Panic flooded him.
He had wealth, influence, power.
None of it could lower a fever.
“They’re going to—” His voice broke.
Vanessa grabbed his shoulders.
“Adrian!” she snapped, using his first name for the first time. “I need their father, not a billionaire. Fill the bathtub with lukewarm water. Now.”
He obeyed.
By candlelight, they lowered the twins gently into the water. Adrian climbed in fully clothed, holding his sons against his chest while Vanessa cooled their foreheads with cloths.
To calm them, she began to sing.
An old lullaby.
About a ship and a star.
Clara’s song.
Adrian looked at her through the flickering shadows.
She wasn’t just caring for his children.
She was protecting their mother’s memory.
Hours passed.
At dawn, the fever finally broke.
The boys slept against Adrian’s chest.
“We did it,” Vanessa whispered, collapsing onto the floor in exhaustion.
Adrian stepped out, laid his sons gently in their beds, then knelt beside her.
“You saved them,” he said hoarsely. “And I think… you saved me.”
He looked at the photo still in his hand.
“I saw this. I know who you are. I was the one who shut everything down. I took Paris from you.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled.