Chapter 2194
Elliot’s shoulders hunched as he said quietly, “Jonathan, I still want to sleep next to Mommy.”
“Absolutely not.” Jonathan cut him off, the words sharp and final.
Nathaniel stepped out of his study, immediately siding with the older boy. “Jonathan’s right. Last night was a one-time exception. There won’t be a repeat.”
Elliot answered with a soft “Oh,” the single syllable heavy with disappointment. He shuffled over to the couch and sat beside Jonathan.
He tugged at his brother’s sleeve, eyes still wide with leftover fear. “Jonathan, do you know what kind of nightmare I had last night?”
Jonathan had never cared for dreams. To him, they were like smoke—brief shapes with no real substance.
“No,” he said flatly, not looking up as he scrolled through the morning news on his tablet.
“I saw someone chasing us,” Elliot continued. “Someone who wanted you and me dead. I was terrified, Jonathan. I thought I’d never see Mommy again.”
Jonathan had meant to brush it off, but those words made him look up. “Really?” he asked, studying the lingering panic in Elliot’s eyes.
“Of course it’s real,” Elliot insisted, small fists curling against his flannel pants.
“Then who wanted to hurt us?” Jonathan pressed, his voice calm but suddenly sharp.
“I don’t know,” Elliot whispered, leaning closer as if the walls themselves might listen. “But the feeling was terrifying—really terrifying.”
Jonathan frowned, tension tightening his jaw. “What did you do yesterday? Who did you meet? Tell me everything—every person, every place, every detail.”
At that, Elliot remembered crashing into Nicholas and the strange, unsettling words the man had murmured before walking away.
Jonathan’s expression hardened instantly. “He said that? Exactly like that?” The question snapped, brittle as winter wood.
Elliot nodded so hard his hair flopped forward. “Yes. I swear I’m not lying.”
“He’s trouble,” Jonathan muttered. “From now on, we stay as far away from Nicholas as fire stays from water.”
People weighed down by illness and broken families often carried fractures in their minds. Jonathan had learned that much from the psychology articles he read late at night.
To him, Nicholas fit the pattern perfectly—his daughter wasn’t truly his, his marriage had collapsed, and his ex-wife had already seen prison bars. How stable could someone like that really be?
“So… should we tell Mommy and Daddy?” Elliot asked, his voice wobbling over the forbidden nickname they used in private.
“No,” Jonathan decided after a moment. “He hasn’t actually hurt you. Words alone aren’t weapons.”
Elliot nodded quickly. “Okay. I’ll listen to you.”
He trusted Jonathan’s mind the way sailors trusted the stars—steady, precise, always guiding them through danger.
“Come on. Breakfast. Clear your head,” Jonathan said, locking his tablet and standing.
Elliot hurried into the kitchen and attacked the pancakes and berries with a hunger fueled by fear—or relief.
That was Elliot. His emotions flared like summer rain—violent for a moment, then gone, leaving clear skies behind.
In the dining room, Elliot was still happily eating when footsteps approached. He opened his mouth to greet his father, but something felt wrong—the suit, the lighter stride.
He looked up and found Nicholas standing there, a thinner reflection of his own father.
The face was familiar, yet sharpened by sleepless nights and hollowed by exhaustion.
Elliot’s fork froze midair. “Uncle Nicholas…” he whispered, the words trembling.
Nicholas dipped his head once. “Mm. Eat. Make sure you eat enough.”
Elliot forced a smile that never reached his eyes. “Okay.”
Jonathan swung his legs beneath the polished breakfast table, sunlight casting golden lines across his face. He looked perfectly at ease as he broke the silence.
“Uncle Nicholas, have you gone to see Dahlia lately?”
Nicholas froze, coffee cup hovering midair, steam curling uselessly around his fingers. He lifted his gaze, cool gray meeting Jonathan’s bright eyes. “No, I haven’t. Why do you ask?”
Jonathan’s lips curved into a picture of innocent curiosity. “Oh, no reason. We saw Dahlia not long ago. She’s beautiful, sweet, and listens to everyone. Such a perfect little girl.”
Confusion flickered across Nicholas’s face. “As long as she’s doing well, that’s what matters.”
Jonathan leaned forward, his voice laced with feigned concern. “But why did you give Dahlia up, Uncle Nicholas?”
The question wasn’t born of innocence—it was deliberate, meant to pry open the cracks beneath Nicholas’s composed exterior.
Nicholas didn’t flinch. His tone stayed level, almost gentle. “Maybe she and I were never meant to be father and daughter. She’s happy with Meredith. Isn’t that enough?”
Jonathan shrugged, but his eyes gleamed with something sharp. “If you really are her father, she’ll resent you one day. Walking away like that feels pretty irresponsible, don’t you think?”