.
Her traitorous heart whispered, He could love her.
She crushed the thought instantly.
The visits continued.
Every time, Maya swore she wouldn't let him get to her. She'd sit in the corner, arms crossed, walls high. And every time, Damon chipped at those walls without even trying.
He learned Lila's favorite toys, her sleepy-time song, the way she scrunched her nose before a giggle burst out. He brought her soft blankets, books, little wooden animals carved by hand.
At first, Maya sneered. "Trying to buy her?"
But then she noticed the rough edges of the carvings, the calluses on his hands, the faint smell of cedar.
He'd made them himself.
She hated that her chest tightened at the thought of Damon Blackthorn—ruthless Alpha, untouchable powerbroker—sitting somewhere alone at night, whittling toys for a child he'd only just met.
The weekend visit was the hardest.
Instead of the sterile office, they were allowed to meet at a small city park. Keller sat on a bench nearby, pretending to read, but her watchful eyes never strayed too far.
The park was buzzing with families, the air filled with the shrieks of children and the smell of hot pretzels. Maya spread a blanket on the grass, settling Lila down with a stuffed rabbit.
Damon arrived moments later. He didn't wear a suit today—just dark jeans and a button-down, sleeves rolled up, his hair slightly mussed by the wind. He looked… younger. Softer. Almost human.
Maya hated how her stomach fluttered.
Lila squealed, reaching for him again. Damon sat on the blanket, his large frame somehow making space feel small, and let Lila climb clumsily into his lap.
"She's fearless," he murmured, watching their daughter tug on his shirt buttons.
"She's stubborn," Maya said sharply.
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. "Wonder where she gets that from."
Maya's glare could have cut steel.
But then Lila shoved the rabbit into Damon's chest, babbling with delight. And Damon, the most terrifying man she had ever known, actually laughed.
The sound was deep, rough, and utterly disarming.
For the first time in months, Maya felt her armor falter.
As weeks passed, the visits carved new patterns into her life.
Damon didn't miss a single one. He arrived early, stayed late if Keller allowed, never once faltered in his attention. His wolf, though restless, never threatened Lila. Instead, it hovered protectively, a silent shadow that seemed to curl around the child like a vow.
Maya watched, conflicted.
Every instinct told her to keep him at arm's length. But some nights, after Lila was asleep, she found herself remembering the way Damon's eyes softened when he kissed their daughter's hair.
It was dangerous.
Because beneath the anger and fear, something old and treacherous stirred inside her.
One evening, after a visit, Damon lingered at the doorway as Maya buckled Lila into her stroller.
"Maya," he said quietly.
She stiffened. "What."
"I know you hate me. And you have every right." His voice was low, steady, unlike the commanding growl she remembered. "But I'm not giving up on her. Or you."
Her head snapped up, fury igniting. "Don't you dare put me in the same sentence as her."
He met her gaze, unflinching. "You're the same to me."
Her heart slammed against her ribs, betraying her.
Damon's jaw tightened, as if he'd said too much. He stepped back, silver eyes shadowed.
"See you Thursday," he murmured, and walked away.
Maya stood in the doorway long after he was gone, shaking.
Because the truth she couldn't admit—not to Ana, not even to herself—was that for one dangerous second, she had believed him.