His Heir, Her Secret - Chapter 16: Chapter 16
You are reading His Heir, Her Secret, Chapter 16: Chapter 16. Read more chapters of His Heir, Her Secret.
Isla
Somewhere between Leo’s laughter and Lucien’s steady presence at our door, the world tilted slightly off its axis.
I stood at the sink later that night, scrubbing a dish I’d already rinsed twice. Leo was asleep—tucked under the same navy comforter he insisted made him “brave enough to fight dream dragons”—and I could still hear echoes of his laughter from earlier that afternoon.
Lucien had shown up. On time. Present. Engaged.
I should’ve felt relief.
Instead, I felt… unsteady.
Five years ago, I would’ve given anything for Lucien Vale to look at me the way he did today. With softness. With quiet certainty. Like I was something he wasn’t just interested in—like I was something sacred.
And yet, now that he was finally here, I didn’t know how to let him back in without reopening every old wound.
I turned off the faucet and leaned against the counter, drying my hands slowly. The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater, and the weight of silence pressed down on me.
He was serious.
I could tell by the way he bent down to Leo’s level. The way he listened instead of talked. The way he looked at our son like he was seeing the northern lights for the first time—awed, humbled, changed.
But change is easy to promise and hard to prove.
Especially when you’ve been hurt before.
I walked down the hallway and peeked into Leo’s room. His little chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, one hand curled around the paper dragon he’d made at school.
Lucien had bought him sprinkles.
I pressed a hand to the doorframe and smiled, the kind of weary, lopsided smile that only comes after a long, strange day.
Then, without really thinking, I pulled out my phone and typed a message.
ISLA: Thank you again for coming today. He hasn’t smiled like that in a while.
It took less than ten seconds for the typing dots to appear.
LUCIEN: I should’ve been there a long time ago.
I stared at his message, then slowly typed back.
ISLA: He’s excited to see you again tomorrow.
Another quick reply.
LUCIEN: I’ll be there.
Simple. Solid. No fanfare.
The kind of reassurance I hadn’t realized I needed until now.
I sat on the edge of my bed and exhaled deeply, letting the tension in my shoulders go slack. But even as my body relaxed, my mind didn’t.
Because beneath the warmth of Lucien’s presence was something I hadn’t admitted aloud:
I still loved him.
God help me, I did.
Not in the same reckless, blind way I had when we were younger. This love was scarred and cautious, but no less real. No less dangerous.
And therein lay the problem.
Lucien Vale had broken my heart once, and no matter how much he was trying now—no matter how good he was with Leo—I wasn’t sure I could survive losing him again.
So what do you do when the father of your child suddenly wants to become a father for real?
You tread carefully.
You draw lines.
You remind yourself every day that your job is to protect your son, not to indulge in old memories and lingering touches.
But then I remembered the way Leo had run into Lucien’s arms without hesitation. The way Lucien had crouched, arms wide, like he’d been waiting his whole life for that one moment.
It was too late to pretend our lives hadn’t changed.
This wasn’t about going back.
It was about figuring out how to move forward—with the full weight of our history between us.
And whether I was ready or not, tomorrow was another day.
With Lucien.
With our son.
With the fragile beginnings of something that might, if I let it, become a family.
The next morning
“Mommy! Is Lucien picking me up again?”
Leo asked the question while stuffing a dinosaur sticker into his lunchbox. His curls were a mess, his socks didn’t match, and there was a dab of toothpaste on his chin.
I knelt to fix his shoelaces, smiling softly. “Maybe. I’ll check with him.”
“Can I show him my new drawing? The one with the volcano and the flying shark?”
“You have to,” I said seriously. “It’s a masterpiece.”
He beamed, and my heart twisted.
He hadn’t asked about a dad in years. Not directly. But I saw it—every time he looked at other kids at the park or hesitated when filling out “Family Tree” worksheets for school.
Lucien wasn’t a mystery to him anymore.
He was becoming real.
And I needed to figure out what that meant for all of us.
I texted Lucien once Leo was safely at school.
ISLA: He wants you to see his volcano shark drawing after class. Do you want to pick him up again?
The reply was instant.
LUCIEN: Wouldn’t miss it.
And a second message:
LUCIEN: Are you free for dinner?
My thumb hovered over the screen.
This was the moment.
The line between co-parenting and something more.
I thought about saying no. About keeping my guard up.
But then I thought about Leo. About Lucien. About what it might mean to try—not just for our son’s sake, but for our own.
So I typed:
ISLA: One dinner. One conversation.
LUCIEN: I’ll take it.
And somehow, I didn’t feel afraid.
Not today.
Somewhere between Leo’s laughter and Lucien’s steady presence at our door, the world tilted slightly off its axis.
I stood at the sink later that night, scrubbing a dish I’d already rinsed twice. Leo was asleep—tucked under the same navy comforter he insisted made him “brave enough to fight dream dragons”—and I could still hear echoes of his laughter from earlier that afternoon.
Lucien had shown up. On time. Present. Engaged.
I should’ve felt relief.
Instead, I felt… unsteady.
Five years ago, I would’ve given anything for Lucien Vale to look at me the way he did today. With softness. With quiet certainty. Like I was something he wasn’t just interested in—like I was something sacred.
And yet, now that he was finally here, I didn’t know how to let him back in without reopening every old wound.
I turned off the faucet and leaned against the counter, drying my hands slowly. The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater, and the weight of silence pressed down on me.
He was serious.
I could tell by the way he bent down to Leo’s level. The way he listened instead of talked. The way he looked at our son like he was seeing the northern lights for the first time—awed, humbled, changed.
But change is easy to promise and hard to prove.
Especially when you’ve been hurt before.
I walked down the hallway and peeked into Leo’s room. His little chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, one hand curled around the paper dragon he’d made at school.
Lucien had bought him sprinkles.
I pressed a hand to the doorframe and smiled, the kind of weary, lopsided smile that only comes after a long, strange day.
Then, without really thinking, I pulled out my phone and typed a message.
ISLA: Thank you again for coming today. He hasn’t smiled like that in a while.
It took less than ten seconds for the typing dots to appear.
LUCIEN: I should’ve been there a long time ago.
I stared at his message, then slowly typed back.
ISLA: He’s excited to see you again tomorrow.
Another quick reply.
LUCIEN: I’ll be there.
Simple. Solid. No fanfare.
The kind of reassurance I hadn’t realized I needed until now.
I sat on the edge of my bed and exhaled deeply, letting the tension in my shoulders go slack. But even as my body relaxed, my mind didn’t.
Because beneath the warmth of Lucien’s presence was something I hadn’t admitted aloud:
I still loved him.
God help me, I did.
Not in the same reckless, blind way I had when we were younger. This love was scarred and cautious, but no less real. No less dangerous.
And therein lay the problem.
Lucien Vale had broken my heart once, and no matter how much he was trying now—no matter how good he was with Leo—I wasn’t sure I could survive losing him again.
So what do you do when the father of your child suddenly wants to become a father for real?
You tread carefully.
You draw lines.
You remind yourself every day that your job is to protect your son, not to indulge in old memories and lingering touches.
But then I remembered the way Leo had run into Lucien’s arms without hesitation. The way Lucien had crouched, arms wide, like he’d been waiting his whole life for that one moment.
It was too late to pretend our lives hadn’t changed.
This wasn’t about going back.
It was about figuring out how to move forward—with the full weight of our history between us.
And whether I was ready or not, tomorrow was another day.
With Lucien.
With our son.
With the fragile beginnings of something that might, if I let it, become a family.
The next morning
“Mommy! Is Lucien picking me up again?”
Leo asked the question while stuffing a dinosaur sticker into his lunchbox. His curls were a mess, his socks didn’t match, and there was a dab of toothpaste on his chin.
I knelt to fix his shoelaces, smiling softly. “Maybe. I’ll check with him.”
“Can I show him my new drawing? The one with the volcano and the flying shark?”
“You have to,” I said seriously. “It’s a masterpiece.”
He beamed, and my heart twisted.
He hadn’t asked about a dad in years. Not directly. But I saw it—every time he looked at other kids at the park or hesitated when filling out “Family Tree” worksheets for school.
Lucien wasn’t a mystery to him anymore.
He was becoming real.
And I needed to figure out what that meant for all of us.
I texted Lucien once Leo was safely at school.
ISLA: He wants you to see his volcano shark drawing after class. Do you want to pick him up again?
The reply was instant.
LUCIEN: Wouldn’t miss it.
And a second message:
LUCIEN: Are you free for dinner?
My thumb hovered over the screen.
This was the moment.
The line between co-parenting and something more.
I thought about saying no. About keeping my guard up.
But then I thought about Leo. About Lucien. About what it might mean to try—not just for our son’s sake, but for our own.
So I typed:
ISLA: One dinner. One conversation.
LUCIEN: I’ll take it.
And somehow, I didn’t feel afraid.
Not today.
End of His Heir, Her Secret Chapter 16. Continue reading Chapter 17 or return to His Heir, Her Secret book page.