Rebirth: Love me Again

[EVE]

Victor left the next day, leaving Sinclair to stay for a week—"Grandfather bonding time," he said. He spoiled Bean ridiculously. Toys, more toys, clothes, a silk blanket that probably cost more than our fridge.

But there was one night—quiet and still—when he sat beside me in the living room and looked more serious than I'd ever seen him.

"I wanted to tell you sooner," Sinclair said, swirling his tea, "but we've finally cleaned up the mess."

I turned to him, puzzled. "What mess?"

"The syndicate," he said, tone low. "The one that switched your parents. That kidnapped you as a child."

My stomach dropped. I hadn't heard much about that investigation in months. It had always lingered like a shadow at the back of my mind.

The mystery of my stolen childhood. The people who tore me from my real family, and the one who pretended to be my real family.

"They've been eliminated," Sinclair continued. "The entire network was raided. Dismantled. Sullivan was arrested. Twenty years. I'm sorry that my son was a part of this Eve."

I sat there, speechless.

It felt surreal. Like someone had finally closed a book I didn't even know I'd been clutching to my chest.

"The Rosette worked with us," my father added. "The Fays too. It took a year to track them all down. Cole's connections helped . . . a lot."

Damien confirmed it. He told me in that no-nonsense, matter-of-fact way of his—"We don't let things slide, Eve. Not when it's our sister."

The operation had been extensive—decoys, sting ops, infiltrations. The syndicate wasn't just one group. It was layers of crime families, false identities, hush payments.

It had taken years for my real family to gather enough proof. And when they finally did, they pounced with revenge and fury.

"They took you from us," my mother said, eyes sharp. "They don't get to walk away."

It was grim justice, but justice all the same.

My parents wept. Quiet tears. A burden they'd carried for years had finally lifted. And even if it couldn't bring back those lost years, it gave them peace knowing the people who shattered our lives were no longer walking free.

Meanwhile, Cole was . . . mopping the kitchen floor in socks, humming off-key to a lullaby, completely unaware I had just learned about the darkest chapter of my life being resolved.

I watched him for a moment—this absurd, ex-silver-heir-turned-dad who had traded his suits for aprons and corporate takeovers for baby formula—and I felt something shift in my chest.

He really was here. Not out of guilt. Not out of duty. But love. Raw, stubborn, everyday love.

Later that night, when I finally told him everything—about the syndicate, the raid, the justice—he didn't say much. Just held me. His embrace was quiet, grounding.

"I'm glad," he whispered into my hair. "I'm glad it's over."

"And your father?" I asked. "Aren't you worried he'll be furious about the business that you left?"

He kissed the top of my head. "He already is. He sent me seventeen angry emails and one dead plant."

"What?"

"He said it represents my career," Cole said with a completely straight face. "Wilting and beyond saving."

I laughed. Hard.

But later, I caught him checking his email in the hallway, staring at the message from his father, jaw tight. He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be.

"You don't have to burn everything just to be with us, you know," I told him gently.

"I'm not burning it," he replied. "I'm just . . . choosing where my life matters more."

And for Cole Fay, for the first time in his life, the light wasn't in New York. It wasn't in boardrooms, titles, or balance sheets.

It was here, with me and our son.

With Bean's chubby fingers tangled in his shirt. With me beside him. With laughter echoing down the halls, and the scent of failed pancakes still lingering in the kitchen.

Maybe the world still saw him as a sharp-tongued, cold-blooded heir. But I knew the truth.

Cole Fay was just a man. A ridiculous, devoted, sleep-deprived man who had fallen headfirst into fatherhood and love.

And against all odds?

He fit.

====

The days passed quietly after Sinclair's visit, each one blending into the next in that familiar rhythm of bottles, burping, and bedtime lullabies.

When it was finally time for him to leave, Sinclair pulled me into a warm embrace and said, "Make sure to visit with Bean soon, alright? Or I'll have no choice but to crash at your mansion just to see my grandson."

I laughed, heart light. "You're always welcome, Sinclair. Whether we visit or you show up with three suitcases and a grand piano—it's fine either way."

He grinned, hugged Bean, and promised to send more toys than my storage could handle.

After he left, a strange quiet settled in the house. Not the uncomfortable kind—but the sort that gave space for reflection.

That was when I finally learned what had become of Sophia and Sophie.

With Sullivan rotting in jail, their only real lifeline had been severed. The small percentage of shares they still owned in the Rosette empire was barely enough to support their lavish lifestyle.

They went from private jets and designer clothes to scraping by with what little remained of their reputation.

Apparently, Sophia had pushed Sophie into marrying a wealthy, much older man. It was transactional, desperate, and sad—but frankly? I didn't care anymore.

Those names no longer made my heart burn or my stomach churn. They were part of a past that no longer held weight in the present. My world no longer revolved around them.

It revolved around a certain little boy with chubby cheeks, tiny socks, and a laugh that could melt glaciers.

Bean was my sun now. My day started with him, ended with him, and every messy, beautiful moment in between was lit by his existence.

But there was something else too.

Or rather—someone.

One evening, I came to my room's living room which was converted to Bean's baby room after washing his bottles, wiping my damp hands on a towel, and paused mid-step.