Chapter 3

Leo pointed at Mia, crying and yelling, insisting she'd pushed him and was trying to kick him and his mom out.

Julian's face was flushed, his shirt collar open, eyes glazed and angry from too much alcohol.

"Mia!" Julian shouted, striding over. "Apologize to your brother!"

Mia looked up, those light brown eyes so much like mine, showing no fear—just a chilling numbness.

She said calmly, "I didn't push him."

That calmness only made Julian angrier, as if she were defying him.

He was drunk, and his hand lashed out almost without thinking.

Smack!

The sound of the slap echoed in the luxury living room, and everything went still.

Mia's small body jerked to the side, her cheek swelling red.

I stood nearby, my fingers curling inside my sleeve for a moment, then relaxing.

I didn't scream. I didn't rush to protect Mia like a crazed mother. I didn't demand answers from Julian.

Mia slowly turned her head back. She didn't cry, not even a hint of tears.

She just straightened herself and lowered her gaze, staring at the pattern on the floor.

Something in her eyes went out for good.

"Oh my God!" Sienna gasped, covering her mouth like a frightened rabbit. She rushed over, grabbing Julian's arm, tears perfectly glimmering in her eyes. "Julian! Don't do this! Leo's just a kid... It's our fault, we shouldn't be here. I'll take Leo and leave right now."

She shot Leo a look.

Leo stopped his fake crying instantly, clinging to Sienna's leg and whining to go home.

Julian stared at his hand, a flicker of shock crossing his face. But Sienna's "hurt" wiped away any guilt.

He turned to me, full of disappointment and disgust. "Elara, look at your daughter! Cold as ice! She can't even cry when she's wrong?"

I looked at him calmly and nodded. "Sorry, it's our fault."

Sienna pulled Leo toward the door. Julian glared at us, grabbed his coat, and followed them out.

The door slammed shut. Silence settled over the house.

I knelt down, gently pressing an ice pack to Mia's face.

Mia didn't react at all, heartbreakingly obedient.

An hour later.

My phone buzzed.

Julian texted: [Sienna's really upset. I'm staying with them tonight, I'll bring them home and then come back. I know I was too harsh earlier, but Mia really needs discipline.]

He was probably expecting a long reply—complaints, maybe tears about Mia's injury.

I used to do that, calling him nonstop until he turned off his phone.

This time, I just replied: [Okay.]

Julian sat in his car, staring at that single word, feeling strangely irritated.

He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, the anger inside him burning even hotter.

Julian didn't come home that night.

The next day, around noon, he returned, looking exhausted.

He saw me making lunch in the kitchen and awkwardly cleared his throat. "Leo was a handful last night. Sienna couldn't manage him alone, so I slept on their couch."

He watched my face for a reaction.

I placed the sandwiches on the table and said calmly, "Got it. Come eat breakfast."

Julian frowned, feeling that same powerless frustration—like punching cotton.

He couldn't help but walk over, staring into my eyes. "Elara, aren't you worried at all? I spent the night at my ex's place."

I looked up, smiling, honest. "Why would I be worried? You and Sienna are soulmates, right? That's what you always said. I trust you."

Julian was speechless.

I was being "understanding," but he felt a chill run down his spine.

He tugged at his tie, irritated, glancing at Mia eating quietly at the table.

Her cheek was still a little swollen.

Guilt finally hit Julian.

He knelt beside Mia, softening his voice, trying to play the caring father. "Mia... Last night, I drank too much. I was out of line. You're a proud kid, I've never hit you before. Are you mad at me?"

Mia put down her milk.

She turned to Julian, her gaze far too mature for a seven-year-old.

"It's okay, Daddy," she said softly, not a hint of resentment. "It's nothing. I've been through worse."

Julian froze.

Mia continued, almost like an adult. "You don't have to apologize. If Aunt Sienna's still upset, I can apologize to her too. Go take care of her—and Leo."

This wasn't maturity.

Julian stood up awkwardly, feeling a hollow panic, desperate to fill it with something.

"Tonight... let's go out for dinner," Julian blurted. "Le Bernardin. I'll take you both out, make it up to you."

No one refused. No one cheered.

That night, the Michelin restaurant was bright and bustling. Julian felt a bit more like himself in this familiar world of status and power, carefully cutting Mia's steak, trying to paint the picture of a happy family.

"Julian?"

A deep, magnetic voice interrupted his act.

Julian looked up to see Adrian Cross, dressed in a sharp designer suit, standing by the table.

Adrian was the tech industry's rising star—Julian's dream client, the one he'd been chasing for months.

"Adrian!" Julian jumped up to shake his hand, plastering on a big smile. "What a coincidence."

Adrian's eyes swept over us, lingering on me for a second, then he smiled at Mia. "And who's this?"

Julian straightened, ready to put an arm around me and introduce us as his wife and daughter, showing off his family-man image.

But Mia spoke first.

She set down her fork, dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and answered politely, clearly, and with distance:

"He's Uncle Julian. My mom's good friend."

The air froze.

Julian's hand hung in midair, his smile cracking, looking utterly ridiculous.