Her Ashes, His Regret

I never want to see your face again, Sinclair spits the words at me, and fate decides to grant his wishpermanently.

I am looking at the ink drying on the divorce papers, the black signature as sharp and cold as the man who wrote it. He thinks he is discarding a clingy, obsessed wife. He thinks this is just another one of my desperate games to get his attention.

He doesn't know that while he signs away our marriage, my body is already failing.

One slap.

Thats all it took to shatter the illusion of us.

Now, he stands tall in his pristine suit, the King of New York, commanding me to vanish.

"You win, Sinclair," I whisper to the empty air, my voice unheard.

I am leaving. Not just from his house, but from this world. And I am leaving him with nothing but his prideand a secret he isn't ready to uncover.

Chapter 1

My soul hovered above, watching my little Remi. She had hidden under the seat of a Greyhound bus all the way to New York City.

Was she looking for her father?

But there were so many people. Was she safe?

Remi was only three. What if someone took her? I hovered above, panic clawing at my chest, but I was powerless.

Miraculously, her tiny legs carried her right to the base of Sinclair's corporate tower.

She tilted her small, grime-streaked face up at the glass tower, shrinking back. She was too scared to go in.

When Sinclair finally walked out, Remi was sitting on the edge of a concrete planter in the plaza. She was gnawing on a stale, half-eaten bagel she had fished out of a dumpster.

She took small bites, carefully nibbling the clean parts. Then she saw him.

Her eyes went wide. She stared, frozen, at the man in the dark blue suit.

"Dad"

The word was a whisper.

Sinclair didn't hear it. He strode straight to his town car.

She had come all this way to find him, but now that he was there, she was frozen.

Sinclair got in. He didn't leave immediately. His assistant, Spencer, got in the front, phone pressed to his ear.

I didn't know if Sinclair would accept her. But in this massive, cold city, she had no one. At least they shared blood.

But Remi was paralyzed. Sinclair's presencethat terrifying, icy aurahad her rooted to the concrete.

Spencer hung up. He was about to start the engine when he glanced at the planter. "Sir, that kid"

The window was down. Sinclair turned his head. He saw her. A tiny, filthy speck against the gray stone.

He didn't recognize her. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of disgust at the grime on her clothes.

I tried to grab his arm, to shake him. My hand passed through him. My body was as light as paper, grasping at nothing.

Sinclair, look at her! Thats your daughter! She looks just like me!

Please. Take her home.

Don't make her pay for what I did.

Sinclair looked away. "Drive."

Spencer hesitated, his mouth opening, then closing. He put the car in gear. The black sedan rolled slowly out of the lot.

I screamed: "Remi, run! Chase him! Don't be scared!"

She didn't move. Her little fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were white.

It was over. He was leaving. Night was falling. She was going to die out here.

I burned with a frantic, helpless rage.

Just as despair swallowed me whole

The brake lights flared red. The car stopped.

Spencer got out. He walked over to the planter and crouched in front of her.

"Hey there. What's your name?"

Remis voice trembled. She squeezed her hands together. "My name is Remi Genevieve."

"Genevieve?"

Spencer froze. The name hit him like a physical blow.

He softened immediately. Gently, he coaxed her off the planter and led her to the rear window of the sedan.

"Sir. Her last name is Genevieve."

Sinclair glanced out. He stared at Remi, a flash of severe coldness in his eyes.

Remi flinched. Her knees were shaking.

My soul trembled, waiting for the verdict. Finally, he spoke.

"Get her in."

Remi sat in the back. She curled into a tiny ball, her dirty sneakers dangling inches above the pristine leather floor mats.

Sinclair sat on the far side. An ocean of cold leather separated them.

He clearly hated this.

To him, she was just another piece of trash from the street. But the name the possibility he couldn't leave her on the sidewalk.

Chapter 2

Sinclair swept into the foyer of the Sinclair Estate, Remi trailing behind him like a shadow.

Rosemary, the head housekeeper, was dusting a Ming vase. She turned at the sound of the door.

The feather duster slipped from her fingers. It hit the marble floor with a clatter.

That child. She is the spitting image of Ms. Genevieve.

Sinclair's brow furrowed. The air in the room instantly dropped ten degrees. His face was a thundercloud.

Rosemary realized her mistake immediately. She clamped her mouth shut, terror flashing in her eyes.

"Go find something Anastasia left behind. Anything with a hair follicle."

"Yes, sir."

Rosemary scrambled toward the storage rooms.

Of course. Remi was a carbon copy of me. Sinclair was suspicious. He suspected she might be mine.

But finding anything of mine in this house would be a miracle.

When we divorced, I didn't just leave. I was erased. Before I could even pack my bags, Sinclair ordered everything I owned to be piled up in the courtyard. He burned it all. He wanted every trace of my existence turned to ash.

Ten minutes later, Rosemary returned from the basement storage. She held a single, long strand of hair found on an old coat that had escaped the purge.

Spencer took the hair, sealing it in a plastic bag.

Sinclair glanced at Remi. She was standing by the wall, stiff as a board, staring at her dirty sneakers.

Spencer walked over to her.

"Be a good girl, Remi. I just need one of your hairs."

Remi nodded obediently. "Mmhmm."

Spencer gently plucked a strand from her head.

Sinclair sank into the expansive leather sofa, crossing his legs.

"I want the results immediately. Rush order."

Spencer nodded and hurried out the door.

The massive living room fell silent. It was just Sinclair, Rosemary, and Remi.

Remi was trembling with tension. Her eyes darted around the room, watching for danger.

Rosemary looked at her with softening eyes. I treated Rosemary well when I was the lady of this house. Now, that kindness was being paid forward to my daughter.

But this was Sinclair's domain.

Sinclair sat there, an emperor on his throne. Remi stole a terrified glance at him.

A full minute of suffocating silence passed.

Finally, Sinclair spoke. His voice was flat.

"Clean her up. Wrap her in something decent."

"Yes, Mr. Sinclair."

Rosemary rushed forward and took Remi's small, grimy hand. "Come on, sweetie. Come with Rosemary."

In the master bathroom, steam filled the air.

Remi sat in the massive porcelain tub, surrounded by mountains of bubbles. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mix of comfort and fear.

She had never known luxury like this. Back in the country, we barely had enough to eat, let alone a bathtub. I bathed her in a cracked plastic bucket with water I heated on the stove.

"Don't be nervous. Just sit back."

Rosemary's voice was gentle. I watched from above, my soul weeping without tears. Thank you, Rosemary. Thank you for being the mother I can no longer be.

Rosemary scrubbed the grime of the streets off my baby and brought her back downstairs.

She probably wanted to ask Sinclair where Remi should sleep.

But the living room was empty.

Sinclair was gone.

The door to the master bedroom upstairs was shut tight. He had gone to bed. He didn't care where she slept.

Remi stood there, her skin pink from the heat, her eyes misty and confused. She looked up at Rosemary.

Rosemary sighed. She took charge, preparing a guest room and tucking Remi into a soft, clean bed.

The next morning.

The smell of coffee and toast filled the air. Rosemary had laid out breakfast.

Sinclair walked down the stairs, buttoning his cuffs.

Remi was standing in the dining room. She froze when she locked eyes with him.

There were no children's clothes in the mansion. Rosemary had wrapped her in a plush, oversized white bath towel. It was tied securely, but it swallowed her whole.

It only highlighted how fragile she was.

She was skin and bones. Hunger had hollowed out her cheeks. Even wrapped in layers of towel, she was still a tiny, fragile thing.

Sinclair paused. His gaze swept over her.

He didn't say a word.

He looked away, pulled out his chair, and sat down at the head of the table.

Chapter 3

It had been four years since the divorce.

He was twenty-nine now. His face was still a masterpiece of sharp angles and cold indifference, carved from marble. The ice in his veins hadn't melted a single degree.

Sinclair took his seat at the head of the dining table.

Remi stood frozen near the wall, a tiny, trembling statue in an oversized towel.

Finally, Sinclair picked up his silver fork. He didn't look up.

"Put her in a chair. She needs to eat."

"Yes, sir."

Rosemary lifted Remi onto a chair that was far too big for her. Her legs dangled in the air.

Remi ate with her head down, shoveling food into her mouth with a desperate, clumsy urgency.

Then, she choked.

A dry, hacking sound escaped her throat. Her face turned red.

The glass of milk was right next to her hand.

She didn't touch it.

She sat there, coughing, eyes watering, terrified to make a move. Her gaze was glued to Sinclair, waiting for permission to survive.

Drink it, baby! Please, just drink it! I screamed silently, my phantom hands trying to push the glass toward her.

She wouldn't move.

Sinclair let out an impatient sigh.

He reached over, picked up her glass of milk, and took a sip. He set it back down with a sharp clink.

Only then did her shaking hand reach for the glass. She drank greedily.

Sinclair knew exactly what she was thinking. He knew she was waiting for a signal that it was safe.

But he couldn't accept her. Not yet.

The paternity test results were still pending.

What if she just looked like Anastasia? What if this was all just a sick, twisted coincidence?

Sinclair Tower. Top floor.

Sinclair sat in his leather executive chair, eyes closed.

Spencer walked in, holding a sealed manila envelope.

Sinclairs eyes snapped open. He paused, his fountain pen hovering over a document.

"The results?"

Spencer placed the file on the desk with the extreme caution of a bomb disposal technician.

"The DNA match is 99.9 percent. She is biologically the daughter of your ex-wife, Anastasia."

Sinclairs grip on the limited-edition pen tightened. His knuckles turned white.

He flipped the file open. He scanned the numbers.

Positive.

He slammed the file shut.

"She must have a death wish."

"Sir," Spencer ventured cautiously. "Should we schedule the paternity test? To check if the child is yours"

"No."

The refusal was instant. Sharp.

I panicked.

Why won't you test it? Are you afraid?

Spencer broke into a cold sweat. He knew that look. The vein pulsing in Sinclairs temple meant violence was coming.

Spencer turned to leave, trying to make himself invisible.

"Spencer."

Sinclairs voice was low, tight with suppressed rage.

"Her eyes. They don't look like mine. Do they?"

Spencer froze.

The air left the room.

He couldn't answer.

Anyone with working vision could see it. Remis eyes were carbon copies of Sinclairs. The same shape. The same dark, intense depth.

"Sir," Spencer stammered. "The meeting should we push it back?"

"No."

Sinclair stood up abruptly. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

From the 69th floor, New York was just a grid of lights and concrete. It was lonely at the top.

"Get out."

Three days passed.

Sinclair left before dawn and returned after midnight.

He refused to look at Remi, but he didn't kick her out.

Remi was a ghost in the house. She sat quietly where she was told. She didn't speak unless spoken to.

When Rosemary had time, she would chat with her. Remi answered with one word.

"Yes, ma'am." "No, ma'am."

Polite. Careful. Terrified.

I could feel her loneliness filling the house. She clung to Rosemary like a lifeline.

She spent hours just staring at the furniture. The crystal chandeliers, the velvet drapes.

She had never seen a house this big. It was a castle compared to the shack we lived in.

She didn't know what anything was, but her dark eyes widened at the glitter of wealth. She knew it was expensive. She knew she didn't belong.

She sat on the edge of the sofa, her body tight, ready to bolt.

Like a frightened quail trying not to be seen by a hawk.

Finally, exhaustion took her. She fell asleep curled up on the massive couch.

Her lips moved in her sleep.

"Mommy Remi is good."

"Remi misses Mommy."

My heart broke.

I don't have a body. I don't have tear ducts. But I felt the hot, stinging sensation of weeping.

I don't have a heart, but the pain in my chest was so real it felt like I was dying all over again.

Chapter 4

Sinclair finished signing the last contract. He gestured for Spencer to take the stack away.

His eyes flicked to the digital calendar on his desk.

Click.

He capped his pen with a sharp, aggressive snap.

"Hah. Two weeks. And she's still playing hide-and-seek."

Was he talking about me?

It had been two weeks since Remi came back to him.

Sinclairs anger flared, hot and sudden.

"Dropping the kid off and vanishing into thin air. Only she would pull a stunt like this. Spencer, what kind of game was she playing now?"

Spencer hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

"Sir, should I call Ms. Genevieve I mean, your ex-wife? Ask her what her intentions were?"

Sinclairs eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

"No. Let her play dead."

He leaned back, a sneer curling his lip.

"She thinks if she secretly has my kid and sends her back, I'll suddenly grow a heart? That I'll bond with the girl, change my mind, and welcome her back into the family? She's delusional."

Sinclair let out a cold, humorless laugh.

"I'll raise the kid. But a father-daughter relationship? She's dreaming if she thinks that. I'm keeping the girl strictly as a matter of biology. Nothing else. As for Anastasia? She will never set foot in my house again."

I stayed silent.

Sinclair didn't know I was dead.

He hadn't asked Remi a single thing. Because he didn't want to know. He didn't want to hear my name.

Remi had been back for two weeks, and he hadn't said more than two sentences to her.

He hated me. And that hate bled right onto Remi.

When I learned I was dying, I brought Remi to New York once before. We stood right outside this building.

But that day, Sinclair walked out with Delaney.

Delaney, whose belly was showing the slightest curve of pregnancy.

Sinclair opened the car door for her, his hand hovering protectively over her head.

I was paralyzed.

Delaney was pregnant? With Sinclair's child?

I knew this would happen. The moment he forced me to sign the divorce papers, I knew he would marry Delaney eventually.

In all of New York, Sinclair was an iceberg to everyone. Except Delaney.

With her, he was gentle. A gentleman.

Everyone said they were the perfect match. The golden couple.

I used to be someone, too. A debutante. Raised with a silver spoon and a temper to match.

I loved Sinclair with a terrifying, bone-deep obsession.

I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand seeing him be soft with anyone else.

It was at the gala for the Shaw family patriarch. I found them on the balcony. Delaney was crying, her tears glistening like diamonds, her head resting on Sinclair's white tuxedo jacket.

The sight stung my eyes.

I walked up to them.

And I slapped Sinclair across the face.

The sound was like a gunshot. The entire ballroom went silent.

That slap shattered my marriage.

Sinclair didn't explode at the party. He kept his cool for the sake of the hosts.

But the car ride home was a tomb. The air was so cold it burned.

When we got home, he threw the divorce papers on the table.

I froze.

I didn't think it would end like this.

I thought he would be furious. I didn't think he would divorce me.

I regretted it the second my hand connected with his cheek.

Who was Sinclair?

He was the sole heir to one of the oldest dynasties in New York. A billionaire. A king.

People were terrified to even breathe wrong around him.

And I slapped him.

The silence in that ballroom lasted for an eternity. No one dared to exhale.

Everyone knew Sinclair and Delaney were childhood sweethearts. They were meant to be.

Delaney's grandfather had just died. She was grieving. She leaned on his shoulder for a moment of comfort. It wasn't a crime.

But I was arrogant.

I slapped Sinclair.

That slap was crisp. Perfect.

And my punishment was just as brutal.

Chapter 5

The Genevieve empire hadn't just crumbled; it had turned to dust in the wind. The Sinclairs didn't want me. They only opened their golden gates because of a dusty old alliancea ghost of a promise made by dead grandfathers.

And I, the charity case, had the nerve to slap the Crown Prince.

It wasn't just Sinclair who turned on me. The entire family closed ranks.

When the divorce papers landed on the table, I begged. I went to the elders, the board members. I pleaded for a second chance.

Silence. No one stood by me.

To add insult to injury, the Sinclair Group started a hostile takeover of the last remaining company my father owned.

They swallowed it whole. That was the price of my slap.

Later that day, I tried to go home. I pressed my thumb to the biometric scanner at the gate.

Access Denied.

They had wiped my fingerprints from the system. I couldn't even get inside to plead my case.

But I was stubborn back then. Stupidly stubborn.

I stood outside those iron gates for three days and three nights.

I stood under the blistering sun until my skin burned. I stood there to prove I was sorry.

But everyone avoided me like the plague.

On the third night, the sky opened up. A torrential downpour hammered the city. I stood in the rain, soaked to the bone, shivering violently.

The security guard sat in his heated booth, watching me with pity. He shook his head.

The next morning, the rain stopped.

My throat was raw, like I had swallowed glass. I walked up to the intercom.

"Tell the Sinclairs I'll sign."

Buzz.

The heavy iron gates swung open.

I was finally allowed in.

The divorce agreement was waiting on the table in the foyer. A pen sat next to it.

I walked across the pristine marble floor, water dripping from my clothes, leaving a muddy trail. I hugged my shivering body.

I picked up the pen. I signed my name.

Spencer snatched the papers away the second the ink hit the page.

"Ms. Genevieve, please go upstairs and pack your personal effects."

Just like that, I dragged two suitcases out of the mansion. I looked like a drowned rat.

The truth is, our marriage was a disaster from day one.

The whole city knew I was obsessed with him. And he was indifferent.

To be accurate, Delaney and I both loved him.

But we were natural enemies. We were pulling hair in the sandbox before we could read.

Our styles were different.

I chased him loud. I wore my heart on my sleeve.

Delaney was the quiet one. The subtle one.

They say it's easy for a woman to catch a man if she tries hard enough. That's a lie. I threw myself at Sinclair, and his heart never beat a single tick faster for me.

But back when we were kids, the Genevieve family was powerful. We were the perfect match for the Sinclairs.

I had the better pedigree. I outranked Delaney.

The grandfathers made a pact. A union of bloodlines.

The Sinclairs never predicted my family would fall so hard.

But the rumor of the engagement had already circulated in high society.

That's why Sinclair married me.

In their world, a promise is currency. Reputation is everything.

If the Sinclairs dumped me just because my family went broke, they would look like opportunists. They would look like they lacked honor.

So, when I had given up hope, they came with a marriage proposal. I cried tears of joy. I thought it was a miracle.

It was just PR.

Once the doors closed, the family looked down on me.

And I was too proud to play the victim. I didn't know how to suck up.

I fought Sinclair. I demanded his attention.

I tried everything to make him happy. When that failed, I screamed at him. I accused him of not loving me.

Looking back, I was an idiot.

Of course he didn't love me. I didn't understand the nature of the transaction.

I thought he married me because he felt something.

It took that slapand the forced divorcefor me to wake up.

The Sinclairs had been waiting. They were waiting for me to make a mistake. A big one.

They needed a reason to kick me out that wouldn't damage their reputation.

Suddenly, they were the victims. They honored the deal. They married the poor girl. It was the Genevieve girl who was crazy. Who was violent.

I handed them my exile on a silver platter.

Chapter 6

The Genevieve family was ruined.

Penniless, I took a Greyhound bus to the middle of nowhere, to the crumbling farmhouse where my grandmother, Hazel, lived.

A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.

I wanted to terminate it. A child without a father? A child born into poverty? It was a recipe for misery.

But the doctor was blunt. My body was weak. If I terminated this pregnancy, I would never have children again.

I sat in that cold clinic, paralyzed.

My family was gone. My marriage was dead. I would probably never marry again. Hazel was old.

I wanted one person in this world who belonged to me. One person who was my blood.

So, I kept her. I gave birth to Remi in secret.

When we divorced, Spencer delivered Sinclair's final message: I never want to see you in New York again.

I was terrified to go back. I found a job as a substitute teacher at the local rural school. The pay was garbage, but out here, it was enough to survive.

I scrimped and saved. I raised Remi until she was three.

Then, during a math lesson, the world tilted. I collapsed.

I woke up in the county hospital.

My colleagues wouldn't look me in the eye.

Stomach cancer. Stage four. Terminal.

I shattered.

Why? Why now?

What about Remi?

Hazel was frail, her mind drifting like dandelion seeds. She couldn't raise a child.

I had no choice. I had to send Remi back to Sinclair.

I took her to the city. But when we got to Sinclair Tower, I saw him with Delaney.

They looked so happy. So perfect.

Delaney and I were mortal enemies. She hated me. She would hate my child.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't hand my baby over to a woman who would make her life hell.

We went to a McDonald's instead.

"Mommy," Remi pointed at my phone screen. "Isn't that Daddy?"

I had shown her our wedding photo. I wanted her to know his face. I wanted her to be ready.

But in that booth, smelling of grease and cheap sanitizer, I chickened out.

I bought her a Happy Mealher first one ever. It was supposed to be a goodbye meal.

Instead, I grabbed her sticky little hand and we got back on the bus. Back to the countryside.

But time ran out.

The cancer ate me alive.

I couldn't work. I couldn't cook. I was a skeleton lying in a bed that smelled of sickness.

I tried one last time. I packed our bags. We were going to find Sinclair.

But before we could even get to the bus stop, my body gave out.

Blood. So much blood. It poured from my mouth, staining my shirt, the ground.

I knew. This was it.

I grabbed Remi. I squeezed her so hard I thought I might break her.

This was the last hug.

Remi was crying, her small hands trying to wipe the blood from my chin. "Mommy? Mommy, what's wrong?"

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely find the pocket. I pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. I pressed it into her small hand.

"Remi. Give this to Mr. Hank. Our neighbor. Tell him tell him to take you to Daddy. Okay?"

Remi screamed. She clung to my neck. "No! No, Mommy! I don't want Daddy!"

"I want Mommy!"

"I only want Mommy!"

My vision was fading. The world was turning gray. I lifted my hand. I touched her wet, warm cheek one last time.

"Remi Mommy loves you."

The ground rushed up to meet me.

The last thing I felt was her tiny hands on my face.

"Mommy."

I couldn't touch her back. My sweet, sweet baby.

I watched from above as the neighbors gathered. They took Remi. They took my body back to the farmhouse.

Hank organized a simple funeral.

At the end, they handed a small wooden urn to Remi. She was wearing a simple black mourning dress.

She hugged the urn. She cried until she had no voice left.

They told her I was inside. That Mommy was in the urn.

For three months, she didn't do what I told her. She didn't give the note to Hank. She didn't ask for her father.

She stayed in that dark, empty house with Hazel, who barely knew what day it was.

When she wasn't helping Hazel, she just sat there.

Hugging my ashes. Staring at nothing.

I saw the note fall out of her pocket one day. She lost it. My heart hammered against ribs I no longer had.

No. No, baby. You need that note.

A month later.

She placed the urn gently on the makeshift shrine.

She walked over to Hazel, who was dozing in her rocking chair.

"Great-Grandma. I'm going to find my Daddy. When I find him, I'll come back for you."

She walked out the door alone.

She climbed onto the Greyhound bus headed for New York.

My Remi. She is so smart. So brave.

I only took her once. But she remembered the way.

Chapter 7

One day.

Sinclair brought Delaney to the mansion.

I froze.

Delaneys belly was round. Swollen. She looked at least six months pregnant.

Panic clawed at my throat.

What was she doing here? Was she moving in?

Remi was hiding on the staircase landing, peeking through the banister. She was too scared to come down.

Rosemary walked in with a crystal platter of sliced fruit.

Sinclair pushed the platter toward Delaney.

"Your favorites. Eat up."

Delaney rested a hand on her bump and nodded.

She speared a piece of cantaloupe and took a delicate bite.

"Are you sure you have time for the Maldives next month?"

The Maldives? Sinclair was taking her on a babymoon?

New York in November is gray and suffocating. The Maldives would be paradise.

Sinclair nodded. "I'll make time. I promised you. I won't break my word."

Delaneys smile softened. She stroked her belly.

"That's wonderful. The baby will love the ocean."

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

What was I going to do?

Sinclair already tolerated Remi at best. Once Delaney's baby arrivedthe "legitimate" heirRemi would be invisible. Or worse.

And if Delaney moved in? How would she treat my daughter?

I hated myself. I hated that I had made Delaney my enemy.

I slapped my own phantom face. This is my fault. Remi is suffering because of my sins.

Delaneys gaze drifted. It landed on the small, trembling figure on the stairs.

She frowned.

Remi saw the look. She pressed her hands flat against her sides, trying to make herself smaller.

I waved my arms, trying to block Delaneys view. Stop looking at her! Leave her alone!

But I was useless. Just air.

Suddenly, Remi moved. She ran down the stairs and disappeared into the kitchen.

What was she doing?

I followed her.

She came out holding a teacup with both hands, walking slowly, careful not to spill a drop.

She walked right up to the coffee table.

"Miss. Tea."

She placed the cup in front of Delaney and looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes.

My heart shattered.

She's trying to please her.

Sinclair paused. He looked surprised.

Delaney glanced at Sinclair. Then she put down her fork and picked up the tea.

"Thank you. You're very sweet."

She took a sip.

But I saw it.

As she lowered her lashes, a flash of pure, raw loathing flickered in her eyes.

Delaney hated her.

Remi was trying so hard to survive.

I had told her once, "If you ever meet this lady, be good. Be very good. She might be your new mommy."

Remi remembered. She was fighting for her life with a cup of tea.

But Delaneys eyes told me the truth.

It wasn't working.

Chapter 8

Delaneys lips barely touched the rim of the cup before she set it down.

Remis head drooped. She turned to trudge back to her room.

Her shoulders slumped. Daddy doesn't like me. The new lady doesn't like me.

Then, a voice cut through the silence.

"Come here. Sit down and have some fruit. Stop running off."

It was Sinclair.

Remi spun around. Her eyes were wide, filled with disbelief.

But Sinclair was looking right at her.

"Okay DaSir."

She scrambled back, climbing onto the far corner of the massive sofa.

For months, Sinclair had barely acknowledged her existence. Now, he was inviting her to eat fruit?

Joy exploded on her face. It was radiant.

She had almost slipped. She almost called him Daddy.

As Remi settled in, I saw Delaneys hand, resting on her lap, clench into a tight fist.

Her knuckles turned white.

But a second later, the fist unclenched.

She smiled. A perfect, plastic smile. She stabbed a strawberry with a silver fork and held it out to Remi.

"Here, sweetie. Eat up."

Remi hesitated. She glanced at Sinclair, checking for permission. When he didn't object, she took the strawberry.

"Thank you, Miss. You're so pretty."

Delaney patted Remis head. "You're so cute."

Tears streamed down my phantom face.

Oh, Remi. Why do you have to be so good? Why do you have to be so grown-up?

To my surprise, Delaney didn't stay.

An hour later, she stood up to leave.

Sinclair ordered his driver, Sal, to take her back to the Emerald Bay Estates.

It was a new, ultra-exclusive development. I didn't know if Sinclair had bought it for her, or if the Thorne family owned it.

Delaney left.

The living room was quiet again. Just Sinclair and Remi.

They sat on the same long sofa. Sinclair was a king in the center. Remi was a tiny mouse in the corner.

There was an ocean of leather between them.

Sinclair didn't speak. His face was unreadable, a mask of stone.

The tension was suffocating.

Remi couldn't handle his aura. It was too heavy, too dark for a three-year-old.

She put down her fork.

"Sir I'm gonna go read my comics now."

She slid off the sofa, ready to escape.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Remi froze.

She turned. Her innocent, doe-like eyes met his cold, dark gaze.

She twisted her fingers together, fear coming off her in waves.

Sinclair beckoned with one hand. "Come here."

Remis eyes lit up for a fraction of a second, then dimmed. She didn't dare to hope.

She walked toward him on shaky legs.

She stopped a few feet away.

Sinclair reached out. He grabbed her arm and pulled her in.

With one fluid motion, he lifted her up and set her on his knee.

He circled her with his arm, trapping her, protecting her. His dark eyes scanned her face.

Sinclairs features were sharp, aggressive. His nose was straight and proud. Remis nose was a tiny, soft button. The contrast was striking.

Remi sat perched on his thigh. Sinclair held her steady with one large hand.

She was a tiny ball of tension in his lap. Her fingers were twisting together so hard they were turning red.

She had wanted this hug for so long. But now that she had it, she was terrified.

Sinclairs Adam's apple bobbed.

"When I called you over just now what did you almost call me?"

Silence stretched.

Finally, she whispered, "Sir."

"Sir?" Sinclairs voice was low. "What did you say before 'Sir'?"

Remi bit her lip. She looked down, refusing to meet his eyes.

He waited. He wasn't letting this go.

Her lips trembled.

"It was Da Daddy."

The word hung in the air