Skylar Blackwood lay in the private hospital suite, exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket. The room was quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of the city beyond the reinforced windows.
Then—a small cry.
Her heart clenched.
The nurse carefully placed the newborn in her arms, and for the first time, Skylar looked into the face of her daughter.
A Blackwood princess.
Her tiny features were delicate, yet there was already an undeniable presence about her. A silent power in the way she blinked up at the world, as if she already knew she belonged to something greater.
Skylar swallowed hard, brushing a trembling finger across the baby's cheek.
"She's perfect," the doctor murmured.
Skylar barely heard him.
Her mind was already racing.
What kind of life would this child have?
Classic had been born into an empire of power plays and strategic moves. He had inherited Chris's name, his influence, his enemies.
Would this baby girl be forced into the same fate?
Or could she carve out something different—something of her own?
Skylar held her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her daughter's forehead.
"You won't just be a piece in this game," she whispered.
Not if I can help it.