chapter 185
Elena's POV:
The moment we stepped through the door, Evander's cries pierced the air—sharp, demanding, as if he'd sensed my absence the instant I'd left.
All thoughts of the hospital, of Luna's brush with death, fled my mind as maternal instinct took over.
"He's been inconsolable," Alfred said, appearing in the foyer with my son in his arms.
The usually composed butler looked frazzled, his perfectly pressed jacket slightly askew. "We've tried everything, my lady. "
I rushed forward, my body still aching from the long hours of tension, and gathered Evander into my arms. The moment he felt my embrace, his cries softened to whimpers, then to those little hiccupping breaths that always broke my heart.
"There, there, my darling," I murmured, swaying gently as I'd learned to do in those endless nights since his birth. "Mama's here. I'm so sorry I left you."
Sebastian's hand came to rest on my lower back, a silent support as I soothed our son. "He's worse than I was as a child," he said, attempting levity, though I could hear the exhaustion in his voice too.
"Though this won't do—a Vane heir shouldn't cry like this. "
Evander's tiny fist clutched at my blouse, his face still red from crying. I pressed my lips to his downy head, breathing in that sweet baby scent that never failed to center me.
"Then he won't be the Vane heir," I said firmly, meeting Sebastian's eyes. "My child—I only want him to be healthy and happy. That's all that matters."
Sebastian stilled, something flickering across his face—surprise, perhaps, or recognition. For a moment, he seemed lost in some private memory. Then he nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to Evander with an emotion I couldn't quite name.
"Yes," he said quietly, his voice rougher than before. "Healthy and happy. That's all that matters."
Feeling my son's complete dependence on me, my heart melted entirely.
In this moment, all the difficulties of childbirth seemed insignificant. And Luna was safe now too—soon we could raise our children together, take them on playdates. Our babies would have each other as companions.
"I wonder if it's a boy or a girl," I mused aloud, thinking of Luna's child. "Either way, Evander will have a friend close to his age."
---
That night, as we settled into bed, Sebastian was unusually clingy but barely spoke. His arms wrapped around me tighter than usual, his face buried in my hair. I could feel the tension radiating from him.
"What's wrong?" I asked softly, running my fingers through his hair.
He was quiet for a long moment before answering. "At least you are a good mother," he said, his voice muffled against my neck. "Otherwise Evander might become... the next me."
My heart clenched. Now I had understood his melancholy.
Sebastian had been groomed as the heir from such a young age, forced to shoulder burdens no child should bear. He'd learned to command, to control, to conquer—but never how to simply love or be loved.
I turned in his arms, pulling him closer. "Then Evander and I will give you all the love this world owes you," I whispered fiercely. "Every bit of it."
His arms tightened around me almost painfully. Against my neck, I felt the telltale warmth of tears, but I didn't acknowledge them. I simply held him, this man who could bring financial empires to their knees but was still learning how to accept tenderness.
We stayed like that, wrapped around each other, until his breathing evened out and sleep finally claimed us both.
---
The next afternoon, I made my way through the pristine corridors of the private hospital wing, a basket of carefully selected items balanced in my arms.
Sebastian had wanted to come, but I'd convinced him to stay with Evander—our son had been particularly fussy after his morning feeding.
The VIP room was a far cry from the sterile ICU.
Warm afternoon light filtered through sheer curtains, and fresh flowers adorned every surface. Luna was propped up in bed, still pale but unmistakably alive, while Michael sat beside her, carefully spooning soup to her lips.
A small bassinet stood next to the bed, and through its clear sides, I could see a tiny bundle wrapped in soft blue—so it was a boy.
"Elena," Luna's face lit up when she saw me, though her voice was still weak. "You came."
Michael stood immediately, setting the soup aside. "Mrs. Vane. Thank you for yesterday—for everything. The specialists you and Sebastian arranged..." He trailed off, his usual corporate composure cracking slightly.
"Please, just Elena," I said, moving closer to the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck," Luna admitted with a wry smile. "But alive. Thanks to you. When they told me what happened during delivery, how you were there with Michael..."
"Don't," I said gently, setting my basket on the side table. "We're friends. Of course, I came. How are you feeling now? "
Luna's smile wavered slightly.
"Physically, I'm recovering. The doctors say I'm lucky—extraordinarily so. But mentally..."
She glanced at Michael, then back to me. "Maybe because I walked through death's door and came back. It puts things in perspective."
I recognized the forced lightness in her tone, the way she was trying to rationalize trauma into something manageable. I'd done the same after my own near-death experience.
"You're an amazing mother, Luna," I said firmly.
She smiled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "So are you."
Her gaze drifted to the bassinet, and her entire expression softened, filling with a love so pure it made my chest tight.
Following her gaze to the bassinet, I moved closer, peering down at the sleeping infant.
"He's beautiful," I said, meaning it. The baby had Michael's defined features already, but something about the curve of his mouth was pure Luna. "What's his name?"
"Alexander," Luna said, warmth creeping back into her voice. "Alexander Cross."
"A strong name," I approved. "Evander will be thrilled to have a playmate. We should plan something when you're both recovered—perhaps a picnic in the garden at Blackwood Manor? "
Luna's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That sounds wonderful. Two little boys causing chaos together."