Chapter 126 up
Nyla kept her eyes on the glass wall of the elevator, watching the city lights smear into trembling lines as the car descended. The reflection staring back at her looked composed—chin lifted, shoulders straight, expression calm. Only she could feel the chaos underneath, the way her heartbeat refused to slow, the way a single name kept echoing in her head like a pulse.
Evan.
The doors slid open with a soft chime. Nyla stepped out, heels clicking against the polished floor, but her mind lagged several steps behind her body. She had told herself it was nothing. A coincidence. A child with familiar features. An emotional reaction she couldn’t immediately explain.
And yet her chest still felt warm.
She paused near the edge of the reception hall, fingers tightening around her clutch. Laughter drifted from clusters of guests. Glasses clinked. Someone called her name from across the room, but the sound barely reached her.
Then she saw him again.
Evan sat on a velvet chair near the window, legs swinging slowly above the floor. The woman who had been with him earlier stood a few steps away, deep in conversation with another guest. Evan wasn’t looking at her.
He was looking for Nyla.
The moment their eyes met, his face lit up—not loudly, not dramatically, but in a way that felt private. His lips curved into a small smile, tentative but unmistakably relieved, as if he had been afraid she might disappear.
Something sharp pierced Nyla’s chest.
She inhaled too fast, her vision blurring at the edges. The reaction was absurd. She knew that. She had no claim on this child, no history with him, no logical reason for the way her throat tightened or her palms turned cold.
Still, her feet moved toward him before her mind could argue.
Evan straightened when she approached, posture suddenly attentive. “You came back,” he said.
“Yes,” Nyla replied softly. “I did.”
He nodded, as if confirming a theory. “I thought you would.”
“Why’s that?”
Evan shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. It just felt like you weren’t done yet.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Nyla sat down on the chair beside his without thinking, close enough that their arms almost touched. Almost. She was acutely aware of the distance, the way it hummed like a live wire.
The woman glanced over, surprised. “Oh—Evan, are you okay here?”
“Yes,” Evan said quickly. “I’m talking.”
The woman hesitated, then smiled politely at Nyla. “He doesn’t usually warm up to people so fast.”
Nyla forced a small smile. “He’s very… intuitive.”
Evan beamed at that, pride flickering across his features.
As the conversation drifted away again, Evan leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do you want to sit somewhere else? It’s loud.”
Nyla followed his gaze. He was pointing to a quieter corner near the bookshelves, away from the crowd.
“If you want to,” she said carefully.
Evan slid off his chair without hesitation and took a step in that direction—then stopped, glancing back at her expectantly. He didn’t reach for her hand, but the unspoken question was there.
Nyla stood.
They walked together, side by side. Not touching. Not rushing. Yet with every step, Nyla felt a strange, instinctive awareness of him, like a gravitational pull she couldn’t escape. When they reached the corner, Evan climbed onto the couch and immediately shifted closer to her, his shoulder brushing her arm.
He didn’t even look at her when he did it.
He just… chose her.
Nyla’s fingers curled slowly against her knee.
“Do you have kids?” Evan asked suddenly.
The question struck without warning.
Nyla’s breath caught. “No.”
“Oh.” He considered that. “Do you want to?”
She swallowed. “I… don’t know.”
Evan nodded, accepting the answer without judgment. He leaned back against the cushions, then, without looking, rested his head lightly against her upper arm.
The contact was gentle. Casual.
Devastating.
Nyla stared straight ahead, afraid that if she looked down at him, something inside her would break open. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if he could hear it.
She should move. She knew that. She should create distance, remind herself of boundaries, logic, reality.
Instead, she stayed still.
“You smell nice,” Evan murmured.
A laugh escaped her, shaky and unguarded. “Thank you.”
“You smell… safe,” he added after a moment, as if correcting himself.
Nyla closed her eyes.
Safe.
The word wrapped around her like a promise she had never been given. Her chest ached—not sharply, but deeply, like an old wound stirred awake.
Across the room, Clark appeared at last, scanning the crowd with a restless edge. His gaze landed on Evan—and then shifted to Nyla.
His expression tightened.
Nyla felt it immediately, a change in the air. She opened her eyes just as Clark started toward them, his steps measured but tense.
Evan noticed too. He lifted his head and frowned slightly. “Dad’s coming.”
“Do you want to go to him?” Nyla asked gently.
Evan hesitated. His small hand curled into the fabric of the couch. “In a minute.”
Nyla nodded. She didn’t argue. She didn’t ask why.
Clark stopped a few steps away, his jaw set. “Evan,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I know,” Evan replied. He didn’t move.
Clark’s eyes flicked to Nyla, sharp and unreadable. “Is he bothering you?”
The question was addressed to her, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.
“No,” Nyla said evenly. “He’s just sitting.”
Evan leaned closer to her side, almost imperceptibly.
Clark noticed.
Something dark crossed his face—confusion, suspicion, something dangerously close to fear.
“We need to go,” Clark said to Evan.
Evan sighed, sliding off the couch. He turned to Nyla, his expression solemn. “Will I see you again?”
Nyla’s throat tightened. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.
Evan nodded, accepting uncertainty the way children sometimes do—without bitterness, only quiet thought. Then he surprised her again by wrapping his arms around her waist, quick and fierce this time.
Nyla gasped, her hands coming up automatically, resting against his back.
“Goodnight, Nyla,” he said into her stomach.
“Goodnight, Evan,” she whispered.
He pulled away and walked to Clark without looking back.
Clark lingered for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked on Nyla’s face, searching for something he didn’t have words for. Then he turned and followed his son.
Nyla stood there long after they disappeared into the crowd.
That night, sleep came in fragments.
When Nyla finally drifted under, she dreamed of a dim room filled with soft light. A cradle. A baby wrapped in white, his face hidden in shadow. She moved closer, heart pounding, every step heavy with anticipation.
The baby stirred.
Tiny fingers reached out.
“Nyla,” a voice called.
She froze.
The baby turned his head, and Evan’s eyes looked up at her—older than they should be, knowing and warm.
“Nyla,” he said again, smiling.
She woke with a sharp inhale, her name still echoing in her ears, her chest burning with a love she could not explain—and a certainty she was suddenly afraid to face.