Chapter Four

by Roxanne Rene

Rowan had weathered a storm of challenges in her twenty-six years. From the shock of a surprise pregnancy during her college years to the grueling realities of single motherhood, she navigated it with determination.

Surprise pregnancy? Handled with a blend of panic and fierce resolve.

Juggling three jobs while nurturing a tiny human? Perfected with the skill of a seasoned performer.

Enduring life with a neurotic best friend who meticulously alphabetized the spice rack? Tolerated with the patience of a saint.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared her for the sight of Damien Cross, her ex-boyfriend and the father of her child, sitting in her cramped, slightly chaotic living room, nonchalantly drafting a shared custody agreement at her rickety, well-worn dining table.

“…And I want weekends, plus alternating holidays,” he declared, his voice calm and controlled.

Rowan sputtered, almost choking on her coffee. “I’m sorry, what?”

Damien remained focused on his paper, casually adjusting the gold cuff of his ostentatious $5,000 suit. Apparently, this was the appropriate attire for trying to insert himself back into the life of a child he had abandoned.

He glanced up at her, his demeanor perfectly composed as if he were negotiating a business deal. His confidence was palpable as he stated, “I want to be involved. Officially.”

Rowan set her coffee down with a deliberate clink before she fought the urge to fling it at his painstakingly symmetrical face. “Damien, you don’t just waltz in five years late and demand a custody agreement as if this is some corporate merger.”

A hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Actually, it’s more like an acquisition.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Did you just refer to our daughter as a business deal?”

“Poor choice of words,” he conceded, setting his pen down and exhaling heavily. “Look, I’m not trying to bulldoze you.”

Rowan shot him a skeptical look. “Really? Because this entire conversation feels like a ‘hostile takeover.'”

Damien leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Rowan, I missed her first steps, her first words. I don’t even know what kind of cereal she likes.”

Rowan hesitated, the weight of his words pressing down on her.

Damn it. That was painfully unfair.

And fine. A little heart-wrenching.

“…She likes the ones with cartoon marshmallows,” Rowan muttered, her voice softening.

Damien nodded, his expression earnest. “Good. See? I’m already learning.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Rowan rubbed her temples in frustration. “I want you in her life, Damien. But bringing in lawyers and contracts? That’s overwhelming—too much, too soon.”

Damien considered her quietly for a moment. Then, to her astonishment, he nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Then let’s start with something simpler.”

She narrowed her gaze, suspicion written all over her features. “Like what?”

A slow, devilish smile spread across his lips.

Rowan was caught off guard, her mind racing. “What?” she blurted out, unable to process the unexpected proposal.

Rowan’s incredulity was palpable. “Are you serious?”

Damien exuded a calm confidence, leaning back slightly. “It’s the logical choice. Nessa would have both of us involved. I have more space, better security, and—did I mention—a chef?”

Rowan’s jaw clenched, irritation flaring. “Oh, well, if you have a chef, let me pack my bags—wait, no! What the hell, Damien?”

He let out a long breath, his expression sober. “Rowan, I’m not suggesting forever. Just for a few months while we figure this out.”

Crossing her arms tightly, she shot him a fierce glance. “Yeah, that sounds an awful lot like forever with extra steps.”

Damien leaned back further, watching her intently, his eyes glimmering with anticipation.

And damn him, it was working.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t a terrible idea after all.

Nessa would absolutely adore it. Rowan could finally catch her breath amidst the chaos. And sure, maybe she occasionally entertained the fantasy of Damien striding around in nothing but low-slung sweatpants, cooking her breakfast.

But she’d never admit that aloud.

Rowan tightened her arms, determined to resist. “Ivan will murder you.”

Damien smirked, his confidence unwavering. “I’ll take my chances.”

Rowan groaned, running her hands down her face in frustration. “This is insane,” she muttered, her words laden with disbelief.

“Maybe.” Damien rose from his seat, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a smooth and persuasive tone. “But you know it makes sense.”

Rowan’s stomach twisted in an unexpected way.

Oh, he was infuriatingly adept at this.

She shot him an accusatory glare, her finger jabbing the air like a dagger. “This isn’t over,” she declared, her voice laced with determination.

Damien’s lips curved into a self-satisfied smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I didn’t think it was,” he replied, his tone teasing and playful.

From her perch on the couch, Nessa perked up at the mention of unfinished business, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement. “Are we getting a mansion?!” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm lighting up the room.

Rowan let out a groan, his face buried in his hands in exasperation. “Not helping, kid,” he muttered, the strained tone in his voice illustrating his growing frustration.

Damien, however, merely smirked, clearly savoring the unfolding drama like a spectator at a thrilling performance.

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Now that Damien has made his move, is Rowan ready to face the fallout—including Ivan’s inevitable meltdown and the chaos of adjusting to billionaire living.

Return to Chapter 3 <— —> Continue to Chapter 5