The last time he saw her, she walked out of his penthouse with one suitcase and her dignity intact.
Now, seeing her like this—homeless—made his entire world feel meaningless.
“Oh my God… Ethan, is that Olivia?” Eleanor whispered, pressing a hand to her chest.
The murmur stirred her awake.
Olivia’s eyes, shadowed by deep exhaustion, filled with raw fear before focusing on Ethan. When she recognized him, there was no shame—only the guarded tension of someone cornered.
“What are you doing here?” Ethan asked, his voice tight as he stepped closer. “Whose babies are those?”
Olivia pulled them closer, trembling from the cold.
“They’re mine. Noah and Lily. They’re four months old.”
Eleanor didn’t hesitate.
With the authority of a true matriarch, she stepped forward.
“You’re getting up and coming home with me right now. I will not allow two innocent babies to sleep out here. Pride means nothing when children are involved.”
The drive to their mansion in the Upper East Side was suffocatingly silent. Olivia carried only a torn diaper bag and a small backpack.