Chapter 258

Chapter 258

Gerald's lips curved. He let Milo pull him to the sofa.

Milo patted the cushion on tiptoe. "Daddy, sit here!"

Gerald lowered himself onto the sofa, leaning back against the cushions, and reached up to loosen his collar.

"Mommy!" Milo settled Gerald in, then darted back to Sophia. "Daddy's only staying one night! He'll leave first thing tomorrow!"

Sophia looked into those dark, shining eyes. Every refusal died in her throat.

Her gaze shifted back to the man on the sofa.

Gerald was watching her. Their eyes met.

"Fine." Her voice came out stiff. "He can stay. But I have rules."

"First—you stay in the living room. The couch is yours. No going into any bedroom, nowhere except the bathroom."

"Second—don't disturb me or Milo."

She said it all in one breath.

Milo's eyes went round. He clapped his hands. "Yay! Daddy agrees to everything!"

He spun around and shot Gerald a look—widening his eyes meaningfully.

Gerald met his son's gaze, his mouth relaxing, then gave Sophia an obedient nod.

"Okay."

Sophia's eye twitched.

Milo was already bouncing back to the sofa, patting Gerald's shoulder with a little hand, all seriousness. "Daddy, you have to be good, okay?"

Gerald reached over and ruffled his hair. "Mm."

Milo turned and beamed at Sophia—the brightest, most radiant smile.

Sophia sighed.

She got it now.

This child was Gerald's son through and through.

Always on his side.

She watched Milo bustle around like a tiny host and sighed again, then turned and went to the bedroom.

From the top shelf of the closet, she pulled out an unused thin blanket, carried it back to the living room, and tossed it onto the far end of the sofa.

"Make your own bed."

Gerald glanced at the neatly folded blanket and let out a quiet laugh. "Okay."

Milo had already run to the kitchen. He climbed his step stool, pulled a glass from the dish sanitizer, then stretched on tiptoe to fill it halfway with warm water. He carried it out with painstaking care.

"Daddy, drink water." He held the glass up to Gerald.

Gerald took it, his thumb brushing the boy's forehead.

"Thank you, Milo."

"Drink up and go to sleep early! Tomorrow morning I'll make you a sandwich—I learned how yesterday with Mommy!"

Sophia leaned against the bedroom doorframe, arms crossed, watching the four-year-old fuss over his father. Something in her chest pulled tight—aching and tender at once.

Impossible to stay mad.

And that man on the sofa had actually pulled off his little act.

"Milo," she said, softening her voice. "Time for a bath and bed."

"Okay! Daddy, wait for me—I'll come back after my bath to keep you company!"

Milo sprinted toward the bathroom, stopped halfway, doubled back to take the empty glass from Gerald's hand, set it on the coffee table, and only then disappeared into the bathroom, satisfied.

Water rushed behind the closed door.

Two people remained in the living room.

Sophia had no desire to linger. She went to the kitchen, washed the dinner dishes, and prepped ingredients for tomorrow's breakfast.

She stretched the tasks out for nearly twenty minutes. When there was truly nothing left to do, she dried her hands and walked back out.

The living room lights were still on.

Gerald sat exactly as she'd left him—legs casually crossed—except now a velvet box had appeared in his hand.

On the other end of the sofa, Milo had finished his bath. He sat beside Gerald in dinosaur pajamas, chattering away about something.

Sophia's steps faltered.

Mother and son locked eyes.

"Mommy!" Milo's face lit up. He scooted over, patting the cushion. "Come sit! Daddy has something to say to you!"

Sophia checked the time. "It's nine-thirty, Milo. You should be in bed."

"Just a minute! Really just one tiny minute!" His eyes were pure plea. "I'll go to sleep right after, I promise!"

Sophia relented. She walked over and sat at the far end of the sofa.

A full person's width between them.

"Mommy, sit closer," Milo grumbled, then solved the problem himself by squeezing into the gap between them. "There! Daddy, hurry up and say it!"

Gerald opened the velvet box.

Blue light spilled out.

A sapphire sat nestled inside, ringed by a halo of delicate white diamonds.

Sophia's gaze sharpened.

The color, the size, the cut—one glance was enough to estimate its value. Easily over a hundred million dollars.

"The necklace last time was Milo's pick." Gerald's voice was low. "This one, I chose myself."

He extended the box toward her.

"An apology. For before."

Sophia didn't take it. Her gaze drifted away, flat and unbothered. "Mr. Churchill, you don't owe me an apology. What happened four years ago is over. Neither of us owes the other anything."

"Yes, we do." His tone left no room for argument.

"Take it back." Sophia stood. "I've told you—I don't need anything from you."

Milo panicked.

"Mommy! Just take it! Daddy went to so many stores to find this one! I saw him!" His chin tilted up, eyes reddening. "If you don't take it, Daddy's gonna be too sad to sleep tonight!"

Sophia looked down at the small face brimming with hope.

Those eyes—nearly identical to Gerald's. Black, deep, fixed on her with a focus impossible to refuse.

When she didn't move, Milo's small fingers tugged at her sleeve.

"Mommy..."

That one soft, pleading word crumbled her last wall.

She sat back down.

"Fine." She reached out and took the velvet box. "But only because of Milo."

Gerald watched her slip a sapphire necklace worth over two hundred million dollars into her pajama pocket. The corner of his mouth curved.

Milo finally exhaled, his face breaking into a grin. "Yay! Mommy took it!"

He threw himself into Sophia's arms.

"Mommy, you're wearing Daddy's necklace now! Nobody can ever steal you away!"

Sophia looked at that beaming little face. Warmth and helplessness tangled in her chest.

She ruffled his hair and said nothing.

But this necklace—when the time was right, she was giving it back.

---

The night passed without incident.

Sophia slept restlessly. When she woke, Milo was still asleep.

She'd planned to get up and make breakfast. She pulled on a cardigan, got out of bed, and pushed the bedroom door open—only to be met by the aroma of food.

She walked toward the kitchen.

Gerald stood at the stove, still wearing last night's shirt, tied into Milo's apron.

The apron stretched absurdly tight across his frame. It looked ridiculous from every angle.