Not Letting Go This Time

And slowly, inevitably, his thoughts began to drift—pulling him back to earlier that day, back to the chaos, the confrontation, the choice. The moment it all changed.

It all began like any other hectic day on set. He was in the middle of shooting a scene for his latest series when the director called for a break. Reaching for a bottle of water, he sank into his chair, mind wandering, fingers idly scrolling through social media—searching for nothing, just passing time.

Then, suddenly, something stopped him.

A photo appeared on his screen.

A little girl, no older than five or six, with bright eyes and spaghetti sauce smeared across her cheeks, clutching a chicken leg in one hand. Surrounding her was a mountain of fast food, but it wasn't the feast that caught his attention—it was her face.

That face.

It was like a tiny echo of Natellie.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Natellie—his childhood friend, the one who'd stood beside him through every storm, the person who had vanished without a word six years ago, leaving only silence behind.

His hands trembled as he scanned the account that posted the photo. The name stared back: Neville Jolie.

Without hesitation, he tapped out a comment beneath the post, trying to sound casual, hiding the urgency in his fingers.

"Beautiful picture, but where exactly are you having lunch? That place looks interesting…"

Then he waited.

Minutes passed. Others chimed in, and Neville replied to them all—except to him.

Of course. It was intentional.

Without a second thought, he rose from his chair and excused himself, citing an emergency. His secretary sprang into action, scouring local cafés for one matching the background in the photo. Within moments, she found it.

He sped there immediately.

But he was too late. They had already gone.

Sitting alone in his car afterward, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his mind raced to calm the storm within.

There was no doubt in his mind—this little girl was Natellie's. The question of who the father was didn't matter. What mattered was that this child might be the thread that could lead him back to the woman he'd never stopped searching for.

He knew what he had to do.

Neville was part of a high-profile gaming team, one that carried the weight of sponsorships, fans, and fierce competition. Tonight was no ordinary night—it was the major tournament they'd been training for months to dominate. In a world where every second counted, where focus was everything, distractions weren't just inconvenient—they were dangerous.

Neville had to lead his squad, especially if their star player faltered or dropped out unexpectedly. He was the anchor, the strategist, the steady hand guiding the chaos.

And that pressure created the perfect opening.

What he hadn't anticipated was that the tournament was being held in Neville's own private arena—a place guarded like a fortress, where every entrance triggered alarms and security protocols that only a select few could bypass. Sure, he had the connections to get in, but using them would immediately raise red flags. It would alert Neville, blowing any chance of surprise out of the water.

So, he waited.

He watched.

He calculated every move carefully, biding his time until another opportunity presented itself.

Then, it came.

A celebratory dinner was planned after the tournament, a polished event where Neville's team would bask in their success, the cameras flashing, the crowd cheering. Neville, with his relentless perfectionism, would prioritize that event—and the public image of his team—over anything else, even the little girl.

And, as predicted, he did.

That night, the child was left in the care of Neville's secretary at a nearby venue while Neville rushed off to join his team's victory celebration.

It was the moment he had been waiting for.

He stepped in.

The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow, the kind that felt like a quiet refuge from the storm outside. He sat at the table, sharing dessert with the little girl who had already begun to claim a corner of his heart.

She giggled between bites, her cheeks puffed out like tiny buns, sticky hands clutching syrup and cream-covered fingers. Watching her, he felt as if he were reliving memories he had long tried to forget—fragments of laughter under sunlit skies, of a girl with honest eyes who never hesitated to share her world.

Natellie.

That child had her eyes. The same unguarded kindness. The same pure willingness to give without asking for anything in return.

It hit him harder than he ever expected.

He hadn't eaten much—just a small bite of cake, barely enough to call dessert—but in that moment, something inside him felt lighter than it had in years. Watching her face light up over something as simple as food was enough. Pure, uncomplicated joy.

When she finally finished, her mouth smeared with chocolate and crumbs, he chuckled softly. Reaching for a warm cloth, he carefully wiped the mess from her cheeks. She squirmed playfully, trying to dodge his hand, before bursting into a giggle that filled the room like music.

He leaned back, his heart swelling with a tenderness he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.

And then, out of nowhere, she looked up at him, eyes bright and earnest.

"Maver…brick," she murmured.

It wasn't perfect, but it was unmistakable.

He froze.

That tiny voice calling his name gripped him like a vise, squeezing his breath tight in his chest. His eyes stung, the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

She knew him.

Natellie had spoken about him.

In that fragile moment, nothing else mattered—not the wounds of the past, not the letters that haunted his thoughts. She hadn't forgotten him.

Tears welled up, but he blinked them away, pulling the little girl close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I've got you," he whispered, voice thick with feeling. "I've got you now, and I'm not letting go."

His quiet promise was interrupted by a soft whimper.

She stirred in her sleep, shifting uncomfortably in the nest of pillows he'd made for her. Moving swiftly to her side, he noticed one of the pillow barriers had slipped, blocking her movement.

Gently, he adjusted it, tucking her back in with care. His fingers ran softly through her hair, soothing her until she settled again, her breathing returning to its peaceful rhythm.

Safe. Finally safe.