Kai's POV
There's a sandwich on my desk.
I stop in the doorway of my lab, staring at the white paper bag with grease spots showing through. My stomach drops because I know—I know—who put it there.
I should throw it away. I should call security. I should do anything except walk over and open that bag.
I open the bag.
Turkey, avocado, and sprouts on sourdough with honey mustard. Extra pickles. No tomatoes because they make the bread soggy.
My exact order from Morrison's Deli. The sandwich shop that closed four years ago when Mr. Morrison retired to Florida.
My hands shake as I pull out the note tucked inside:
"You always forgot to eat when you were stressed. Please take care of yourself. - E"
I crumple the note and throw it in the trash. Then I stare at the sandwich for a full minute before my stomach growls loudly enough to echo in the empty lab.
I hate that it's still my favorite sandwich. I hate that Ethan remembered. I hate that I'm actually hungry for the first time in three days.
I eat half of it before my pride wins and I throw the rest away.
DAY TWO
The flowers arrive during my meeting with Dr. Santos.
A delivery guy knocks on the glass door of the conference room, holding a simple vase of white daisies. Not roses. Not orchids. Not any of the fancy flowers that scream "I'm rich and trying to impress you."
Just daisies. Simple, cheerful daisies with yellow centers.
"Someone has an admirer," Dr. Santos says with a knowing smile.
I sign for them with numb fingers. The card is small and white:
"I remembered. I remember everything. - E"
Five years ago, Ethan took me on a picnic for our one-month anniversary. We lay in a field of wildflowers and I told him daisies were my favorite because they were happy flowers. Not trying to be fancy or important. Just happy.
"They're like you," Ethan had said, tucking one behind my ear. "Beautiful without trying."
I'd kissed him and thought I was the luckiest omega in the world.
Now I stare at these daisies and want to cry. Or scream. Or both.
"Are you okay, Dr. Rivers?" Dr. Santos asks. "You look upset."
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just allergies."
I shove the vase in a corner where I don't have to look at it. But for the rest of the day, I can smell them. Sweet and innocent and mocking.
DAY THREE
I stay late on purpose. If I'm working, I don't have to think. Don't have to remember. Don't have to wonder why Ethan is doing this.
By nine PM, I'm the only one left in the building except for security. My eyes burn from staring at research data, but it's better than going home to Adrian's worried looks and Marcus's concerned texts.
I finally pack up and head to the parking garage. It's poorly lit—Dr. Santos wasn't kidding about that. My footsteps echo on concrete as I walk toward my beat-up sedan that looks pathetic next to all the fancy cars here.
Then I see him.
Ethan leans against my car, hands in his pockets. He's not in a suit anymore—just jeans and a sweater. He looks tired. Human. Not like the untouchable alpha CEO.
I stop walking. "Are you stalking me now?"
"No!" Ethan straightens quickly, hands up. "I'm not—Jason mentioned you were working late and I just—" He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "The parking garage isn't well lit. I wanted to make sure you got to your car safely."
"I've been getting to my car safely for five years without you."
"I know. I know you don't need me. But I need to do this anyway." He steps back from my car, giving me space. "I'll just wait here until you're in your car and driving away. That's all. I won't talk to you. Won't bother you. I just need to know you're safe."
I want to tell him to leave. Want to call him a creep. Want to do anything except feel this stupid flutter in my chest.
"This is harassment," I say instead.
"I know. Tell security. Get a restraining order. I'll respect it." His voice is quiet. "But until you do, I'm going to make sure you're safe. Even if you hate me for it."
I should argue. Should get in my car and call the police. Should do something.
Instead, I unlock my car and get in. Through the rearview mirror, I watch Ethan stand there under the flickering lights, his hands in his pockets, waiting.
I drive away slowly. When I check the mirror one last time, he's still standing there, watching my taillights disappear.
Adrian is on my couch when I get home, and he looks angry.
"That alpha came by today," he says before I even close the door. "Ethan Cross."
My heart jumps. "What? Here? How does he know where I live?"
"I don't know, but he showed up this afternoon." Adrian's jaw is tight. "Brought bags of stuff. Toys for the twins. I told him to leave, but he just put the bags on the doorstep and walked away. Didn't argue. Didn't ask to come in. Just left."
The bags sit by the door. Two of them. Wrapped in bright paper.
"I should throw them away," I say.
"Probably," Adrian agrees. "But Luna saw them through the window. She's been asking about the 'pretty packages' all evening."
I close my eyes. Of course she has.
I pick up the bags and bring them to the living room. Inside the first one is an expensive science kit—the kind with a real microscope and slides and specimen containers. Everything a budding scientist would love.
The second bag holds an art set that probably costs more than my monthly grocery budget. Professional colored pencils. Watercolors. A sketchbook with thick, quality paper.
"How does he know what they like?" I whisper.
"He's been researching them," Adrian says grimly. "Probably hired investigators. Found out River loves science. Luna loves art. He's trying to buy his way into their lives."
There are cards attached to each gift. My hands shake as I open River's first:
"For my smart boy. I can't wait to see what discoveries you'll make. Love, Your Father (if you'll let me be)"
Luna's card says:
"For my little artist. Your daddy tells me you see beauty everywhere. I hope these help you create it. Love, Your Father (if you'll let me be)"
"When did I tell him that?" I say out loud. "I never told him anything about the twins. How does he—"
"Kai." Adrian's voice is soft. "The Instagram account."
My blood runs cold. "What Instagram account?"
"The one you made for the twins. The private one. Remember? You post their drawings and science projects. You think only friends and family follow it, but—"
"But someone showed him." I sink onto the couch. "Someone showed Ethan their Instagram account."
"Or he found it himself. Your username is just your name. Not exactly hard to locate."
I pull out my phone with shaking hands and open Instagram. Sure enough, my private account has a new follower request from three days ago. The username is just initials: E.C.
Ethan Cross has been watching my children through social media. Seeing their interests. Their personalities. Their faces.
Learning how to be their father from behind a screen.
"I'm blocking him," I say. "Right now."
But before I can hit the button, a notification pops up. A direct message from E.C.:
"I know you'll probably block me, and that's okay. I just wanted you to know—I'm not trying to buy their love or replace anyone. I just want them to know their father was thinking of them. That he cares. Even if they never forgive me for not being there from the start. Even if YOU never forgive me. They deserve to know someone loves them unconditionally. Even a failure of a father like me."
There's more:
"River posted a picture of a beetle last week and wrote 'Daddy says all creatures are important.' You taught him that. You taught him kindness and curiosity and wonder. Luna drew a picture of your family—you, her, River, and Adrian. She colored Adrian's shirt purple because it's her favorite color. You taught her to see love in chosen family, not just blood."
"You did this without me. You raised two incredible children alone. I'm so proud of you, Kai. And I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help. To support you. To tell you every day that you're an amazing father."
"I don't deserve forgiveness. But they deserve a father who will try. So I'm going to keep trying. Even if you never let me in. Even if they hate me. I'm going to be the father they deserved from the beginning."
"I love them, Kai. I already love them so much it hurts. And I never even met them properly."
The message ends there.
I stare at my phone. Adrian is watching me carefully.
"What did he say?" Adrian asks.
I can't answer. Because Ethan just said everything I wanted to hear five years ago. Everything I needed to hear when I was pregnant and alone and terrified.
And I don't know if I should believe him or protect my heart from being destroyed again.
"Kai?" Adrian says gently. "What are you going to do?"
My phone buzzes again. Another message from E.C.:
"P.S. - Luna's butterfly drawing from Tuesday was beautiful. You should frame it. And River's question about whether beetles dream? That's the kind of question that changes the world. You're raising geniuses, Kai. Our babies are going to do amazing things."
Our babies.
He called them our babies.