I lost myself. Every time this man came near, I lost the fragile grip I had on my sanity. I lost the promises I made to myself, the ones meant to keep me safe, untouched by his gravity. And worst of all, I lost my breath the moment his lips touched mine.

I tried. God knows how hard I tried. I fought against the pull, against the way he unraveled me with nothing more than a glance, a whisper, a touch. But Zayne was a force of nature, one that shattered every carefully constructed wall I had built around my heart. He didn't need grand gestures. Just a few words, a small kiss, and suddenly, I was nothing but ruins at his feet.

I hated when he spoke of other women. Not that he did. He was loyal as fuck. But sometimes, just to watch me burn, just to pull a reaction from me, he would. And damn him, it worked every time.

Freya. Of all people. The woman who swore just a few days ago that she'd have one of the Lancasters for herself. The moment her name left his lips, my restraint began to crack. And he knew. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly which thread to pull, and he did it mercilessly.

I nearly lost myself to him. Almost surrendered, almost let the past and the pain dissolve into the moment. But then, like a whisper of fate, a small voice broke through the haze.

"Mommy, what are you two doing?"

Asher.

How did I forget my son? How, even for a second, did I let myself get swept away?

Zayne stilled, just as startled as I was. And then, with a sigh, he pulled away, running a hand through his hair before turning to face our son.

"Ash! You really have perfect timing. Keep it up, buddy," he muttered, exhaling heavily before shifting to sit beside me.

I straightened, fixing my clothes, grounding myself in the reality of the moment. Asher walked up to me, his small frame climbing onto my lap, his curious gaze locked onto his father.

"Daddy, why did you kiss mommy?" His innocent eyes bore into Zayne, demanding an explanation.

Zayne blinked, scrambling for words before settling on the most ridiculous answer possible.

"Umm... that was... I was just loving Mommy."

I bit my lip, barely suppressing my laugh.

"It's just that I love your mommy so much-just like I love you. So, I kissed her." His voice was warm, smooth, effortlessly charming. He pulled me closer, my body flush against his, before pressing a lingering kiss to the top of my head as if to prove his point. "See? I love your mommy. And come here, Champ." He opened his arms, waiting.

That was all the invitation Asher needed. With boundless enthusiasm, he leaped from my lap and straight into Zayne's embrace. Strong arms wrapped around our son, holding him tight as if he were the most precious thing in the world-because to us, he was. Zayne pressed a firm kiss to the crown of Asher's head, and in response, a giggle bubbled out of him, pure and bright.

"You're the best, Ash. But sometimes...you have the worst timing," Zayne muttered, barely audible, his frustration laced with fondness.

Asher, blissfully unaware, wasted no time. His tiny hands shot forward, reaching into Zayne's pocket, and in a heartbeat, he pulled out his phone.

"It's already late," I announced, breaking the moment.

Zayne's head snapped up, his expression incredulous, as if I had just committed the ultimate betrayal. His eyes practically screamed, Seriously? But I ignored him entirely.

"I have work tomorrow," I added, stretching lazily, my body reminding me of the exhaustion I had momentarily forgotten.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I have work too."

"I don't care. I need sleep."

His gaze narrowed. "Hey, what was that? You weren't like that a few minutes ago." There was genuine surprise in his voice, laced with something deeper-something restless.

"That...was a moment of weakness. Do not touch me anymore." I turned away, gathering the things, busying myself to escape the weight of his gaze.

"EVA!" he groaned, exasperation dripping from his tone. "That wasn't fair!"

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, but I fought it down.

Days slipped through my fingers, one after another. A week had passed since that kiss. Since I lost my breath, my will and my so-called restraint. But Zayne acted as if nothing had changed. Every single day after work, he showed up at my doorstep, sweeping Asher away on little adventures, indulging him with gifts as if the world itself existed solely for our son. His never-ending spree of buying things for Asher wasn't going to stop. Not in this lifetime.

And now, here we were. A weekend. A simple request from Asher, one I couldn't deny. He wanted to visit my mother. Which meant I had to endure this.

I had begged Zayne to stay behind, pleaded with him to let me take Asher alone. But, as always, reasoning with him was like trying to hold back a storm with bare hands.

"Zayne, you don't have to come," I tried again, my voice holding the last shred of patience I had.

He didn't even glance at me. "I'm not letting you and my son walk into that house alone, knowing your father is a literal idiot." His tone was flat, as if this were an indisputable fact rather than an insult.

I sighed in defeat as he pulled the car to the curb.

This is not good. Not good at all.

I unbuckled Asher, lifting him into my arms as Zayne pressed the doorbell. Before I could even react, he smoothly took Asher from me, his strong arms cradling our son as he handed me a bag. Small souvenirs for my parents, my brother, and his family.

The door swung open, revealing my mother.

"Eva!" Her face lit up with pure warmth as she wrapped me in her familiar embrace.

I smiled, hugging her back. "Hi, Mom."

But then her gaze landed on Zayne.

The warmth vanished in 0.2 seconds.

Her eyes narrowed, her tone shifting like a storm rolling in. "What are you doing here?"

I arched a brow at her.

Zayne, completely unfazed, met her glare with a neutral expression, but I could hear the ice in his words. "Do you really think I'd allow my son and Eva to be alone with you clowns? Not a chance. You'd corrupt my son, too."

My mother's glare could have set the house on fire. But she stepped aside.

I stepped in, Zayne right behind me, unbothered as ever.

Asher wriggled out of Zayne's grasp, his tiny body launching toward my mother with boundless excitement. "Grandma!"

"My baby boy!" My mother's entire demeanor softened as she scooped him up, peppering his cheek with kisses. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, Grandma." Asher giggled, planting a kiss on her cheek in return.

I sank onto the couch, exhaustion already creeping in. Before I could blink, Zayne plopped down beside me like he owned the place.

Then came the sound of hurried footsteps.

"ASH!"

"BIG BROTHER!"

Reid-my brother's son-rushed out of his room, and Asher practically leaped toward him. Laughter rang through the room as they immediately launched into their usual antics, lost in their own world of childhood joy. Nine-year-old elementary school kid.

Reid adored Asher. I mean, Who wouldn't?

"Where's Edgar?" I asked my mother, my gaze sweeping across the room.

"He and Scarlett went out shopping. And you know what? That woman never listens to her husband. She talks back, argues, even fights with him. This generation of women has no respect for their men." She sighed, shaking her head, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Zayne's glare followed her, burning with an unspoken fury, as if he wished to set fire to the very spot she stood.

So this was my family. A household where respect was never about mutual understanding but about submission. Where my mother didn't preach values, only patriarchy.

Our home reeked of it, drenched in it like an unshakable stench. My father was the root of it all, feeding my mother a lifetime of obedience until she believed the lie that men were superior creatures, that their word was law, that silence was a woman's virtue.

It was not just a strict household. It was an oppressive one. A place where bruises bloomed on skin for the smallest of mistakes. My father, Elias Laurent, wielded discipline like a weapon. Edgar was untouched. But the women-no questions were asked but to get a bruise.

Whenever my father raised his hand against me, my mother had only ever told me one thing. Stay silent. Take the hits like an obedient woman.

My father had tried to pour his poison into my brother, feeding him the same patriarchal venom he had given my mother. Yet somehow, miraculously, Edgar resisted. He lived like a normal man, untethered by the chains that had bound the rest of us.

I had dreams once. Higher studies. A future beyond these suffocating walls. But my father had smothered them before they could even take root. While Edgar had been sent off to become an MBA graduate, I had been told to know my place.

Partiality wasn't just a pattern in this household. It was the very foundation of my father's existence.

To my mother, Scarlett was simply a wife who dared to talk back to her husband. But I knew better. She wasn't just speaking her mind. She was fighting to be heard. Fighting against the suffocating weight of this family, the same weight that had crushed my mother into submission.

This was why I could never breathe freely in this house.

This was exactly why Zayne despised my parents.

I set my bag on the table, waiting for Asher to return, when the door swung open and it wasn't him.

It was my father.

Zayne's scowl deepened, his presence turning sharp and rigid. My father met his gaze with equal contempt, the air between them thick with years of unspoken war.

"Forgotten your own father the moment you stepped out of this house?" My father's voice was quiet, but the weight of it pressed against my chest like an iron hand.

"Give her one good reason to come back here," Zayne said mockingly, leaning back against the couch. "She'd return without a second thought. And I'd bring her here myself, with my son in tow."

My father scoffed, settling into the armchair as if he sat upon a throne. "I let her live under my roof until you married her. I provided for her. Was that not enough?"

"I'm sorry, Dad. Work has been overwhelming lately, and I couldn't-"

"Excuses," he cut in sharply. "Excuses. Women know nothing but excuses." He didn't even try to conceal the irritation tightening his features and the sheer disdain. I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against my ribs.

Zayne's glare sharpened. But my father was relentless. "At least you did one thing right," he chuckled. "You gave birth to a man and not a useless woman."

This was his idea of entertainment. Degrading women in any way he could, twisting cruelty into casual conversation. I knew with sickening certainty that if I had given birth to a daughter, my father would have cast me out without a second glance. He would have disowned me without hesitation.

My mother entered the room, balancing a tray of coffee in her hands. She placed it on the table, then, like clockwork, picked up a cup and handed it to my father first. I took one for myself, while Zayne didn't move, his hands resting tensely on his thighs.

He took the cup and looked at my mother. "Here she is. The disappointment who gave birth to yet another disappointment."

My mother bowed her head silently.

"Eva, put that cup down," Zayne commanded. His gaze locked onto my father like a blade ready to kill.

"Huh?" I blinked at him, confused.

"Put the damn cup down," he repeated, sharper this time. "If you want coffee, I'll buy you an entire damn restaurant. But you're not drinking a single drop of this from this household. That'll taint you." His fingers curled around the cup, prying it from my hands. Not with force, but with an unyielding gentleness, placing it back onto the table as if it were filth.

My father shook his head, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. "You know, Zayne, if you had been more like me, this woman wouldn't have divorced you in the first place. You gave her too much independence. More than she ever deserved."

Zayne's voice turned deathly quiet, his words slicing through the air like cold steel. "Close your mouth before I bury you alive under six feet."

And the thing was I knew too well that he didn't make empty threats.

My father only rolled his eyes, but he wasn't foolish enough to push Zayne further. Because he knew what kind of things Zayne did for me in my six years of marriage life.

Ash and Reid came out of Reid's room, their laughter filling the tense air. The moment Ash saw my father, his face lit up.

"Grandpa!" he squealed, climbing onto my father's lap without hesitation.

My father pulled Asher closer, a rare smile touching his lips. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm fine, Grandpa! Just like you!" Ash beamed, his little hands gripping my father's shirt.

"Of course you are," my father said it with condescension. "You should be. What else does she have to do other than take care of you?" He scoffed, his gaze flicking toward me.

Ash was oblivious to the venom in my father's words, continued in his usual excitement. "Mommy's working, Grandpa! In a big company!" He stretched his arms wide, emphasizing the size. "And she bought me lots of things. My giraffe, my remote car, my bulldozer!" His joy was radiant, untouched by the cruelty in the room.

My father's smirk deepened. "Look at me, dear." His tone softened. "A woman shouldn't work. They're born to serve us. To serve a man. To serve a household. To carry a ch-"

"ENOUGH."

Zayne's voice echoed through the walls. Asher flinched.

Silence.

His eyes burned red with fury, a storm barely contained. "What the hell are you doing? You want to plant the same poison in my son's heart?"

I opened my mouth, but then I saw it. The fire in his gaze, the unfiltered rage rolling off him in waves.

Zayne stood abruptly, his entire frame rigid with fury. "Ash, come here." with the tone he had never used with Asher before.

Ash hesitated, confused. "I want to stay with Grandpa."

Zayne's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "You want to stay with a man who hit your mother?"

A sharp inhale lodged in my throat. "Zayne, what are you-"

"He's old enough to know these things, Eva," Zayne cut me off. "He should learn what kind of people he's accommodate with. What kind of people he's trusting but they're no one but a snake ready to kill."

Asher looked between me and Zayne, his tiny forehead wrinkling as he processed the words. Slowly, he climbed off my father's lap and padded toward me. His small hands cupped my cheeks, his eyes filled with a child's fragile understanding. "Did grandpa hurt you, Mommy?"

Tears welled in my eyes instantly, blurring my vision. I couldn't speak. I just nodded.

"Did that hurt?"

I nodded again.

Zayne's jaw ticked. "Get up, Eva. Let's leave. If I stay here another minute, I'll smash that old bastard's face in." His eyes barely restrained violence.

Before I could even register my own movements, Zayne scooped Asher up in his arms. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his free hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me into a kiss...quick, firm, possessive. A declaration.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze unwavering. "I want another baby. A daughter. Or daughters. Got it?"

My breath hitched, my eyes widening. But before I could respond, the front door swung open.

Edgar and Scarlett stepped inside, bags in hand. Edgar's face lit up in surprise. "Eva!" he exclaimed. "When did you get here? You should've called me! I would've-"

Zayne didn't even let me speak. His gaze snapped to Scarlett, his voice eerily calm. "Hi, Scarlett." Then he turned to Edgar. "If you want your wife to stay alive with her sanity intact, take your family and get the hell out of this house."

That was it.

Zayne dragged me out of there, not looking back.

I opened the car's back door, gently settled Asher into his seat before buckling him in. His small fingers clutched at my sleeve for a second before letting go.

Zayne already at my side, opened the passenger door. I slid in silently, and he took his place behind the wheel, starting the car with a sharp twist of his wrist.

The drive was silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

Even Asher, usually a ball of endless chatter, said nothing.

Zayne's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles stark white. "This is exactly why I never wanted you to go to your parents' house alone," he snarled.

I didn't respond. I just watched him. The way his brows were still knitted together, the way his lips were pressed into a firm line. He wasn't just angry. He was fuming.

Reaching out, I let the back of my hand graze his cheek. He stiffened at the contact, but he didn't pull away.

A small smile curled my lips. "You really want a daughter? No-daughters?"

"Hell yes," he said without hesitation. "I want a bunch of daughters. And I'll raise them like royalty. Right in front of that pathetic excuse of a father of yours." His hand covered mine, his warmth pressing against my skin as he held it there for a few lingering seconds.

A tiny voice filled the car. "Am I going to have a baby sister, Daddy?"

Zayne let out a laugh, the sound melting some of the ice in the air. "Sisters, Ash."

Asher gasped dramatically, his little hands flying up to cup his cheeks. "WOW!"

For the first time that day, I felt something lighter bloom inside my chest. But Zayne's gaze flicked toward me, his expression turning serious again. "You should've slapped him, Eva. You have every right to."

My lips parted, but the words tangled inside my throat. "I..." My voice faded, then returned. "I'm used to it, Zayne."

My mind drifted back-back to the echoes of my childhood, to the screams that shattered the walls, to the tears that were wiped away too quickly, to the fear that settled into my bones long before I even understood it.

"I don't like Grandpa, Mommy," Asher announced while crossing his tiny arms. "And you don't have to like him either. When I grow up, I'll be your knight. I'll protect you." His said it with full of certainty, of childlike bravado.

I let out a soft chuckle, blinking against the tears threatening to spill. "Of course, you're my knight, Muffin."

And he was.

What he didn't know was that he had already saved me.

My vision blurred, tears clinging to my lashes. If Asher hadn't been born, I would've gone back to my father's house after the divorce, trapped in that cycle of cruelty all over again.

But he had given me something to fight for.

He was already my knight.

He just didn't know it yet.