Stewart couldn''t help but sigh inwardly.


    The kids were so thoughtful. They could tell he was feeling down and were trying


    their best to cheer him up.


    But deep down, Stewart knew the truth: Briony would never have invited him to


    stay at Pearbrook Mansion of her own ord. It was only because the kids had


    begged, and she couldn''t bear to disappoint them, that she''d agreed.


    The reality was, in Briony''s eyes, Stewart no longer belonged under this roof.


    A dull ache settled in his chest.


    He told himself he had no right to ask about Briony''s personal life anymore, but


    the thought of her and Maynard spending the night together at the Windsor made


    jealousy twist inside him anyway.


    Maynard''s pursuit of Briony was anything but subtle—bold, open, and relentless.


    Now, with the two of them working together, they had every excuse to be around


    each other all the time.


    Stewart couldn''t help but wonder: with Maynarding on so strong, how long


    could Briony hold her ground?


    He looked at his two children—so perceptive and mature for their age—and


    closed his eyes, silent.


    The idea that Briony might let another man into her life tore at him, but he knew,


    clear as day, he had lost the right to say anything about it.


    Maybe this was the ending he and Briony were meant to have.


    He''d have to learn to bury his love so deep it would never see daylight again—let


    it wither, quietly, until his heart stopped beating.


    That night, Stewart stayed over.


    By nine o''clock he was tucked into bed with the kids, watching them y and


    giggle, though his mind kept wandering back to Briony''s face.


    He hated himself for it, but he couldn''t resist nudging his little girl. "Why don''t you


    call your mom, Nina? See if she''ll pick up?"


    Nina''s eyes lit up. "Okay!" She grabbed Stewart''s phone and dialed Briony''s video


    chat.


    No answer.


    She tried again.


    Still nothing.


    Nina pouted. "Do you think Mommy''s asleep already?"


    Stewart pressed his lips together.


    Maybe Briony had seen his name on the screen and decided not to answer, he


    thought bitterly.


    Mario chimed in, pulling out his own kiddie smartwatch. "I''ll call her, Dad!"


    He dialed. The call rang and rang, but no one picked up.


    Mario tried again.


    Finally, after an eternity, someone answered—but it wasn''t Briony. Maynard''s


    voice came through the speaker. "Mario?"


    Mario froze, staring at his watch in disbelief.


    Why was Mr. Maynard answering his mom''s phone?


    He nced up at Stewart, bewildered.


    Stewart''s jaw tightened as he fixed his gaze on Mario''s smartwatch, a storm


    brewing behind his eyes.


    The air in the room grew thick.


    Nina scooted closer to the watch, her tiny voice piping up, "Mr. Maynard, where''s


    my mom?"


    "She''s in the shower," Maynard replied, sounding far too rxed. "It''s past nine,


    shouldn''t you two be in bed?"


    "Oh, we''re about to! We''re waiting for Daddy to finish our bedtime story," Nina


    answered brightly, making sure to add, "and then we''ll go right to sleep!"


    Maynard paused. "Your dad''s there tonight?"


    "Yep!" Nina grinned, proud as could be. "Mom said he could stay, so Daddy''s here


    with us!"


    Maynard let out a low chuckle.


    "That''s great—having your dad there


    means your mom and I don''t have to


    worry about you. Now, you two


    listen to your dad and go to sleep


    soon, okay?"


    Nina blinked. Something about what


    Maynard said sounded off, but she


    couldn''t quite put her finger on it.


    She scratched her forehead. "Mr.


    Maynard, will you tell Mommy we


    called?"


    "Of course. I''ll let her know. Goodnight, Nina. Goodnight, Mario."


    "Goodnight, Mr. Maynard!" Nina chirped.


    The call ended, and both kids turned to look at Stewart, their big dark eyes


    shining with worry and sympathy.


    For a grown man in his thirties, Stewart had never felt smaller than under the gaze


    of his not-quite-six-year-old children.


    He let out a heavy breath, rubbing his brow. "Daddy''s fine, don''t worry."


    Nina pressed her chubby fingers


    together, thinking hard. "Grown-ups


    like to act tough. Uncle James says


    men never cry when they''re


    sad—they just bleed inside where no


    one can see."


    Stewart: "..."


    What on earth has James been teaching these kids?


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!