Mia's POV
The amusement park was alive with colors, laughter, and chaos—just the way a child's world should be.
Eric bounced between Ryan and me, his tiny hand clutching a melting ice cream cone while his eyes lit up like stars every time he spotted a new ride. He wanted everything—from the spinning teacups to the pirate ship to the cotton candy that left his lips sticky and blue.
"Uncle Ryan! Let's do the bumper cars next!" he cried.
Ryan glanced at his designer shoes and then at the dusty bumper car arena, clearly unamused.
"I'll sit this one out," he muttered, brushing invisible lint off his black shirt.
Eric pouted. "But you promised no backing out!"
I arched an eyebrow at Ryan. "A Saint always keeps his word, right?"
He shot me a glare, but wordlessly followed Eric toward the ride.
I laughed, unable to hold it in.
And for a few seconds—watching Ryan, one of the most powerful, cold-hearted CEOs in the world, awkwardly gripping the steering wheel of a tiny bumper car while Eric rammed him mercilessly—I forgot it was all fake.
Forgot the contract.
Forgot that he had another woman in his bed just last night.
Forgot that my heart wasn't supposed to flutter when his silver eyes caught mine across the park.
Ryan's POV
I didn't do parks.
I didn't do sticky air, screaming kids, or rubber safety belts that smelled like metal and sweat.
But Eric's joy was magnetic.
His laugh echoed as he bounced around with Mia, holding both our hands like we were some happy trio from a picture-perfect life.
And Mia… she didn't just look like she belonged here. She felt like she belonged—natural, effortless, glowing under the sun with a wide-brimmed hat, sneakers, and that gentle smile that made people pause.
She fussed over Eric's sunscreen. Shared a bite of her hot dog. Tied his shoes without complaint.
Like a mother would.
Only… she wasn't his mother.
And she wasn't my wife.
Not really.
I watched her help Eric with a water balloon game, my jaw clenched tight.
Why did it look so real?
Why did it feel so dangerous?
I shoved the thoughts away, pulling out my phone, needing the distraction. My screen lit up with a new message from Diane:
> "Miss me yet, darling?"
I smirked.
Reality. Cold and sharp. Just the way I liked it.
---
Later That Evening – Mia's POV
Back at the penthouse, Eric had collapsed in bed from pure exhaustion. I tucked him in, brushing his damp curls off his forehead.
He was smiling in his sleep.
Ryan leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, watching in silence.
"He had a good day," I said softly, turning toward him.
"He did," he agreed, voice quiet.
We stood like that for a long moment, the tension between us thick with something unnamed.
And then I stepped back. "Goodnight, Mr. Saint."
He tilted his head. "Mia…"
I froze.
But he didn't finish.
"Goodnight," he finally said, walking away.
And I exhaled, unsure if I was disappointed—or relieved.