Chapter 106 So... About This Morning

Chapter 106 So... About This Morning
The penthouse finally fell into a peaceful, heavy quiet.
Owen had effortlessly taken over toddler duty, handling the splashing chaos of Olive's bath time while Leona sat in the dim, quiet calm of the nursery, letting a sleepy Hazel nurse until her heavy little eyelids fluttered shut completely. By the time Leona laid the newborn gently into her bassinet, Owen had already managed to get a sweet-smelling, exhausted Olive tucked into her own toddler bed, reading her a story until she was fast asleep.
When Leona finally padded softly to the bed, the sheer exhaustion of the long, emotional day threatened to pull her under.
But then Owen was there.
He crossed the bedroom, his eyes completely dark and entirely focused on his wife. Without a single word, he reached out and wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. He lowered his head, capturing her lips in a long lingering kiss that instantly sent a rush of heat straight down to her toes, melting away every ounce of tension left in her body.
When he finally pulled back just a fraction of an inch, his breath ghosted over her lips. He looked down at her, a wicked, intensely devoted gleam in his eyes as he remembered exactly how their day had started before Olive had interrupted them.
"So... about this morning," Owen asked, his voice dropping into a low, husky register that made her heart skip a beat.
Leona let out a soft laugh, all the fight from the day completely giving way to the absolute safety she felt in his arms. She lifted her hands, sliding them slowly up his chest to wrap her arms securely around his neck, tangling her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck.
"Yes, Mr. Stark," Leona murmured, her dark eyes looking up at him through her thick lashes.
Owen let out a low, appreciative hum that vibrated against her chest. His large, warm hand slid slowly up her arm, his fingers gently catching the thin strap of her nightdress. With deliberate, agonizingly precision, he slipped the strap right over her shoulder, letting the cool silk pool against her arm.
He trailed his lips softly along her jawline, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath her ear before gently nipping at the nape of her neck.
Leona gasped softly, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into his touch. In that quiet, darkened bedroom, miles above the city streets and lightyears away from the bitter gossip and the looming court date, there was only this. There was only Owen, his unwavering devotion, and the beautiful, unbreakable family they had built together.
The rest of the night did absolutely everything to lift the heavy, lingering weight of the day from Leona's shoulders. The bitter gossip of the sidewalk and the shadow of the courtroom were entirely banished the second the heavy bedroom door clicked shut. Owen’s touch wasn't just passionate; it was deeply tender. Every brush of his hands and every breathless whisper in the dark was a physical vow reminding her that she was completely his—and that their family was untouchable. By the time they finally drifted off to sleep, they were tangled peacefully together beneath the blankets the quiet, distant hum of the city far below them completely silenced by the warm sanctuary of their bedroom.

That perfect, quiet peace lasted right until three in the morning.

A soft, demanding little fuss—a tiny, rhythmic rooting sound—broke through the absolute stillness of the room. Leona stirred instantly, a mother's instinct cutting right through the fog of exhaustion. She blinked her eyes open, her vision adjusting to the dim, silvery moonlight that spilled over the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, elegant shadows across the carpet.

Beside her, Owen let out a low, gravelly, sleepy sigh. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his heavy, muscular arm still draped heavily and protectively across her waist, keeping her anchored to his side even in his sleep.

Moving with practiced, stealthy grace, Leona carefully slipped out from under his arm. She leaned over, her hair falling softly over her shoulder, and pressed a lingering, tender kiss to his bare shoulder so he wouldn't wake fully.

Padding barefoot across the plush, cool carpet, she didn't have to go far. Even though the penthouse boasted a stunning, magazine-worthy, fully decorated nursery right across the hall, there was absolutely no way Leona or Owen were actually ready to let their youngest daughter sleep in another room just yet. Hazel was tucked safely into her pristine, lace-trimmed bassinet, resting mere inches from Owen’s side of the massive bed.

Leona reached down into the bassinet, scooping the tiny, squirming newborn up into her arms. She immediately brought Hazel to her chest, soothing her with a quiet, rhythmic murmur and a gentle sway before the baby's restless rooting could escalate into a full, house-waking, hungry wail.

Instead of climbing back into the warm bed, Leona adjusted the silk of her nightgown, walked over to the far corner of the master bedroom, and sank down into the plush, incredibly comfortable little rocker sitting perfectly framed by the window.

As Hazel eagerly latched on and began to nurse, tiny hands resting against Leona's chest, Leona leaned her head back against the soft fabric of the chair. A soft, deeply nostalgic smile touched her lips in the dark, her eyes tracing the skyline of Manhattan glittering outside the glass.

They had bought this exact rocker on a frantic, terrifyingly beautiful, completely chaotic afternoon. It was the very same day they had been emptying out Chad's house. The very same day they had walked out the front door and found a terrified, abandoned toddler left alone on the cold porch. They hadn't had a single baby item to their names back then. Owen had practically bought out an entire baby boutique in a single hour, determined to give the little girl absolutely everything she deserved.

This was the chair where Leona and Owen had spent countless, terrifying, sleepless nights learning how to be parents. It was where they had rocked a crying, orphaned Olive until she finally felt safe enough to sleep. It was where Owen had sat with the little girl on his chest, humming until his voice was hoarse, proving that he wasn't just a billionaire architect—he was a father who would scorch the earth for his family.

And now, here she was, sitting in that exact same chair, nursing their second daughter.

The sheer, overwhelming beauty of how their family had grown—built from the ashes of a tragic porch and blossoming into this perfect, safe, fiercely loving penthouse—filled Leona's chest until she thought her heart might actually burst from the weight of it. Holding Hazel in her arms, with Owen sleeping a few feet away and Olive dreaming safely down the hall, an impenetrable armor settled over Leona's soul.

The miserable, gossiping girl on the street didn't matter. The looming court date and Tiffany's greedy parents didn't matter. They could throw whatever they wanted at the Starks.

This—this quiet room, this beautiful baby, the man in that bed, and the little girl with the curly pigtails—this was real. And nobody was ever going to take it away.