Good Girls Don’t Cry
Rain Chen's POV
Downtown New York | 10:24 PM
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She's still as beautiful as I remember.
Even more, actually. Life has touched her—creased her, worn her down in places—but not broken her. Not yet. She's softer now. Her hair's longer, messier. She's wearing one of those old oversized sweaters she used to steal from my closet back in high school. There's flour on her hands. She looks like she's been baking.
Cute.
She opens the door because I knocked like a neighbor. A friendly one. Like I belonged.
And when she sees me, her breath catches. Her whole body goes still.
Like prey recognizing a predator.
Her hand shakes as it rests on the doorknob.
I smile.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I take a small step forward. She doesn't move.
"Been a long time," I murmur. "You look good."
Still nothing.
I reach into my coat and pull out the envelope. Not thick. Just a few photos. But they're enough. More than enough.
I let them slip from my hand, one by one, onto her floor. They scatter like dead leaves.
Sebastian.
One photo of him half-drunk, leaning against a club wall, red lipstick smeared on his neck.
One of him lighting a cigarette behind the school parking lot, hoodie up.
Another—arms around some girl, hands too low.
One more—passed out in someone's car, beer bottle clutched in his fist.
I watch Sky's expression collapse.
Her eyes go wide. Her lips part. She sinks slowly to her knees and reaches out, hesitant, trembling fingers brushing the photos like they might burn her.
"You raised a good one," I say with a smirk. "Apple didn't fall far, huh?"
She stares at them for a long moment. Like if she doesn't blink, it won't be real.
I step inside. She doesn't stop me.
"I mean," I continue casually, closing the door behind me, "you tried, didn't you? Little Sky Maddox. Single mother. Queen of PTA. Baking cookies and smiling all sweet while your boy turns into me behind your back."
"Get out," she finally whispers.
But her voice is thin. Weak. Tired.
I walk toward her anyway.
"Come on, baby. Don't be like that. I came to talk."
She scrambles up, but not fast enough. I catch her wrist, just gentle enough to make it confusing. Her breath stutters. I lean in close.
"So good to see you," I whisper. "Still smell like vanilla."
Her eyes are glassy. Shining. She hates this. She hates me.
But she doesn't scream. She doesn't push me.
Because she's scared.
And oh, how I've missed that look on her face.
She tries to pull her wrist back. "I don't care what you have to say—"
"Of course you do," I cut in, sharp and smooth. "Because you owe me a conversation."
Her chin trembles.
And then I do what I've always been best at—gaslight, guilt, control.
I run my fingers gently down her wrist, and I whisper, "You didn't even tell me you were pregnant."
"You left," she breathes, "I told you—"
"I was eighteen." My voice hardens. "What did you expect from me?"
Her eyes brim with tears.
I lift my hand and wipe one from her cheek. Tender. So tender it's cruel.
"Shh," I whisper. "Good girls don't cry, sweetheart."
She chokes back a sob.
I tilt her face up. My thumb rests under her chin.
"You never gave us a chance," I whisper. "You ran. Took him. Hid him. Made me the villain."
She shakes her head, trembling. "You were. You are."
I chuckle. "Is that what you tell yourself at night when he's out there doing shots with strangers and fucking girls in parking lots?"
Her breath stops.
That one landed.
I lean closer. Her back's against the kitchen counter now. Nowhere left to run.
"But it's okay," I murmur. "I'm here now. I'll fix it. He's my son, too. And I'm gonna make sure he remembers who gave him that last name."
"You stay away from him."
"You gonna stop me?" I whisper. "You couldn't stop me then."
Tears are falling now.
But she's not saying anything. Because she knows I'm right.
I stroke her cheek one last time. "Still so soft."
And then, just as suddenly—I step back. Smile. Adjust my collar like I'm just another dad dropping by.
"See you soon, Sky."
I let myself out, whistling as I walk down the stairs.
Because this time, she won't outrun me.
And Sebastian Maddox?
He's about to learn what it really means to carry my blood.