Chapter 25

Serena's POV

By the time I finish helping Milo and Stella out of the tub, both of them are yawning so hard their little shoulders tremble. I grab a couple of my oversized white T-shirts from the closet and hand them over.

"Put these on," I say gently. "They'll be like nightgowns on you guys."

They hold up the shirts against their bodies, giggling at how baggy they look. Stella's reaches right to her knees, and Milo keeps tugging at the hem, trying to see how much of him it covers. Even though they're laughing, I notice just how sleepy they both are. Their eyes droop, still glowing with that childlike sparkle, but exhaustion is winning.

Once they're clothed, I scoop them up-one in each arm. They're heavier than they look, but I manage to carry them to my bed. I sit them down on the edge of the mattress and grab a hairdryer from the nightstand. The steady hum of hot air fills the room.

Milo rubs his eyes, fighting sleep. Stella mumbles something about a cartoon, but before I can reply, her head lolls forward. I take turns carefully running my fingers through their damp hair, aiming the warm breeze at them until their locks are dry enough not to make them shiver.

My chest tightens at the sight of them slumped against each other, half-asleep. There's so much trust in their little faces. They fought for me earlier, defending me from Ian with all their might, and now they look like angels. I kill the hairdryer and gently tuck both of them under the covers.

I lean over and kiss Milo on the forehead, then Stella. "Sweet dreams," I whisper, my voice trembling with an emotion I can't quite name. Love, maybe. Relief.

I tiptoe out of the room and pull the door halfway shut. My phone buzzes, and I remember I'd texted Lucas, asking if he could pick up the twins tomorrow morning. But there's no reply. I sigh and set the phone on the kitchen counter, mentally preparing myself for a quiet night with two sleeping kids in my bed.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. I freeze. Through the peephole, I see none other than Lucas. The moment I spot him, my heart does this stupid flip. Even though he's just standing there in the dim hallway, he's so... overpoweringly handsome. He wears a dark suit that highlights his sculpted frame.

In a panic, I glance down at myself-my robe is loose, barely tied. My hair is still damp. My cheeks burn. I scramble away, rush into my bedroom, and yank on a conservative pair of sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, hastily tying my damp hair into a messy bun. I toss the robe aside, inhale, then head back to the door.

I open it, trying to look composed. "You're here late."

Lucas steps inside, shutting the door softly. His eyes roam over me, lingering just enough to make my pulse spike. "I got your text," he says, his voice deep, "and I finished work earlier than expected."

I shift awkwardly. "Milo and Stella are already asleep. You could've just come in the morning."

He shrugs, gaze flicking toward the bedroom. "I was hungry. And I wanted to see them."

I raise an eyebrow. "Hungry?"

He smirks, a small curve of his lips that makes my stomach twist. "Yeah. I haven't eaten all day."

There's an awkward pause. I was about to suggest ordering takeout again, but he cuts me off with a look that says he's not in the mood. "I can cook something," I offer. "How about some instant spaghetti with cream mushroom sauce?"

He nods without hesitation. "That'll do."

I hurry into the kitchen, rummaging for a pot and dried pasta. I can sense Lucas's presence behind me, his gaze taking in every detail of my apartment. I feel self-conscious in my casual clothes, but I try to focus on the simplest meal I can manage.

Within ten minutes, I have a small plate of spaghetti ready. I hand him a fork, and he digs in quietly. There's something so intimate about cooking for him this late at night, both of us standing in my kitchen with only the stovetop light on.

Once he's finished, I brace myself. "Let me get the twins. You're taking them tonight, right?"

He shakes his head. "Didn't you tell me in that text you wanted them to stay over?"

A flicker of confusion crosses my face. "Well, yeah, but I assumed you'd at least respond."

Lucas just shrugs. "I read it. Decided to come here anyway. It seemed like the right thing to do."

I can't tell if he's being considerate or just messing with my head. The air feels charged, like we're both dancing around something we can't name.

"Uh, okay," I say quietly. "Bathroom's down the hall if you need it."

He passes by me, heading to my room first. My heart jumps-I realize I left some clothes on the floor, including my bra from earlier. I dart in behind him, panicked.

The soft lamplight reveals the twins asleep on the bed, pillows half off the mattress. And there, on the floor near the dresser, is my bra. Before I can grab it, Lucas kneels down and picks it up. He holds it out, not saying a word, but his eyes glimmer with a teasing edge.

My cheeks burn. "Thanks," I mumble, yanking it from his hand and stuffing it behind my back.

He doesn't laugh or smirk. Instead, there's a strange warmth in his gaze. "Go on," he says softly. "I'll just use the bathroom real quick."

I slip out, heart hammering. I toss the bra into my closet, slam the door, and take a moment to calm myself.

A few minutes later, I wander into the living room. Lucas emerges, still looking perfect even at this hour. He notices my damp hair and points to the blow dryer on the couch.

"You're gonna catch a cold," he murmurs. "Sit."

I swallow, not sure I should let him do this. But he switches on the hairdryer, and I end up obeying without argument. Warm air hits my neck, and he runs his fingers through my strands, careful not to tug. Each soft pass of his hand makes my pulse race. We stay like that for several minutes, neither of us speaking. My eyes slide shut, and I'm weirdly comforted by the steady sound of hot air and Lucas's deliberate touch.

When he finally stops, I open my eyes and realize my breathing is shallow. He sets the dryer aside and says quietly, "I'll come back around eight in the morning to pick up the kids. That okay?"

I nod, my voice faint. "Yeah. Sure."

We walk to the door together. He notices a pair of men's slippers-ones I'd bought for Ian a long time ago-tucked against the wall. He scoops them up and glances at me. I see something flicker across his face, maybe annoyance. Without asking, he tosses them into a nearby trash bin, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I stand there, stunned. He's basically erasing traces of Ian from my apartment.

As he steps outside, I can't hold back my question. "Lucas are you actually from that famous Harrington family in North City?"