Chapter 83 The surprise
Hannah
Ace lowers the phone slowly.
Too too slowly.
His jaw is tight, his professional calm stretched thin. I can see it in the way his shoulders square like he’s bracing for something.
“He’s on his way,” Ace says carefully. “And, ma’am… he sounded…”
“Panicked?” I supply brightly.
Ace doesn’t smile. “Yes.”
“Perfect,” I repeat, clapping my hands once. “That means he’s coming home.”
He still looks uncertain, like perhaps participating in this operation may cost him his job.
My phone buzzes.
It’s a text from Rowan.
>You told him you’d COLLAPSED??? He’s losing it.
I wince. Just a little.
Okay….
Maybe that wording had been… dramatic.
But Ace had insisted we needed something urgent. Timothy doesn’t abandon meetings for mild inconvenience.
A tiny knot of doubt forms in my stomach.
Did I go too far?
I picture his face if he’d seen that message. The way he gets when he thinks something is out of control.
The way he hates not being in control.
For half a second, guilt pricks.
Then I straighten.
He was going to skip his own birthday. He was going to stay away. This is corrective action.
“Final touches, everyone!” I call out.
The staff move quickly. Candles are lit. The lights dim to a warm glow. The cake is placed carefully in my hands.
Lisa slips in through the side entrance, giving me a look that clearly says this better work.
“Too much?” I mouth.
She merely gives me a deadpan raised brow and I wince again. .
Within minutes, the room clears strategically. The few estate staff remain tucked subtly to the sides. Security melts into shadows. It’s intimate, not crowded.
My pulse kicks up.
Headlights flash through the windows. The car screeches to a stop outside and there’s a pounding of footsteps .
Oh.
Timothy didn’t just come in. He flew.
The front door swings open so hard it nearly slams against the wall.
Timothy stumbles in. Actually stumbles.
His tie is loosened, hair slightly disheveled like he ran his hands through it a dozen times. His eyes are wild, scanning frantically.
“Where’s sh…?”
He stops. Because I’m standing right there. Holding a chocolate cake. With candles flickering.
“Happy birthday!,” I squeal happily.
The silence is deafening. He just stares at me. He doesn’t even spare a glance at the cake or the decor.
Just stares at me.
His eyes drag over my face, my arms, my posture like he’s searching for injury.
He takes a step forward. “Are…Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You…” His voice breaks slightly. He clears it. “Ace said you collapsed.” The said guard winces and seps back trying to blend into the wall.
“I might have told him to exaggerate. Just a little bit.”
His stare sharpens, becoming an almost glare.
I sigh. “I just needed you to come home,” I admit quietly. “Happy birthday.”
He looks… lost. Completely, utterly lost.
For a terrifying second, doubt floods me. Maybe this was a mistake.
I shouldn’t have done this.
Rowan appears behind him, arms folded, raising one brow at me like: I warned you.
I swallow. The cake suddenly feels heavy in my hands.
I step forward and set it carefully on the console table before closing the distance between us.
He’s still frozen. I reach for him gently, tugging him into a hug.
“I’m fine,” I whisper against his chest. “I promise. I’m so sorry for scaring you.”
For a second, he’s rigid.
Then…his arms slowly wrap around me then squeezes hard.
He exhales a rough sound, almost a groan, and pulls me tighter like he’s verifying I’m solid.
The tension in him is staggering. I can feel it bleeding out slowly as his grip steadies.
We stand like that longer than we probably should.
I become aware of Rowan clearing his throat dramatically and the eyes in the room pinned on us.
I glance over Timothy’s shoulder. Rowan is giving me a pointed look.
I detach quickly, clearing my throat.
Right. The party.
I grab one of the ridiculous birthday cone hats from the side table and plop it onto Timothy’s head before he can protest.
It tilts sideways immediately. I pick up the cake again, candles glowing, and say louder this time, “Happy birthday!”
There’s a beat. Then Rowan starts clapping. The staff echo it.
Music trickles in softly from the speakers. The tension is on a precipice.
Timothy blinks once. Twice.
And then finally, he cracks a small, reluctant smile.
Laughter spreads through the room like relief.
We move inside properly, everyone offering warm “Happy birthday, sir” and “Many happy returns.”
Timothy nods stiffly. “Thank you.”
He looks deeply uncomfortable. I lean closer to him as we step into the lounge.
“You know I don’t celebrate my birthday,” he murmurs under his breath.
“I know,” I reply.
“Then why…”
“Precisely because you don’t.”
He looks at me like I’m impossible. He’s not wrong.
Lisa approaches next, enveloping him in a firm maternal hug.
“Happy birthday, Timothy.”
He softens immediately for her. “Lisa, you didn’t have to…”
She thrusts a wrapped gift into his hands. “Nonsense.”
“You really shouldn’t have.”
She waves him off. “Let us spoil you for once.”
Then she moves away to help distribute food.
Timothy watches her go like he might attempt escape.
I grab his wrist before he can.
“Stay.”
“Hannah…”
“Five minutes.”
He exhales. “You’re relentless.”
“Yes.”
I guide him to the cake table.
“It’s dark chocolate,” I say. “Your favorite.”
His brows lift slightly. “How do you know that?”
I freeze for half a second.
Because I pay attention to you.
“You mentioned it once,” I say lightly.
He studies me again.
Then, surprisingly, he relents.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Five minutes.”
Victory. I beam.
“Stand there.”
He stands awkwardly beside the cake, cone hat still slightly crooked.
I pull out my phone.
“Smile.”
He does not.
“Timothy.”
He sighs and adjusts his expression into something vaguely cooperative.
I snap a photo.
Then another.
“Now look happy.”
“I am.”
“You look like you’re being audited.”
He almost laughs. Almost.
I switch to selfie mode and wedge myself against his side.
He stiffens instinctively.
I grin at the camera.
“Smile.”
He mutters something under his breath but complies.
I snap several photos in rapid succession. Then I scroll through them, delighted.
He shakes his head. “The things I do for you, woman.”
My heart trips. The way he says it. Almost an echo of what Rowan had said that day in the painting room.
I refuse to look at him.
Instead, I keep scrolling through the pictures to hide the smile threatening to break across my face.
Rowan appears behind us in one of them making ridiculous faces.
I burst into laughter.
Timothy leans slightly closer to see the screen. His shoulder brushes mine.
And for a moment, the chaos, the deception, the over-the-top theatrics all feel worth it.
Because he came home.
Because he’s here.
Because even though he doesn’t celebrate birthday, he showed up for me.