POV Jocelyn

I couldn’t even fake productivity anymore.

My hands were literally shaking while I pretended to organize files that were already organized.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Marley from accounting said, sliding up to my desk with her usual lack of boundaries.

“Just tired.” I didn’t look up.

“Tired, or terrified? Because there’s a difference, and you’re definitely leaning toward—”

“Marley. Please.”

She shrugged and wandered off, probably to gossip about my obvious mental breakdown to whoever would listen.

I needed coffee or I needed to scream, and coffee seemed more socially acceptable.

Of course, the universe decided to be extra vindictive.

Mia’s folder slipped from my stack of papers like it had been launched by cosmic spite, and her latest tiger masterpiece went floating across the linoleum like some kind of cursed origami bird.

And there he was. Zayden fucking Wolfe, bending down to pick up my daughter’s artwork with those stupid perfect hands.

“Shit,” I whispered.

He looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Sorry. Thank you.” I lunged for the drawing, but he was already studying it.

Those green eyes, the same ones Mia inherited, traced every crayon stroke. “This is incredible.”

“It’s just a kid’s drawing.”

“No.” He held it up to the light. “This is… detailed. The stripes, the positioning. Most children draw tigers as orange blobs with triangle ears.”

My heart was doing that thing where it tries to escape through my throat. “She’s always been artistic.”

“How old?”

“Six.” The word came out like a croak.

He went completely still. Just… froze. Like someone had hit his pause button.

“Six,” he repeated.

“Yeah. She loves animals. Especially big cats. Lions, tigers, panthers. She draws them constantly.”

I was rambling now, which was definitely not helping my case for appearing normal and definitely-not-hiding-a-massive-secret.

“What’s her name?”

“Why?” The question shot out too fast, too defensive.

His eyebrows went up. “Just curious. She’s talented.”

“Mia.”

Something flickered across his face. Recognition? Impossible. He didn’t even remember me.

“Mia,” he said quietly, like he was testing how it sounded.

I snatched the drawing from his hands. “I should get back to work.”

But I couldn’t move. We just stood there in the breakroom, ten feet apart, while the coffee maker gurgled and the fluorescent lights buzzed and my entire world teetered on the edge of complete annihilation.

“Your daughter,” he said finally. “Does she… does she look like you?”

Every alarm bell in my head started screaming. “Why would you ask that?”

“No reason. Just… making conversation.”

“We don’t make conversation, Mr. Wolfe. You bark orders and I follow them. That’s our dynamic.”

His jaw tightened. “Right. Of course.”

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

“The tiger,” he said. “In the drawing. It has green eyes.”

I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. “Kids use whatever crayon they grab first.”

“Do they?”

***

I burst through Helena’s apartment door like a SWAT team member who’d forgotten to knock.

“Jesus Christ, Joss!” She nearly dropped her wine glass. “Use your key like a normal person!”

“He knows.” I collapsed onto her couch, still clutching Mia’s drawing. “He fucking knows.”

“Slow down. Who knows what?”

“Zayden. He saw the drawing. He asked about her age, her name, what she looks like—”

“Okay, breathe. Just because he’s curious doesn’t mean—”

“Helena, he noticed the tiger has green eyes. What six-year-old specifically chooses green for tiger eyes unless…” I gestured wildly at my own face.

She set down her wine and sat across from me. “Unless what? She inherited them from someone?”

“Exactly.”

“From you, Joss. You have green eyes.”

“Not like his. Not like Mia’s. Mine are regular green. Theirs are this insane, impossible, glow-in-the-dark green that makes people stop mid-sentence and stare.”

Helena was quiet for a long moment. “What did you tell him?”

“That kids use whatever crayon they grab first.”

“And he believed you?”

“He didn’t challenge it. But Helena, the way he looked at that drawing… It was like he was seeing something familiar. Something important.”

“Maybe because he was.”

I shot her a look. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying, what if this isn’t as one-sided as you think? What if he’s been carrying around his own version of that night?”

“His version probably involves congratulating himself on another successful conquest.”

“Does it, though? Because the Zayden Wolfe I’ve been hearing about for weeks doesn’t sound like someone who’s moved on from anything. He sounds wound tighter than a Swiss watch.”

I stared at her. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours. Always. But Joss, keeping this secret is eating you alive. And now that he’s potentially connecting dots…”

“He’s not connecting anything. He’s just observant. Probably notices details about everyone.”

“When’s the last time your boss asked about your child’s appearance?”

Fuck. She had a point.

“This is a disaster,” I said.

“Or an opportunity.”

“Helena.”

“I’m serious. What if you controlled the narrative instead of letting it control you?”

“You mean tell him?”

“I mean stop running from the inevitable.”

I buried my face in my hands. “I can’t. You don’t understand what he’s like at work. He’s this cold, calculating machine who treats people like spreadsheet entries. The idea of him having any kind of power over Mia…”

“But what if he’s different with family?”

“What if he’s not?”

We sat in silence while my anxiety played bumper cars with my common sense.

“What did Mia say when she drew this one?” Helena asked quietly.

I looked down at the drawing. “She said the tiger looked lonely. That it needed someone to keep it safe.”

“Smart kid.”

“Too smart. Yesterday she asked me why she doesn’t have a daddy like her friend Emma.”

Helena’s expression softened. “What did you tell her?”

“That some families are different. That she has me and you and that’s enough.”

“Is it?”

The question hung between us like smoke.

“It has to be,” I said finally. “Because the alternative is too fucking scary to consider.”

But even as I said it, I could hear Mia’s voice in my head: “Maybe the tiger isn’t lonely, Mama. Maybe it just hasn’t found its family yet.”

Out of the mouths of babes. And tigers.