Chapter 25
He came out of the restroom, with the usual stern look.
The party had resumed around him as if nothing had happened. Music brushed past Cassian again, soft and polished, laughter rising and falling in careful rhythms. Conversations overlapped, folding into one another like rehearsed lies. Nothing held his interest.
Not the crystal glasses. Not the expensive gowns. Not the people who suddenly remembered his name the moment they saw him standing alone.
He adjusted his cuffs once, out of habit, the motion precise, almost meditative.
That was when movement caught his eye.
A little girl.
She was slipping through the crowd, careful but quick, her small frame weaving between adults who barely noticed her presence. She wasn’t calling out. She wasn’t looking back. She moved with purpose, as if she already knew exactly where she was going.
She was leaving.
Cassian frowned.
He didn’t know why it bothered him. Children wandered at parties all the time. Wealth made people careless. But something about her pace, about the way she kept her head down and shoulders straight, unsettled him. Something about the quiet confidence of a child who seemed far older than her age.
Before he could stop himself, he followed.
He kept his distance at first, long strides slowing to match her smaller ones. She reached the doors quickly, slipping through the gap before security could even react.
By the time Cassian pushed outside, cool air hit his face.
The parking area stretched wide and dim, lined with sleek cars and low lights. The girl was already several steps ahead of him now, her dress fluttering faintly as she picked up speed.
“Hey,” he called. But she didn’t stop.
His jaw tightened.
Cassian lengthened his stride.
Headlights cut through the dark without warning.
Too fast. Too close.
The car surged in from the side road, engine loud, impatient, careless. Its horn blared sharply, slicing through the night.
Cassian didn’t think. His body moved before his mind caught up.
He reached her just in time.
One arm wrapped around her small frame as he turned sharply, pulling her back against his chest. The world narrowed to motion and breath and instinct. The car rushed past them, missing by a fraction, wind brushing his shoulder as it disappeared down the lane.
Silence followed.
For a moment, everything was still.
Cassian’s heart hammered violently, loud in his ears. The girl’s hands were clenched into his suit, fingers gripping fabric like she’d done this before. He noticed how light she felt. How easily she fit against him. The thought unsettled him more than it should have.
“You okay, kid?” he asked, voice steady despite the rush in his chest.
She looked up at him calmly.
“Yes, uncle. I’m okay p>
She stepped out of his arms on her own, smoothing her dress as if nothing had happened. No tears. No shaking. No fear. Just composure that didn’t belong to someone her age.
Cassian crouched slightly, eyes sharp now. “You shouldn’t be here alone. Parking lots aren’t safe p>
He straightened, brushing off his sleeve absently.
That was when he felt it.
A sting.
He glanced down.
A thin scratch marked his hand, red and fresh, bleeding just enough to notice.
The little girl noticed it too.
“That hurts,” she said, brows knitting.
“It’s nothing,” he replied automatically.
She didn’t argue. Instead, she opened her tiny, glittering bag and pulled out a small bandage. Before he could stop her, she took his hand with surprising confidence and wrapped it carefully, fingers small but precise.
Cassian froze. Her touch was warm. Steady.
“Loose knots mean careless people,” she said seriously, finishing with a neat double knot.
The words hit somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere soft beneath the steel he wore.
She looked up at him then and smiled, soft and sincere. “You seem nice, uncle. Don’t get hurt saving others p>
Ivy inspected her work, then looked up at him with sudden seriousness.
“You have big hands,” she said.
“Is that a problem?” Cassian asked.
“No,” she decided.
“Big hands are good for holding people so cars don’t steal them from their family p>
And just like that, she turned and ran back toward the building.
Cassian watched her disappear through the doors. His hand felt strange. Grounded. Alive.
He looked down at the bandage again. Too neat. Too practiced. His fingers flexed once, as if testing something he didn’t understand.
Moments later, he followed her inside.
She ran toward the little boy from the restroom.
Lucien noticed her first and crouched slightly, as if strategizing. Ivy, standing on tiptoe to point dramatically, said: “No! The chocolate fountain is in the east! We must cross the red carpet carefully p>
Lucien, arms crossed and frowning like a general, shook his head: “East? That’s a trap! Too many adults. South is safer p>
Ivy stomped a small foot: “South is boring! I need adventure! And maybe a marshmallow p>
Lucien glanced down at her, hand on chin, exaggeratedly weighing the risks: “Marshmallows are sticky. Sticky is dangerous. We cannot risk it p>
Ivy tilted her head, pursed her lips, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a treaty proposal. Lucien responded with a solemn nod.
They paused dramatically, then clasped hands in victory before racing toward the fountain.
Cassian watched from the side, suppressing a laugh, mesmerized by their little world, the way they debated, the tiny earnest expressions that made the party fade into nothing but noise around him.
He felt a strange warmth rise in his chest, a softness he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Their joy was simple, chaotic, alive.
He noticed how Ivy would occasionally glance over her shoulder, making sure Lucien hadn’t made a wrong move, her brows knitting in the most serious expression. And Lucien, not to be outdone, would exaggerate every step, pretending the carpet was lava or ice, making small, deliberate “safety checks p>
They collided gently mid-step, then paused, glaring at each other like miniature commanders debating a treaty. And yet, in the next instant, they were laughing together, eyes sparkling, hands clasped.
Cassian felt a stirring he hadn’t realized he missed: the feeling of belonging to something tender and chaotic.
He observed their tiny rituals—how Ivy would carefully tilt her cup to avoid spilling chocolate, how Lucien would gently prod her to go faster, how each tiny misstep became an elaborate game.
Every motion, every giggle, every whispered “watch out!” made Cassian aware of how deeply he’d missed this kind of life—the small, messy, intimate moments that carried no agendas, no expectations, no calculated charm.
And yet, something had shifted. The kids happily ran toward a person.
Cassian’s gaze scanned the room instinctively, searching.
Not for investors. Not for familiar faces. But for where the kids were running.
Then… he saw her.
A woman standing near the far end of the hall.
Her back was partially turned, posture relaxed yet composed. She laughed softly at something said beside her, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
Cassian stopped walking.
His chest tightened before his mind could place why.
The laugh reached him first. So familiar. Dangerously so.
Memory struck without warning, sharp and disorienting, a voice that never trembled when it spoke to him. A presence that had never tried to impress him.
“No,” he breathed.
The lights shifted, framing her face just enough.
His breath caught painfully.
“Mira p>
The name slipped out before he could stop it.
He stared, frozen, as if the room had tilted off its axis. She looked older. Softer around the edges. Stronger somehow. And yet unmistakably the same.
Before he could move, two small figures ran into view.
Lucien reached her first, arms wrapping around her legs with familiar ease. A heartbeat later, the little girl from the parking lot joined him, hugging her other side.
“Mommy p>
The girl’s voice rang bright and clear.
Mira smiled instantly, warmth flooding her expression as she bent down, pressing kisses to their foreheads, one after the other.
“Ivy,” she said gently. “Where did you go p>
The name landed like a blow.
Cassian’s gaze locked onto the girl.
Ivy.
The girl beamed. “Mommy, I was in the car parking. And you know p>
Mira’s expression shifted instantly. Concern sharpened. “Ivy, you can’t just wander off like that p>
“I didn’t get stolen,” Ivy announced proudly. “And I made a new uncle p>
Mira straightened slowly. Ivy pointed directly at Cassian.
“He looks scary,” she added thoughtfully. “But he’s not mean. He tied his shoes properly p>
Her eyes followed Ivy’s gesture.
And found him.
For a split second, the world stopped.
Cassian watched recognition dawn on her face, shock flashing before she masked it with practiced calm. But it was too late. He had seen it. Felt it.
Her lips parted. The music faded. Everything else blurred.
Five years collapsed into a single breath between them.
“Mira,” he said again, quieter this time.
Her fingers tightened slightly on the children’s shoulders.
Lucien looked between them, curious. Ivy tilted her head, studying Cassian openly.
Mira swallowed. “Cassian p>