The day we left, the wind was vicious, whipping Maximus Anderson’s hair across his forehead. He looked back at the city one last time. It held every scrap of their history—the joy, the agony, and the ghosts that haunted their shared memory.

Perhaps, one day, they would return together. No, they *had* to return together.

"Night Haven, until we meet again," Maximus whispered.

The flight felt endless, but finally, they reached their destination. Looking out at the stunning island scenery, the cold iron in Maximus's heart began to soften.

He curved his lips into a faint, hopeful smile and leaned toward the motionless Rose Harrison, who lay tucked into the seat beside him. "Rose, look at this. It’s breathtaking, isn't it? The specialists say this climate is perfect for your recovery. We’re all here now. Won't you please wake up?"

He paused, his gaze drifting as he continued. "I brought your wedding dress, you know. Remember? That day you went shopping with your friends and tried it on? You looked beautiful. That was the most stunning gown I’d ever seen." Maximus sighed, the memory flashing before him—the moment he’d seen her, so radiant it had left him breathless.

Of course, that moment had been tainted by Delilah Kelly. A flash of cruelty darkened Maximus’s eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the grim satisfaction of remembering Delilah’s pleas for mercy. She was a stain that had finally been scrubbed out.

He turned his focus back to Rose, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "I designed this new dress based on that one. It’s perfect. When you wake up, will you marry me again? We’ve wasted so much time. Can’t we just start over?"

He shifted, smoothing back a stray lock of her hair, his eyes filled with a desperate, crushing tenderness. "And our baby... he’s three months old now. He’s already opening his eyes and taking in the world. The pediatrician says you raised him well; he’s so sweet, and he laughs at everything. Look at him, he’s been sleeping since we landed. Such a little lazybones."

As if on cue, the silence was shattered by a sharp, thin cry. Maximus laughed, a low, rumbling sound. "Speak of the devil. You’re quiet until I brag about you, aren't you? Must be a wet diaper. You little troublemaker, no respect for your father at all. Give me a second, let me go handle this."

Maximus hurried toward the sound. Sure enough, Shiloh Anderson’s bottom was soaked. He fumbled with the clothes, his movements clumsy and unpracticed as he peeled off the damp fabric, keeping up a constant stream of chatter.

"You little rascal, just love making a mess, don't you? Aren't you embarrassed?"

"Be a good boy, Shiloh. Daddy was just telling Mommy how well-behaved you are. Be a sport, yeah? Daddy’s little prince."

"I’m still learning the ropes here, so go easy on me. We’re both just waiting for Mom to wake up, okay?"

Shiloh kicked his tiny legs in the air. The relief of the fresh diaper seemed to settle him, and he began to coo and blow bubbles, his eyes bright with joy.

Maximus, having finally managed the task, turned around to see his son beaming. His heart melted. "That’s it, good boy. No more tears now that you’re dry. Wow, look at that smile. Can you do it again?"

Maximus grabbed a toy, shaking it gently. Shiloh erupted into a fit of high-pitched, infectious giggles. The villa, once silent and sterile, was suddenly alive with the sound of a child’s laughter.