Chapter 105 I Swear Stark

Chapter 105 I Swear Stark
The soft glow of the lamps cast a warm light across the kitchen as Leona set the table for dinner.
The baby monitor sat on the marble counter, its small screen showing Hazel sleeping soundly in the bassinet in the nursery. But the real entertainment was happening right in the center of the living room rug.
Owen had immediately discarded his suit jacket and tie the second he walked through the door. Now, the formidable Zenith CEO was sprawled out on the floor in his dress shirt, completely at the mercy of a very energetic toddler.
As Leona arranged the silverware, she was finishing her retelling of the encounter with her snide former classmate. Just recounting the girl's malicious gossip made a fresh wave of protective heat rise in Leona's chest.
"I swear, Stark," Leona huffed, slapping a cloth napkin down onto the table with a little more force than necessary. "If I wasn't such a lady, I would have knocked her head right off her shoulders."
From his spot on the floor, Owen let out a sudden, loud, entirely undignified snort of laughter at the image of his beautiful wife brawling on Fifth Avenue.
The abrupt sound startled Olive, who was sitting on Owen's stomach. The toddler looked down at him, her brow furrowing in concentration as she tried to mimic the noise. She scrunched up her nose and let out a loud piggy grunt right into Owen's face.
Owen’s stormy eyes crinkled with amusement. He tapped his daughter right on her button nose. "That's right, Olive," he agreed. "She sounds exactly like a pig."
Leona paused halfway between the kitchen and the dining table, her hands planted on her hips as she tried—and failed—to fight back a smile. "Owen!" she scolded gently.
Owen just flashed his devastating dimples at her, entirely unrepentant. "Pepper, come on," he chuckled, his deep voice rumbling. "It's not like she knows what I mean."
They shared a long, incredibly fond smile across the room, the lingering stress of the day completely dissolving in the warmth of their sanctuary.
"Alright," Leona announced, shaking her head. "Dinner is ready."
Owen immediately shifted his attention back to the little girl sitting on his chest. He raised an eyebrow, his tone shifting into an challenging whisper. "Did you hear that? Do you want dinner?"
Olive’s eyes lit up. She bounced excitedly on his stomach. "Yes!"
"Oh, yeah?" Owen challenged, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. He suddenly shifted, preparing to launch himself up from the rug. "Wanna race?"
The absolute second the words left his mouth, Olive was gone.
She scrambled off his chest and took off running across the hardwood floor on her short, chubby little legs, laughing absolutely hysterically the entire way. She made a direct beeline for the safety of the kitchen, throwing her arms up in the air the second she reached Leona.
Leona laughed, immediately reaching down and scooping the breathless toddler up into her arms.
Safely elevated above the ground, Olive turned around to face the living room. She held one tiny up in the air, a massive, gap-toothed grin taking over her face as Owen casually strolled into the kitchen behind her.
"Me win!" Olive proudly declared to the room.
"Oh, you think so?" Owen purred, stepping right up to the two of them.
Without warning, Owen reached out and grabbed her little, raised hand. He leaned in quickly, pressing a playful, loud, vibrating raspberry kiss right into the sensitive tickle-spot on Olive's side.
"Daddy wants to eat giggles!" Owen declared, his voice a playful growl.
Olive completely lost it. She shrieked with laughter, practically folding in half against Leona's chest as Owen's fingers tickled her sides. Trying desperately to escape the tickle monster, the toddler squirmed reaching her little hands out and patting Owen on top of the head to make him stop, before trying to climb directly backward over Leona's shoulder.
Owen finally relented, stepping back with a rich, booming laugh of his own, leaving Olive panting and giggling happily against Leona's neck. He looked at his wife and his daughter, his gray eyes completely filled with an adoration so deep it defied words.
Dinner went fairly well, at least by the standards of trying to eat a meal with a toddler who was currently composed of ninety percent pure, unadulterated energy.
Once Olive was finally settled back into her high chair with a plate of cut-up chicken that was in her pasta and vegetables, the frantic playfulness of the living room settled into a comfortable quiet. But as they ate, Leona’s mind drifted back to the sidewalk on Fifth Avenue.
"I think her name was Rachel... or maybe Ramona," Leona muttered, absentmindedly swirling her fork in her pasta. Her dark eyes met Owen's across the table. "She just acted like someone like you—a billionaire architect, the Zenith CEO—would never want children in the first place. Let alone someone else's."
Owen paused, his fork resting on the edge of his plate. He didn't interrupt, just watched his wife with steady, attentive storm-gray eyes, letting her get the lingering frustration out of her system.
"And when your mom stepped in and told her they were both yours?" Leona let out a humorless, dry laugh, shaking her head. "Stark, you should have seen the look on her face. It was like we had just handed her the juiciest piece of tabloid gossip of the century. Her eyes practically lit up because she genuinely thought you'd had a fling and fathered a secret child."
Owen didn't look angry. He didn't look defensive. Instead, his gaze softened into something incredibly deep and fiercely devoted.
He reached across the smooth expanse of the dining table, his large, warm hand covering Leona’s hand and stilling her restless movements. His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles, grounding her instantly.
"Let her think whatever she wants, Leo," Owen murmured, his voice a deep, steady rumble that completely commanded the quiet room. "The opinions of people who don't matter have absolutely no place in this penthouse."
He squeezed her hand, his eyes shifting for a brief second to look at Olive, who was currently trying to negotiate a piece of broccoli into her mouth with her fingers, completely oblivious to the world. Then, he looked right back at Leona, his gaze unwavering.
"You are my one and only," Owen vowed, the absolute certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt. "Olive is my sweet pea. And Hazel is my love bug. That is my family. That is my entire world, and absolutely nothing on this earth will ever change my mind."
At the sound of her nickname, Olive looked up from her dinner tray. She had a small smear of pasta sauce on her chin, but her dark eyes were bright and happy. She reached a sticky hand out toward Owen.
Owen flashed his dimples, leaning over his plate to press a quick, affectionate kiss to the toddler's messy cheek before turning his attention back to his wife, his storm-gray eyes practically glowing with unconditional love.