Chapter 8 The Morning After Peace
Darcy's POV
I don’t mean to stare at him for so long. But something about the sight of Adrian, tall, strong, usually so composed, slumped asleep on the nursery floor beside his daughter’s crib… it cracks me open.
Hazel’s soft breaths fill the room. Adrian’s head rests against the wall, hand still tucked under the crib like he was reaching for her when sleep finally pulled him under.
Afraid he’ll wake up cold and sick, I slip out quietly and return with a light throw blanket from the hallway cabinet. My steps are slow, careful. I drape the fabric over his shoulders, letting it fall gently so it doesn’t disturb him.
He doesn’t move.
But the muscles in his face soften as if the warmth settles something inside him.
My chest squeezes. Hard.
I shouldn’t feel this much. He’s my boss. A billionaire with a sharp tongue, colder reputation, and enough emotional walls to barricade an entire nation. But here he is, a man who cried himself to sleep because his daughter had a coughing fit.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to quiet the ache.
Then I slip out.
Morning comes too quickly.
I wake up to Hazel’s giggles crackling through the baby monitor, a sound bright enough to pull me out of bed instantly. I tie my hair into a quick puff, throw on a T-shirt, and hurry toward the nursery.
Adrian is standing by the crib, rocking Hazel back and forth with surprisingly graceful movement for someone who looks like he barely slept.
He’s pretending last night didn’t happen. I can tell instantly. His hair is neatly combed. Shirt tucked. Back straight. CEO mode activated.
So of course, I poke the bear.
“How was your sleep?” I ask casually, leaning against the doorframe.
He glances at me, wary. “Fine.”
“Really? Because I heard someone snoring in the nursery around two a.m. Very handsome snoring, to be fair..”
His ears turn pink.
Pink.
A billionaire. Blushing.
I blink because my brain isn’t prepared for that level of cuteness from a man who once signed a document without blinking while an intern almost fainted beside him.
“I don’t snore,” he mutters.
Hazel babbles, as if backing me up. I grin.
“Sure, fine, whatever makes you feel better.” I step closer to adjust Hazel’s tiny socks. “But next time you decide to sleep on the floor, at least use a pillow. I hear carpets aren’t orthopedic.”
His blush deepens.
“Darcy,” he groans.
“Yes, Mr. Ashford?”
He presses his lips together in a tight line. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“Oh no,” I coo. “You’re embarrassed.”
“Darcy.”
He tries to glare, but Hazel grabs his nose mid-glare, and his expression collapses into a helpless smile. The room fills with her bubbly laughter, and suddenly the world feels… soft. Like we’re a small, warm unit. A team. A family, almost.
Dangerous thoughts.
We move into the kitchen for breakfast. Adrian brews coffee strong enough to wake the ancestors while I make Hazel’s formula. We work around each other naturally, like we’ve done this for years.
Hazel keeps giggling at everything I do. She even laughs when I sneeze, which doesn’t feel encouraging but still counts as a good audience.
Adrian watches us with a quiet expression I can’t decode. Something warm. Something almost amused.
He leans against the counter, sipping coffee. “She really likes you.”
“She likes anyone who isn’t trying to make her eat mashed peas.”
“That’s not true,” he says. “She hates everyone equally. Except you.”
The words linger in the air. Heavy. Meaningful.
I look away quickly, pretending to focus on Hazel’s bottle. “Well… she’s easy to love.”
“Yes,” he murmurs, eyes softening. “She is.”
And somehow, we end up staring at each other. Not smiling. Not teasing. Just… staring.
I look away first. My heart is beating way too fast for seven thirty in the morning.
After breakfast, I take Hazel upstairs to dress her. Adrian joins us, helping fasten her little shoes while I comb her curls.
Hazel squeals and kicks excitedly, making both of us laugh. The whole morning feels bright and warm, as if the whole house has exhaled after yesterday’s chaos.
For a moment, it feels normal, almost peaceful.
I decided to open the blinds to let the sunlight in.
The second I pull the cord, a burst of white flashes blinds my eyes.
I flinch, stumbling back. Hazel jolts in my arms. “What the…?”
Adrian shoots to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
I squint through the window. Another flash.
Then another.
And another.
My stomach drops. “Oh, hell no.”
He comes behind me quickly, his hand lightly touching my elbow as he looks out.
The street below is swarming with long-lens cameras. Men and women crouch by cars, against lampposts, behind trees. Flashes go off like lightning. The whole front sidewalk looks like a crime scene made up entirely of gossip bloggers.
“Adrian…” I whisper. “Why are they…”
He doesn’t let me finish.
He storms right to the window like someone just slapped his child, his jaw tightening with each step. He looks down once, eyes darkening instantly.
“Someone tipped them off,” he mutters.
My heart jumps into my throat.
Because the fury in his voice?
It’s lethal.