Chapter 166

Chapter 166

Elizabeth stood off to the side, watching the scene play out, her heart a mess of clashing emotions.

After that dinner party, the social events kept coming. Sawyer took them to auctions, to the racetrack, to every kind of high‑society gathering. Every time, he would keep Jack close at his side and introduce him to everyone, "This is my nephew, the future heir of the Scott family."

Jack was getting more and more used to that life. He learned how to greet people in three languages, how to behave with easy poise in any setting, how to smile in front of strangers and be sweet and obedient in front of elders. He was becoming more and more like Sawyer, that effortless elegance and composure seeming to be carved into his bones.

Sometimes, when Elizabeth looked at them, she would drift for a moment. When Jack laughed, his eyes curved in that same way Sawyer's did. When he was thinking, he liked to knit his brows, just like Sawyer. When he walked, his back stayed very straight, a carbon copy of Sawyer. With each passing day, he seemed less like the son she remembered and more like sawyer.

That thought scared her.

That night, when Elizabeth was putting Jack to bed, she couldn't hold back anymore, and asked, "Jack, why do you like Uncle Sawyer?"

Jack thought about it and answered very seriously, "Because Uncle Sawyer is good to Jack. He said he'll protect Jack and protect Mommy. He said he's Jack's family."

Elizabeth's vision blurred with unshed tears. "What about Mommy? Isn't Mommy your family?"

Jack wrapped his arms around her neck, and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Of course, Mommy is Jack's family." Mommy is the most important family. Uncle Sawyer said Jack had to protect Mommy and not to let anyone bully Mommy."

Elizabeth held him, tears fell silently.

Jack nuzzled into her arms and said, in a sweet childlike voice, "Mommy, can we not leave? It's really nice here. Uncle Sawyer is really nice. Jack really likes it here."

Elizabeth remained silent. holding him and rhythmically patting his back until his breathing evened into sleep.

That night, Elizabeth sat alone by the window, looking at the moonlight outside, and thought of Jacob.

She knew he would come.

No matter how far Sawyer pushed him into a corner, no matter how many miles lay between Italy and Mirandia, no matter how many blades and flames were in his way, he would come. It was the kind of understanding between them that needed no promise.

Just as she knew he would come to save her, he also knew she would be there, waiting.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, lowered her head, and looked at the band on her ring finger.

Jacob had slid it there himself on their wedding day. At the time, smoke was still curling from the barrel of Sawyer's gun, broken glass littered the floor, the guests were still cowering under tables, shaking, and Jacob had simply held her hand and pushed that plain band onto her finger.

"From now on, no matter what happens, you're my wife."

When he said it, his voice wasn't loud, but it was so steady-steady like a vow.

She knew he was saying it to her, but also to Sawyer, and really to everyone present. No matter what happened, no matter where she went, no matter how Sawyer threatened her, she was his wife and always would be.

Her fingertips moved lightly over the ring, warmed through by her skin, its surface smooth and comforting. She did this many times every day, just to make sure it was still there, to make sure all of it had really happened.

She lowered her head and pressed the ring to her lips, giving it a soft, silent kiss.

'Jacob, I miss you.'Thinking of Jack, Elizabeth let out a bitter little smile.

How was she supposed to explain to a three‑year‑old that the man who treated him so incredibly well, Sawyer, was a killer who didn't even blink?

How was she supposed to tell him that the man who gently ruffled his hair, patiently taught him archery, and solemnly announced to the world "He is the heir to my Scott family" had once fired a gun at her wedding, had once dropped bombs from a helicopter, had once kidnapped him to threaten his own parents?

She couldn't.

The truth was, she wasn't even sure Jack was really her biological son. When Sawyer first said it, her first reaction was disbelief.

Not disbelief because she didn't want to claim him, but because it felt too coincidental, so coincidental it seemed like a carefully crafted lie.

How could Sawyer, a complete outsider, possibly know what had happened to her when she was eighteen? How could he know whether that baby had lived or died? How could he be so sure Jack was her son?

Yet sometimes, in the middle of the night, when she was holding Jack's small body, breathing in the faint milky scent of his skin, listening to his even breathing, she would feel unmoored.

In her heart she would ask herself, 'What if he really is your son? What if that baby didn't die? What if he really is Jack?'

She didn't dare follow that thought. Because once she did, the ache was unbearable, so sharp it stole her breath.

So she chose not to believe. If she didn't believe, she wouldn't be disappointed. If she didn't believe, she wouldn't have to be afraid of losing him. But she couldn't control herself when it came to loving him. Whether he was her biological child or not, she had already claimed him in her heart.

An owl hooted in the distance, one call after another, each one strangely clear in the stillness of the night.

Elizabeth stood up and walked to the bed, lowering her head to look at the sleeping Jack.

He was fast asleep, his little mouth slightly open, showing his two front teeth. In his hand, he was clutching the plush bear Sawyer had given him.

She bent down to tuck the blanket more securely around him, then tried to gently ease the bear from his hand. Instead, his fingers tightened, and he mumbled something indistinct.

She leaned closer, listening, and heard him say, "Uncle Sawyer…"

Elizabeth's hand paused. She straightened slowly, looking at Jack's sleeping face, and a complicated wave of feeling rose in her chest.

He was calling for Uncle Sawyer, not Mommy.

Her heart pinched, a sour twist of jealousy laced with worry.

Jack was too little, too little to tell who truly cared about him and who was just using him.

Sawyer was good to him, so he believed it, leaned into it, treated him like the person he was closest to. How could she bear to blame him? How could she blame him at all?

She let out a soft sigh, sat down on the edge of the bed, and wrapped her hand around Jack's small one, speaking in a low voice, "Jack, Mommy's right here. Mommy will always be right here."

Jack shifted, scooted closer to her, then sank back into deep sleep.

The next morning, when Elizabeth saw Sawyer in the dining room, his face was even paler than usual. There were faint dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were a little cracked. He sat at the head of the table, the breakfast in front of him almost untouched, only a half‑finished cup of black coffee by his hand.

"Morning." When he saw Elizabeth come in, he set down the coffee cup and let his mouth curve faintly.

Elizabeth sat across from him and gave him a once‑over. "You didn't sleep well last night?"

"I'm fine." He lifted the cup again and took another sip. His fingers trembled slightly, the coffee rippling inside the porcelain.

Elizabeth said nothing, just lowered her head and started on her breakfast.

Lately, Sawyer's condition had been getting worse. He coughed , sometimes so hard he had to hunch over, his face going paper‑white.

His temper had become unstable too. One moment he could be smiling, and the next, he would explode over something trivial, smashing things, cursing, even laying hands on his men. Once the fury burned out, he would revert to that gentle, cultivated big brother, apologizing, smoothing ruffled feathers, overcompensating in his efforts to make amends.

Elizabeth knew exactly why.