chapter 180

chapter 180
Sebastian's POV:
The soft blue light filtering through the hospital blinds told me it was evening, though time had lost all meaning in this sterile sanctuary.
I shifted carefully in the uncomfortable visitor's chair, my neck protesting after hours of vigilance. Elena lay sleeping in the hospital bed, her face finally showing color after the terrifying pallor of the past two days.
The steady beep of monitors had become my lullaby—proof that her heart still beat, that she still breathed.
Marcus stood by the door, a silent sentinel.
Something in his posture told me he had information to report. I rose quietly, pressing a kiss to Elena's forehead before following him into the hallway.
"The kidnappers," Marcus said once the door closed behind us, his voice low and professional. "The police handled it. He was dead at the scene."
"Scarlett?" I kept my voice neutral, though part of me already knew.
"Vegetative state. The bullet accidentally severed her spinal. She'll never wake up."
I processed this information with the same detachment I'd use for a quarterly report. The woman who'd abandoned Elena, who'd tried to manipulate her way back into our lives, who'd demanded our unborn child's bone marrow—reduced to a breathing corpse.
"The kidnapper's motivation?"
"Medical bills. His daughter needs surgery—leukemia. He saw Scarlett at the hospital, made assumptions about wealth." Marcus paused. "He was desperate, not professional. Wrong place, wrong time."
I looked back at my sleeping wife, then at our son.
A father driven to crime for his sick child. The irony wasn't lost on me. Six months ago, I would have felt nothing. Now...
"The daughter?"
"Four years old. The surgery..."
"Cover it," I said quietly. "Anonymously. Full treatment, best doctors." I met Marcus's surprised look with a slight shrug. "Elena would want it done. And I..." I glanced at the bassinet. "I understand desperation for one's child now."
Marcus nodded, making notes. "I'll handle it personally."
"Discreetly, Marcus. No trails back to us."
"Of course, sir."
The door closed softly behind him. I returned to my vigil, adjusting Elena's blanket though it didn't need adjusting. Her eyes remained closed, but her breathing deepened. Good. She needed rest more than anything.
I picked up my phone, scrolling through the endless messages from board members, investors, well-wishers.
All wanting to know about the heir, about succession, about the future of the Vane empire.
A soft whimper cut through the silence.
I looked up sharply to find Evander stirring in his bassinet—apparently all that daytime sleep had left him wide awake now. His little face was scrunching up, tiny fists waving as he worked himself up to what promised to be an impressive display of lung capacity.
I set the phone aside and moved to stand over the bassinet, watching as he squirmed and fussed, clearly gathering steam for a full-scale protest.
"No," I said firmly, leaning closer. "Your mother needs sleep. We discussed this—well, I discussed, you drooled. But the principle stands."
What did one say to a days-old potato? The absurdity of the situation—Sebastian Vane, terror of boardrooms, reduced to making small talk with an infant—wasn't lost on me.
He blinked up at me with those unfocused eyes, and even in his scrunched newborn state, I could see it—Elena's delicate features softening my sharper angles, creating something entirely new.
With a resigned sigh, I lifted him carefully, remembering the nurse's instructions from earlier. Support the head, keep him close to your chest, don't panic at every tiny sound.
Despite my caution, he seemed to sense safety in my awkward embrace. His fussing gradually quieted, those dark eyes blinking slowly as he studied my face with intense concentration.
"Your mother almost died bringing you here," I said quietly. "Three minutes and seventeen seconds. That's how long her heart stopped. That's how long I stood in that hallway knowing that if she didn't come back, I would burn the world down."
Evander blinked slowly, and I could swear he was listening.
"But she came back," I continued. "Because she's stubborn. Because she promised to love you. Because she's the strongest person I know."
A small hand emerged from the blanket, reaching aimlessly. I offered a finger, and he gripped it with surprising determination.
"You're going to be just as stubborn," I told him. "Just as strong. And most importantly, you're going to love your mother just as much as I do."
He made another sound, almost like agreement. His weight on my chest felt less foreign, more... right.
Evander yawned—a ridiculously small yawn that somehow used his entire face.
"Sebastian?"
I looked up to find Elena watching us, her eyes bright with unshed tears. How long had she been awake?
"Hi," I said stupidly.
"Hi," she whispered back, her gaze moving between my face and Evander's tiny form. "You're holding him."
"The nurse said. Something about bonding." I tried for dismissive but probably failed spectacularly.
"How does it feel?"
I considered lying, making a joke. But her eyes held too much hope, too much vulnerability.
"Terrifying," I admitted. "But also... not terrible."
She smiled, and despite her exhaustion, it was radiant.
---
The next afternoon found Elena in the recliner by the window, color finally returning to her cheeks as she basked in the weak winter sun. The postnatal yoga instructor had just left, and I could see the restlessness in every line of her body.
"I want to go home," she said for the third time that hour, watching me close my MacBook and remove my custom headphones.
"Swan Lake Postnatal Center," I announced, as if she hadn't spoken. "We're checking in tomorrow."
"Sebastian, no. I want our bed, our home—"
"Just take a look," I said gently, moving to perch on the arm of her chair. "If you hate it, we'll come straight home. Your choice, I promise."
She studied my face, clearly suspicious of my sudden reasonableness. "Really? You'll let me decide?"
I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I keep my word. You know that."
"Fine," she sighed, leaning into my touch. "Give it a chance."