Chapter Ninety: What We Name It

Chloe had only stepped halfway into the hallway to find Carter's socks when she heard it.

Lorence's voice, casual as ever:

"So when's the wedding?"

Then—Kian. Unbothered. Smirking.

"There's no turning back. Even hell would give her up to stay with me."

Chloe froze.

One foot still inside the linen closet, hand still hovering over mismatched socks, mind still trying to decide if she'd heard that right.

But the worst part?

Damian's low chuckle. Mikael's half-audible, "He's serious."

She blinked. Then blinked again.

You've been back together for one night, woman. One. Night.

She stepped out slowly, face blank with practiced calm.

"I'm going to murder all of you."

Mikael raised his hands. "Not me. I was supportive."

"I was sarcastic," Damian offered, unhelpfully.

Lorence shrugged. "Still think you should elope. Keeps the press from speculating too hard."

Chloe groaned and buried her face in her hands.

Behind her, Carter ran in.

Right past everyone. Straight for Kian.

"Uncle Kian!" he shouted, bounding into his legs. "Are you gonna sleep here tonight too? Can I show you the fort in the garden? Mama says it's not a fort but it is, and I put pillows in it. Also—" He stopped for a breath, then looked up.

Then—softly:

"Can I call you Papa now?"

The room went still.

Carter looked unbothered by the silence, already half-distracted by Kian's sleeve button.

But Kian knelt down, gently, and cupped the side of Carter's face.

"Yes."

No pause. No hesitation.

"And that would be so much better."

Later, when most of the noise had faded and Carter had been ushered off for bedtime with the promise of cocoa and another story, Kian stood near the entrance with Chloe at his side.

He said his goodbyes to each Redgrave with a nod, a quiet thanks, and one firm hug from Lorence that came with zero warning.

Finally, he turned to Carter again.

Knee bent, palm extended.

"Goodnight, little man."

Carter grinned and crashed into his arms again.

"You better be back tomorrow," he whispered. "'Cause Mama smiles different now."

Kian swallowed. Smiled.

"I will."

Outside, night had settled like ink over the vines, the air cool and sharp in the way only Miravaldi knew how to deliver.

Chloe walked him to the front steps. Neither of them said much.

At the bottom, he turned. Looked at her the way he always had—like she was something borrowed from a dream, and he'd just barely earned her back.

She stepped close, whispered,

"Goodnight, Kian."

And he leaned in, pressed his lips just above her brow.

"For now."