Chapter 139

Chapter 139
NAYA'S POV

As we stepped out of the study together, the air between us felt lighter than it had when I first found him standing at the window. His hand brushed against mine as we moved toward the stairs, and I thought, maybe for tonight, we could just be parents again—just Arthur and me checking up on Elijah upstairs. But then his phone rang, slicing into that fragile moment like a blade. I felt his hand slip away from mine, and he pulled the phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen with a seriousness that made me pause.

“I’ll just be a moment,” he said, his voice lower, almost distracted. Before I could answer, he leaned down and pressed a quick, hurried peck to my lips. The gesture was fleeting but enough to leave warmth lingering there, the kind of warmth that almost made me forget the weight of everything hanging between us.

“I’ll join you in a bit,” he promised with that faint smile that always softened his edges. And then, just like that, he turned back into the study, his broad shoulders disappearing behind the door as it closed.

I stood there for a breath, staring at the polished wood as though I could see through it, wondering what kind of call could pull him back when he had just begun to open up to me. But I didn’t press. If I pressed every time, we’d never find peace.

So I turned, smoothing down my dress with a hand that trembled slightly more than I’d admit, and made my way back to the sitting room. My bag lay where I had left it earlier, resting carelessly against the arm of the couch. I reached for it, fingers brushing the strap, and that’s when my thoughts betrayed me.

The documents.

My chest tightened instantly, that familiar guilt pressing in like it had been waiting for this exact quiet moment. Inside my bag, folded neatly but burning like a secret flame, were the papers Stella had stolen—the ones I shouldn’t have, the ones I had yet to even breathe a word of to Arthur. Every time I thought of them, I felt torn clean in half. On one side, the urge to protect him, to shield him from a truth that might come crashing down on everything he thought he knew. On the other, the whisper that keeping them hidden made me no better than the shadows he was trying so hard to escape.

My hand lingered on the strap longer than necessary, my pulse quickening. How long could I keep walking this tightrope? Arthur had just confided in me about his father’s letter, letting me glimpse the rawest part of his pain. And here I was, harboring secrets right under his nose. The weight of that irony wasn’t lost on me—it pressed down on my ribs like something cruel.

“When do I tell him?” I whispered under my breath, though no one was around to hear it. My voice sounded fragile in the empty room, the kind of question that didn’t have a clean answer. If I told him too soon, would he see it as betrayal? If I waited too long, would the truth rot between us until it destroyed everything we’d been trying to rebuild?

I slipped the strap over my shoulder, pulling the bag close against me like I was afraid someone might suddenly reach out and snatch it away. Elijah’s laughter didn’t echo through the halls tonight, and the silence of the mansion only seemed to amplify the thundering of my own thoughts. For a fleeting moment, I almost wished Arthur would come out of his study, catch me standing here, and ask me directly what was wrong. It would have forced the words out of me before I had the chance to overthink them.

But no, the study door remained closed, and I was left with the secret pressed against my side, my lips sealed, and the hollow awareness that every step I took upstairs was one step closer to choosing when—if ever—I’d find the courage to place those documents in his hands.

And for the first time that evening, I wasn’t sure if I feared the truth itself… or the way Arthur might look at me once it was finally spoken aloud.

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than it should, as though my own thoughts were weights tied around my ankles. The bag pressed against my side like a guilty reminder, but I forced myself to focus on where I was headed. Aunt Nina’s room. Elijah. My reason to breathe.

When I reached her door, I lifted my hand and knocked softly, not wanting to disturb them if they were asleep. The wood under my knuckles barely made a sound, but even before I could open the door, I heard a faint giggle—a sound that immediately softened everything inside me. I turned the knob gently and let myself in, and the moment my eyes landed on him, my heart nearly melted.

There he was. My little boy. My Elijah. His face lit up the second he saw me, his whole body wriggling with excitement on the bed as though he’d been waiting just for me. That bright, toothy grin—it could have powered the entire mansion if joy was electricity.

“Baby…” The word left my lips like a coo, soft and filled with all the affection I couldn’t ever put into enough words. I didn’t even realize I was rushing forward until I felt his tiny arms reaching for me, and I scooped him up without hesitation. The warmth of his little body against mine, the way he clung to me, burying his face briefly against my shoulder—it undid every knot I’d been carrying all evening.

“There’s my sunshine,” I whispered into his hair, breathing in that faint scent only babies seemed to have, something sweet and innocent that tugged at the most tender parts of me. His giggles vibrated against my chest, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly too, pressing a kiss to his temple.

From her spot at the side of the room, Aunt Nina gave me a gentle smile, her presence calm and steady as always. “He woke up just a few minutes ago,” she said warmly, her eyes moving fondly to Elijah. “And he’s been lively ever since. You should have seen him—he was reaching for his toys, babbling away as though he wanted to tell me all the things he dreamed about.”

I glanced at her, smiling as I adjusted Elijah against my hip. “I can imagine,” I said softly, brushing my hand over his soft curls. “He’s always got so much to say, even if I don’t always understand it.”

Aunt Nina chuckled lightly at that, but there was something in her gaze—something that reminded me she saw more than she ever let on. She always had this way of watching, of quietly piecing things together without prying, and tonight I found myself grateful she didn’t ask why my eyes looked more tired than usual.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, Elijah still in my arms, and he pressed his tiny hand against my cheek like he wanted to keep my attention entirely on him. And for him, I did. I let myself soak in the sound of his laughter, the way his small body wiggled in delight just because I was there. For a moment, the weight of secrets, letters, and documents faded into the background. For a moment, I was just his mother, and that was enough.

Still, as I watched his wide, trusting eyes look up at me, something twisted in my chest. He deserved a world where secrets didn’t sit like ticking time bombs in the shadows of his home. He deserved a father who wasn’t haunted by the mistakes of the past, and a mother who wasn’t too afraid to tell the truth. I kissed his forehead again, holding him tighter, as though that small act could make up for everything I hadn’t figured out yet.

And while Aunt Nina began folding away some of Elijah’s clothes at the corner of the room, humming softly to herself, I let my mind drift. Holding my son grounded me, yes—but it also reminded me of the urgency I’d been avoiding. The future wasn’t just about Arthur and me anymore. Every choice I made, every secret I held, it all rippled out to this little boy in my arms.

I closed my eyes briefly, rocking Elijah gently against me, and whispered so softly it was meant for me alone: “I have to find the right moment.”

Because if not for myself, then for him—I couldn’t keep this hidden forever.