The courthouse lobby smelled faintly of old paper and disinfectant, but to Maya, it might as well have been blood and ash.
She sat rigid on the bench outside courtroom three, Lila's photo tucked in her hand like a talisman. Ana sat beside her, lips pressed tight, fury simmering in her eyes.
"This is it," Ana muttered. "If the judge sides with him…"
Maya swallowed hard, her throat like sand. "I know."
The doors creaked open. The bailiff's voice rang out: "Parties for Blackthorn versus Blackthorn."
Her stomach lurched. She rose on unsteady legs, every nerve screaming to run, to grab Lila and vanish into the night. But she couldn't. Running had never saved her before.
Inside, the courtroom was a cage. The judge presided at the bench, stone-faced, while Damon already waited at his table. He didn't look at her right away, but when he did—when those silver eyes locked with hers—her heart jolted traitorously.
Not arrogance. Not smugness.
Only resolve.
The hearing began with her lawyer speaking first.
"Your Honor, granting unsupervised visitation would be reckless at this time. Mr. Blackthorn's record of absence is well-documented. For two years, he provided no financial support, no contact, no acknowledgment of the child's existence. My client has shouldered the full responsibility of care alone. His sudden interest in fatherhood cannot erase that history."
Maya nodded fiercely, clinging to the words like armor.
Then Damon rose. No lawyer again. Just him.
His voice filled the chamber, low and steady. "Everything she said is true. I wasn't there. I abandoned her, and I abandoned our daughter before she even drew her first breath. And it's the greatest failure of my life."
A hush fell. Even the judge's brows lifted slightly.
Maya's chest twisted.
Damon continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "I won't defend the man I was. But I'll fight with everything I am to be the father Lila deserves. I've shown consistency, responsibility. I've proven I can care for her. All I'm asking for is the chance to earn more time—not from the court, but from my daughter."
Maya shot to her feet, rage igniting. "You don't get to stand there and paint yourself a martyr. You don't know what it cost me—what it cost her—when you walked away!"
The judge's gavel cracked. "Mrs. Blackthorn, sit down."
Her chest heaved as she dropped back into her chair, blinking against hot tears. Damon's gaze stayed steady, but his jaw clenched, as if her words had landed like blows.
The hearing dragged on. Witnesses. Records. Long arguments about stability and precedent. Maya felt herself unravel piece by piece, until the walls she'd built around her heart were nothing but fragile glass.
When the judge finally recessed, promising a ruling within days, Maya's hands shook so badly she could barely gather her papers.
She pushed past Damon toward the door, desperate to breathe.
"Maya—"
"Don't." She spun on him, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare say my name like you still have the right."
He didn't flinch. He didn't roar back.
He just looked at her, weary, raw. "You're right. I don't. But I'm not leaving this courthouse without saying one thing."
Her pulse stuttered.
He stepped closer, close enough that his scent—cedar, smoke, wolf—wrapped around her like memory. His voice was a rasp.
"I'm building something for her. A safe place. A home. If the court grants me time, she'll have a room that's hers, filled with what she loves. Not a penthouse. Not a cage. A home."
Maya blinked, stunned. "You expect me to believe that?"
"You'll see it yourself," he said simply. "Come. Or send Ana. Judge it with your own eyes."
She stared, searching his face for the trick, the manipulation. But for once, she saw nothing but brutal honesty.
Before she could form a reply, he turned and walked away, leaving her shaking.
Curiosity gnawed at her for two days.
She told herself she wouldn't go. She told herself Damon was lying, another ploy to soften her defenses.
But when Ana offered to check the place herself, Maya surprised them both by saying, "No. I'll go."
Ana arched a brow. "Alone?"
Maya swallowed. "If he's lying, I'll know."
The address led her across town, far from Damon's gleaming towers and polished boardrooms. The neighborhood was quiet, lined with old oaks and brick row houses. She hesitated at the gate, her pulse a wreck.
Then she saw him.
Damon stood on the porch of a modest two-story house, sleeves rolled, hair damp with sweat. Paint cans sat by the railing. Through the open door, she caught the scent of sawdust, the sound of tools.
Her throat tightened.
He stepped down slowly, wiping his hands. His silver eyes softened when they found her.
"You came."
Maya crossed her arms, trying to shield the quake in her chest. "Show me."
He nodded and led her inside.
The house smelled of fresh paint and cedar. The living room was half-finished, boxes stacked neatly, a rug rolled in the corner. But it was the upstairs room that made her stop cold.
Soft yellow walls. A small bed with pink sheets. A shelf already filled with storybooks and wooden animals. In the corner, a rocking chair.
Maya's breath caught.
He had carved them again—more of those rough little wooden toys. But this time, there were dozens. Wolves, rabbits, even a tiny dragon. Each one hand-shaped, imperfect, made with love.
Her eyes burned. She turned sharply to him. "Why?"
Damon's voice was quiet, steady. "Because she deserves a father who builds for her. Not one who hides behind money and power. I can't change the past, Maya. But I can damn well change the future."
Her chest ached, every wall threatening to collapse.
But she forced steel into her voice. "Words. That's all they ever are."
He shook his head slowly. "No. Not this time."
And for once, she didn't know how to argue.