Chapter 92: My Baby

Owen slid into the plush back seat right beside her, his solid thigh pressing warmly against hers. Marcus quietly clicked the heavy door shut, and as the town car pulled smoothly away from the hospital curb, the chaotic, blaring noise of Manhattan was instantly muted, leaving them completely enveloped in a luxurious, climate-controlled bubble of dark leather and peaceful quiet.

From her secure throne in the car seat, Olive was putting on a full, one-toddler circus. She had already managed to expertly kick off one of her little shoes and was currently victorious in yanking off her tiny sock. She grabbed her bare foot with both hands, happily bringing her chubby toes up to her mouth to bite them, letting out bright, musical giggles that bounced joyfully off the tinted windows. She was in absolute, peak toddler mode, completely unbothered by the world moving past the glass.

Then, from the tiny, rear-facing infant carrier right next to her, Hazel shifted in her sleep. The newborn let out a soft, high-pitched, mewling squeak—a tiny, bird-like sound that barely registered over the hum of the engine.

Olive froze instantly. The toes dropped from her mouth. Her dark eyes went incredibly wide, and all the playful toddler energy vanished, replaced by an expression that was utterly, profoundly serious as she looked over at the pink-swaddled newborn.

She leaned over as far as her five-point harness would possibly allow, stretching a chubby little hand out toward the edge of Hazel's car seat.

"Shh, baby," Olive whispered loudly, her little brow furrowed in deep, protective concentration. She patted the hard plastic edge of the carrier with absolute, maternal authority. Then, she looked up, catching Leona and Owen watching her. Olive offered them a proud, definitive nod, her dark eyes flashing with Stark-level confidence. "My baby."

Leona’s hand instantly flew to her mouth to muffle a tearful, breathless laugh. Her heart completely melted into an absolute puddle on the floorboards of the town car, overwhelmed by the sheer, perfect sweetness of the moment.

Beside her, Owen let out a low, rich chuckle that vibrated warmly against Leona's side. He reached over, lacing his long fingers securely through Leona’s, and rested their joined hands intimately on his thigh. He looked at the beautiful, fiercely protective toddler, and then at the tiny newborn sleeping peacefully beside her, his chest tightening with an overwhelming sense of pride.

"That's right, Olive," Owen murmured softly. His thumb gently, rhythmically stroked the back of Leona's hand as he offered his older daughter a devastatingly fond smile. "That's your baby."

The rest of the smooth drive through the bustling Manhattan streets was a masterclass in distraction, filled with the warm, bubbling sound of laughter completely driven by Olive's endless antics. From aggressively blowing raspberries at the tinted windows every time a taxi passed, to playing an intense game of peek-a-boo with her own hands, she single-handedly kept the heavy, exhausted tension of the hospital entirely at bay.

When the town car finally glided down into the Zenith’s ultra-exclusive, subterranean parking garage, the familiar, echoing quiet of their home turf washed over them like a wave of relief.

Marcus expertly parked the heavy vehicle and was instantly out of the driver's seat, pulling the rear doors wide open. Leona stepped out first, stretching her aching legs with a grateful sigh, while Owen immediately shifted into full, unapologetic dad-mode.

With the practiced, seamless grace of a man who was entirely and happily devoted to his family, Owen leaned into the spacious cabin and unbuckled both girls. He hooked his strong arm securely through the handle of Hazel’s heavy infant carrier, carefully lifting the sleeping newborn out first. Without missing a beat, he simultaneously scooped a squirming, giggling Olive onto his opposite hip. He balanced both of his daughters effortlessly, a heavy designer diaper bag slung over his shoulder, not even breaking a sweat in his wrinkled dress shirt.

Leona thanked Marcus one last time, offering the loyal driver a warm smile before falling into step beside her husband.

They walked together across the polished concrete toward the private elevator banks. Owen shifted his wide stance just enough to press the glowing call button with his elbow. The heavy, mirrored silver doors slid open instantly, welcoming them into the plush, familiar space of the private car.

They stepped inside, and the doors smoothly glided shut, sealing them in their own private world.

As the elevator began its rapid, silent ascent to the penthouse, Leona looked up and caught their reflection in the polished metal doors. She paused, her breath catching slightly as she really took a moment to look at the image staring back at her.

In some ways, they didn't look much different from the couple who had first met all those months ago. He was still the impossibly handsome, commanding billionaire architect, and she was still the woman who had completely stolen his heart. But now, the formidable Zenith CEO was burdened down with a diaper bag, a bulky car seat, and a messy-haired toddler happily pulling on his collar. Meanwhile, Leona stood right beside him in a comfortable cashmere sweatsuit, glowing with the exhausted, beautiful, undeniable triumph of a mother who had just brought a new life into the world.

A soft, breathless laugh bubbled up in Leona's chest, breaking the quiet hum of the elevator car.

Owen looked over at her, his signature dimples flashing as he shifted Olive slightly on his hip to get a better look at his wife. "What's so funny, Pepper?"

"Us," Leona smiled, her eyes shining with unshed, happy tears as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. "Just look at us, Stark."

She stepped closer, closing the small gap between them, and wrapped her arms loosely around his waist. She rested her head warmly against his broad shoulder, right beneath where Olive was playing, and held her phone up toward the mirrored doors.

Leona snapped a quick, candid photo of their reflection—a perfectly imperfect, chaotic, and breathtakingly beautiful family portrait.

Without overthinking it, she opened her social media, attached the glowing photo, and typed out a quick, perfect caption.

A lot different than our first elevator ride. She hit post just as the elevator let out a soft ding, signaling their arrival at the top floor. The silver doors parted, opening up to the sprawling, sunlit expanse of the Zenith penthouse, officially welcoming the Stark family home.