Silver hadn't slept well.
The city was only beginning to stir—gray light pooling against the windows, the hum of early traffic faint and distant. She sat curled on the edge of the couch, mug in hand, her reflection soft and ghostlike in the glass. The air smelled faintly of coffee and lavender oil—her small, futile attempts at calm. Neither had worked.
Her mind had replayed the events at the hospital countless times, each memory tangled with possibility and fear.
She had texted Edward to come. He'd be here soon.
Tomorrow—or the day after—they would leave with Princess to retrieve the jewel. But this had to be settled first, in the quiet of her home, before work, before everything else took over.
The minutes stretched. Silver rose, gathering her things for the day—her bag, her coat, the folder she'd left by the table. She checked the time, once, then again. The coffee had gone cold, untouched.
When the knock came, her heart leapt.
She took a slow breath, smoothed the front of her blouse, and opened the door.
Edward stood there.
The morning light caught the sharp angles of his face, softening the usual arrogance. His tie was loose, his shirt slightly wrinkled—as though he'd dressed too quickly. The faint scent of his cologne drifted toward her, familiar enough to ache.
"Morning," he said, voice low, smooth, intimate.
Silver's hand stilled on the doorframe. Her heart gave an unsteady beat, but she masked it by stepping aside. "You're early."
He entered, the warmth of his presence instantly altering the air. His gaze lingered on her, searching. "You didn't sleep."
"Neither did you. Would you like some coffee?" she asked.
He nodded, smiling faintly, as though that were something they could share. "You asked to talk. I've been thinking about that all night."
She moved toward the kitchen to pour him coffee. The small, ordinary act steadied her hands. "Then you'll understand why I wanted to do it before work. I can't afford distractions later."
He took the mug from her fingers, brushing her hand in the process. The touch was brief but electric; warmth slid up her arm and gathered at her throat. He noticed—the flicker in his eyes betrayed it.
"You're tense," he murmured.
"I'm sure you can guess why."
"I'll support anything you decide on," he said, setting the mug down. "Tell me."
Silver met his gaze, steady but trembling at the edges. "I've given everything a thought."
He straightened, watching her. "And?"
"I'm keeping the child."
For a heartbeat, everything stilled. Then a slow, incredulous smile broke through his composure. "You will?"
"Yes. I will."
He exhaled, stepping closer before he even realized it. "Silver—God, that's… that's good. That's really good. We'll figure everything out. I can start looking for—"
"Edward," she cut in softly, "there's more."
The happiness in his face dimmed. "What do you mean?"
"I don't want you around me anymore. You can check in when you need to, but I want space. I need it."
His brow furrowed. "You're not serious."
"I am."
He laughed once—quiet, disbelieving. "You invite me here to tell me that? After everything?"
"I invited you because I needed to say it in person."
He moved closer, the scent of his cologne thickening between them, his voice dropping into that quiet, coaxing register that had always undone her.
"You don't mean this. You're scared. You think pushing me away will make it easier."
"No." Her voice held steady now. "I think it's the only way I'll survive you."
His hand lifted, hesitated, then traced the edge of her jaw. "Don't do this."
Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers, but she didn't step back. "I'm doing it because I have to. I'm willing to change my life for this child—but not destroy it for you."
His jaw tightened. "You're not being fair. I'm trying to do what's right—"
"What's right for you," she said quietly. "Not for me."
He stared at her, breathing harder now. "You think I can just walk away? Pretend none of this matters?"
"Do you have any idea what Princess would do if she finds out?" Anger flared in her chest. "Are you willing to put the baby and me through that?"
Silence pressed between them, dense and electric.
"I'm working on that," he murmured.
Then he moved again, close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off him, the faint scent of espresso and leather clinging to his shirt. His restraint fractured; his eyes flicked to her mouth, then back to her eyes—raw and desperate.
Her heart slammed once against her ribs. "If you come any closer, I'll call the police."
The warning landed like ice between them.
Her voice steadied. "Go home, Edward. Marry your fiancée. Live the life you chose. Just don't come near me again. Ever."
For a second, he looked as though he might argue. Then he nodded once, almost imperceptibly. "This isn't over."
She didn't—couldn't—answer. He left without another word.
Silver had been serious about her threat, yet she hadn't expected him to actually go. A man like Edward—his name, his reach—could have ignored every boundary she set.
When the door closed behind him, the air felt too still. The scent of him lingered—warmth, perfume. She stood there until her legs trembled, then sank onto the couch.
He hadn't said he would fight for her—for their child. He hadn't chosen them.
The tears came quietly, then harder, until they wrung the breath from her chest.
When she could finally move again, she reached for her phone.
"Annemarie?" she whispered when her sister picked up. "I just wanted to call. Congratulations on the baby."
Annemarie laughed softly. "Thank you. I wish you were here."
"I will be," Silver said. "As soon as I can. I promise.
When the call ended, she sat still for a long time, eyes tracing the pale outline of dawn against the window.
Her life. Her child. Her choice.
She didn't know what the future would hold—the weight of her decision, what this pregnancy might demand, or if she could carry it all.
But for the first time since it began, a calm settled over her. The kind that comes from knowing what will—and won't—break you anymore.
She moved slowly, pulling on her dress, hand drifting once more to the quiet swell of her stomach.
By the time she stepped outside, the sun had crested over the city, bathing it in a soft blaze of gold. The world hadn't changed. But she had.