Vesper’s POV
I woke up to a violent crick in my neck, a warm blanket draped over my body, and morning sunlight streaming through the wrong window.
I’d fallen asleep right at the dining table.
I sat up slowly, noticing a heavy, dark grey towel draped over my shoulders, folded with care.
The dining table had been completely cleared; my laptop was shut, and my documents were stacked in a neat pile.
A quiet rustle echoed from the kitchen.
Jaxon was standing by the stove, his hair wildly unsettled from sleep.
“Sit down,” he murmured.
“I’m fine standing.”
”Your neck is bent at a forty-five-degree angle,” Jaxon noted, finally glancing over with a faint, knowing smirk.
“If you dare move it any faster, the structural damage is going to be permanent.”
I stubbornly tried to straighten my spine.
A sharp, blinding pain shot down my neck, causing me to bite my lip hard to suppress a groan.
Jaxon quietly set a plate of scrambled eggs, toasted, and fruit on the counter, followed by a fresh mug of hot coffee.
I sat down, wrapping my cold hands around the mug.
“Where is Sunny?”
”She slipped out around eight,” Jaxon said, leaning against the opposite counter.
“Apparently, she made friends with some kids from the family staying in the blue villa on the other side of the estate.”
My grip tightened on the mug.
“She went alone?”
”She told me before she left.
Apparently, they’ve been doing some weird, window-to-window sign language communication for the past three days.”
”That doesn’t mean she should be wandering around a massive, unfamiliar estate by herself,” I said, a protective panic rising in my throat.
Jaxon caught my eye and set his mug down.
“I know.
Grab your keys.
We’re bringing her back.”
The blue villa sat down the coastal road.
We heard the children’s voices before we even saw them.
A group of four or five kids was gathered on the manicured grass just outside the garden wall.
Sunny stood slightly apart from them, frozen.
Her tiny chin had that fierce, heartbreaking set to it—her small hands balled into fists as she tried to hold herself together.
A boy, maybe eight years old, was speaking with that casualness.
“She doesn’t even have real parents,” the boy sneered to the others.
“She’s just an orphan living with some random girl and a famous hockey player.”
One of the older girls laughed.
“My mom said it’s shameless.”
Sunny opened her mouth, her lips trembling, but no sound came out.
I felt my blood boil instantly, a blinding, furious heat rushing through my veins.
I dropped into a crouch directly in front of Sunny, blocking the cruel children from her sight.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Sunny-bug, look at me.”
Her wide, panicked eyes locked onto mine.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly.
She gave a tiny, unconvincing nod.
Slowly, I stood up and turned around to face her bullies.
At the garden gate, two women had appeared, wearing oversized sunglasses and the severe, defensive expressions of mothers who realized trouble had arrived.
The boy lifted his chin, trying to impress his mother at the gate.
“It’s true, though!
She doesn’t have real parents, and we all know she’s not yours.”
”What she has,” I said, stepping forward until I completely towered over him, “is a family that will dismantle yours legally, financially, and socially if you ever breathe a single malicious word in her direction again, and make your life very difficult if you ever breathe a word to her again.
Go inside.”
The boy’s face crumbled, and he instantly burst into tears, running to hide behind his mother’s designer skirt.
The mother at the gate stepped forward, her face flushed with outrage.
“Excuse me!
You don’t get to come onto our property and terrify children—”
”Your child,” I interrupted, turning my cold glare entirely onto her, “just publicly mocked a grieving six-year-old orphan for a family tragedy she cannot control.
I would love for you to keep speaking, because every word out of your mouth is currently building a spectacular case for cyberbullying and harassment.
I’ll gladly take an apology now, or we can let our legal teams handle this by noon.”
The woman’s expression shifted into the specific, ugly shape of someone who believed their child’s perfection reflected their own worth.
“Children say things.
It’s just playground talk.”
”Children say things,” I agreed, my tone razor-sharp.
“And then competent adults correct them.
That’s how society works.”
”I don’t think you need to use that tone with me,” the second mother stepped up, arms folded, forming a united front.
“We all read the news.
We all know what you had to do to get into this estate, so don’t start acting like—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the air in the clearing shifted.
Jaxon stepped around me.
He wasn’t outwardly aggressive, but the sheer mass of him was enough to silence the lawn.
He positioned his broad frame directly in front of Sunny and me, shielding us completely.
His usual lazy charm was gone; his eyes were dangerously dark.
The mothers went completely rigid.
Jaxon looked down at the crying boy, then met the first mother’s eyes.
“Your son,” Jaxon said, his voice terrifyingly low, unhurried, and absolute, “is going to apologize to my niece. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Right now.”
The woman opened her mouth to protest, but Jaxon cut her off before a sound could form.
“I’m not asking.
Apologize, or I will ensure the Laurent legal team makes your family regret it by noon.”
A deafening silence fell over the grass.
The boy looked at his shoes, swallowed hard.
“I’m…
I’m sorry, Sunny,” the boy mumbled through his tears.
Jaxon held the mother’s gaze for one more lingering, agonizing second, then turned around, dropping down to Sunny’s level.
His voice shifted instantly into something incredibly soft.
“You good, princess?”
Sunny looked at him for a long beat.
Then, she gave a real, proper nod.
“Okay.” He stood up, taking her small hand in his.
“Let’s go home.”
Sunny fell asleep in the back seat of the cart before we even reached the main coastal road.
I watched her through the side mirror for a moment, then looked forward.
Something had come completely loose in my chest, and I couldn’t put the armor back together.
I hadn’t felt this way in six years.
Not since before Elias, before the catastrophic engagement dinner, before I had learned the brutal, efficient lesson that standing entirely alone was safer than trusting someone to stand with you.
I had built an entire version of myself around that lesson.
I was proud of it.
I had refined my isolation into something that looked almost like a personality.
And then Jaxon Laurent had stepped in front of me on a patch of island grass, looked a hostile world in the eye, and whispered, “I’m not asking.” He had weaponized his entire world just to protect our peace.
I looked down at his right hand resting on the gear shift.
Slowly, I reached over and covered his hand with mine.
Jaxon went completely still.
I didn’t explain it.
I didn’t have the words for it anyway, or at least none that I was brave enough to say out loud.
So I just left my hand there, resting over his, while the coastal road unrolled ahead of us and our breathing fell into a synchronized, heavy rhythm.
After a long moment, Jaxon slowly turned his palm over beneath mine, threading his fingers through mine, and held my hand back.
Tight.