It was well past nine when the house finally fell quiet.The twins were still at Macy’s for their overnight visit, Isadora had retreated early with a book and a soft “no interruptions” warning, and baby Leona— miracle of miracles— had fallen asleep after just ten minutes of Ivy’s singing and a slow sway around the room.Van stood by the crib, watching her tiny chest rise and fall, hands on his hips, head tilted slightly in disbelief.“She’s out,” he whispered.Ivy, wrapping herself in a soft shawl, nodded. “She’s never out this fast.”“She must be saving up energy to wake us up at three AM.”“Don’t jinx it.”He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I didn’t say anything.”Still barefoot, Ivy padded toward the door and flicked the dimmer switch. The nursery melted into soft shadows.“Wine?” she asked over her shoulder.Van raised an eyebrow. “Are we doing this?”“I think we are.”He didn’t need a second invitation.Downstairs, the house looked different in the low, golden light of the sconce

Late afternoon in the Everest mansion was when the house exhaled. Sunlight filtered in soft gold through the tall windows. The twins were outside in the garden, under Brandt’s watchful eye, and Ivy had gone upstairs for a much needed nap with baby Leona sleeping soundly on her chest. The silence felt different now. Not hollow like it used to, not stiff. This silence was soft. Lived in. The kind of quiet that made room for thoughts and breathing. Isadora sat curled in the sitting room, one leg tucked under her, sketchbook propped on her lap. She had drawn the twins twice already that day— once chasing each other across the lawn, and again from memory, asleep in a tangle of limbs and blankets. She was sketching them again, this time placing Leona between them like a little sun orbited by two tiny, chaotic planets. Van's footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway before he paused at the doorway. He didn’t speak immediately. He had learned how to wait— how to let people make space for h

The sun returned slowly the next morning— rising behind misty clouds, then streaming through the tall windows in gentle rays that spilled across the hardwood floor like honey.In the kitchen, Ivy hummed softly as she poured batter into a hot pan. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled the air. Leona was propped in a sling across her chest, awake but content, one tiny hand curled around the fabric as though she were holding on to her own little world.“I smell pancakes!” Billy shouted, barreling into the room with his usual whirlwind energy. His hair stuck out in five directions, pajama pants on backwards.“Morning, Electro Pancake,” Ivy said.“That’s my old name,” he said proudly. “Now I’m Captain Syrupstorm.”Chloe trudged in behind him, dragging a stuffed elephant by one leg. “I haven’t named myself yet. I’m still thinking.”Ivy flipped a pancake with one hand while steadying Leona with the other. “You’ve got time. You’re only eight.”“Eight and a half,” Chloe corrected.Van appea

The bedroom was quiet that night.Ivy had just finished settling Leona back into her cradle, humming softly until the baby’s tiny fists unclenched and her eyelids fluttered shut. Rain no longer pattered against the windows, but the air still felt heavy — like the last page of a chapter that hadn’t yet been turned.Van sat at the edge of the bed, still in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie discarded on the floor. He stared at his hands, elbows resting on his knees, jaw set.Ivy joined him wordlessly, perching beside him. She waited. She didn’t press. She knew he would speak when he was ready.“I wasn’t going to tell you tonight,” Van began, his voice low. “But you already know something’s wrong. And I don’t want you worrying more than you have to.”She glanced sideways at him. “I’m not worried about your silence. I’m worried about what’s behind it.”He nodded slowly. “It’s about my father. Marcus.”“I figured,” Ivy said gently. “You’ve been carrying him in your face al

The news didn’t just echo—it thundered.Within hours of Van’s press conference, every major media outlet had his name front and center. “Everest Legacy Shaken by Scandal— CEO Comes Clean.” “Van Everest Uncovers Father’s Secret Past, Declares Full Transparency.” “Truth Over Empire: The CEO Who Refused to Hide.”Some outlets praised him. Others questioned his motives. A few called it performative. But all of them agreed on one thing:He had done something no other Everest had ever done.He told the truth.The mansion phones rang nonstop the next day. Journalists. Board members. Old family “friends” who hadn’t called in years.Ivy watched Van pace the study with a quiet tension in his jaw, fielding questions with poise but no warmth.“No, we didn’t plan a rebrand,” he said to the receiver. “We planned a reckoning. There’s a difference.”She stepped in gently, touching his arm. “You need a break.”He met her eyes— and for a moment, all the strength he’d carried cracked. His shoulders sagg