Mitchell's POV
Tomorrow was Clara's wedding. The thought should have filled me with dread, but instead, a cool anticipation settled in my bones. I had a gift to deliver.
I opened my small closet, surveying the meager options. Nothing felt right for the occasion—too plain, too old, too meek. I sighed, pushing the dilemma aside for the morning.
Needing a distraction, I wandered to Liam's room. The door was ajar, and I found him on the plush carpet, surrounded by an army of sleek, metallic robots. His dark hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, and he wore crisp pajamas. He'd bathed himself.
"Liam, honey, did you shower already?" I asked, guilt prickling. What kind of nanny was I?
He looked up, those striking emerald eyes blinking slowly. "Yes. You spaced out." His simple observation, so matter-of-fact, made me smile. This child missed nothing.
I crossed the room and tousled his soft, damp hair. He leaned into the touch, a rare display of physical need. Today, he was especially clingy. We spent the next hour building elaborate robot cities, his quiet laughter filling the space whenever I made a silly voice for the "evil dinosaur robot." His company was a balm I hadn't known I needed. Being with him felt… right. Like we were two pieces of a puzzle clicking into place.
When bedtime approached, Liam decided to make a ruckus in the bathroom, splashing water everywhere before finally conceding to let me help with his teeth and face. After tucking him in—three precise tucks, per his instructions—I finally took my own shower, the hot water washing away the residue of the day.
Downstairs, Rosie and I moved in easy harmony, setting the table. The clink of cutlery and her cheerful humming created a domestic soundtrack I'd never experienced in the Turnerstone house. It felt like a home.
The front door opened, and Alistair appeared, his hair slightly damp, a few rogue strands falling across his forehead. He'd changed into a dark, fitted sweater that somehow made him look even more devastating. My heart did its traitorous flutter, immediately quashed by the mental reminder: Moonshine. Liam's mother. He's for me.
Dinner was served. I brought Liam downstairs and he ate quietly, Alistair was his usual reserved self, and I kept my eyes on my plate. Breaking the comfortable silence, I said, "I'll be going to my sister's wedding tomorrow."
Alistair's fork paused mid-air. "Hmm," he nodded, his garnet eyes flicking to me with an unreadable expression. He opened his mouth, as if to add something—
"Eating without your buddy, Alistair?" A familiar, teasing voice cut through. "Never knew you were the stingy type."
Mike strolled in, a broad grin on his handsome face. Then his eyes landed on me, and genuine surprise flickered across his features before he smoothly adjusted his expression. "Boss," he corrected himself, attempting formality.
I bit back a smile. He would get an Oscar for best actor. I wasn't that naive. Yesterday, after Mike's visit, I'd done my research. His full name was Michael Chen—which led me down a rabbit hole. Turns out, he wasn't just a driver-assistant. He was the CEO of a tech empire, a billionaire in his own right, and Alistair's close buddy. The internet also whispered that he was looking for a woman. Was every dashing man in this city either taken, related to me, or emotionally unavailable? I cried internally. At least I had "big brother" privileges.
I fixed him with a knowing look. "Stop the facade."
He raised his arms in surrender, his grin returning. "Fine, you caught me."
"Uncle Mike!" Liam launched himself from his chair, and Mike caught him effortlessly, swinging the boy up.
"How's my little inventor?" Mike asked, his voice warm with genuine affection.
Liam giggled and began explaining his latest robot creation in rapid, serious detail. I watched them, a warmth spreading through my chest. This. This easy affection, this laughter, this sense of belonging. This felt like home.
After dinner, as Liam drifted toward sleepiness in Mike's arms, my new "brother" turned to me, his expression shifting to something more serious.
"Will you be attending your fiancé's wedding tomorrow?" He asked, his eyes gauging my reaction carefully.
The word fiancé felt foreign now. I met his gaze steadily. "Yes."
Something flickered in his eyes—approval, perhaps. "Here, take this." He gestured to a large, elegantly wrapped box I hadn't noticed by the door. "Consider it a 'big brother' gift."
I blinked, surprised. "Mike, you don't have to—"
"Open it later," he interrupted gently. "And Mitchell?" His voice softened. "Whatever you're planning for tomorrow… make sure it's spectacular."
My breath caught. Did he know? Could he possibly suspect the bomb I was about to drop on Clara's perfect day? I looked from Mike's knowing eyes to Alistair, who watched the exchange and finally to Liam, now dozing against Mike's shoulder.
For the first time in 2 years, I felt like I had people in my corner. Real people. And tomorrow, with whatever spectacular gift waited in that box, I would finally stop being the doormat.
I smiled, a real, genuine smile. "Thank you, big brother."
Back in my room, I carefully unwrapped the box. Inside lay a gown of breathtaking elegance—deep midnight blue silk that seemed to hold galaxies within its folds, cut in a classic yet modern design that would flatter without revealing. It was sophisticated, powerful, and utterly unlike anything I'd ever owned. Beside it rested a small velvet pouch containing delicate diamond stud earrings that caught the light like captured stars.
Mike had given me a treasure.
Tomorrow, I would wear it. And I would walk into that wedding not as the discarded daughter, not as the jilted bride, but as a new Mitchell Turnerstone.