Page 63 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

Before I can summon a witty retort about genetic inheritance, Caleb bounces into view, practically vibrating with the kind of excitement only an eight-year-old can muster. His dark brown eyes, so much like Adrian’s, scan the room until they land on the crib beside me.

“Whoa, she’s really small,” he says, the awe in his voice making me want to laugh and cry all at once.

“Small but mighty,” I reply, winking at him. “Just like her big brother.”

Amelie sidles in last, her soft smile warming the cool white walls. She has this way of moving—graceful, almost floating—that makes you think she’s walked straight out of some ethereal plane specifically to coo at newborns.

“Hello, little one,” Amelie murmurs, tiptoeing closer to peek at the baby. “Welcome to the circus.”

I watch as they take turns holding her, each face lighting up with something tender and fierce. It’s a look I’m still getting used to—the parental gaze. Suddenly, I’m not just Isabella King, shark-in-heels attorney at law. I’m Isabella, the mom. And it’s terrifyingly wonderful.

Caleb’s turn comes, and he approaches the baby like it’s the Holy Grail. With a seriousness that’s both comical and heart-melting, heleans down, his lips barely brushing the top of her fuzzy head as he whispers his solemn vow.

“I’m gonna be the best big brother ever.”

“Careful, kiddo,” I say, my voice teasing but my heart full. “She might hold you to that.”

Adrian catches my eye from across the room, a silent conversation passing between us. We’re doing this. Together. And despite the sarcastic quips ready on my tongue, there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side.

“Hey, Isabella,” Caleb calls out, breaking the spell. “Can I teach her to play video games when she’s bigger?”

“Sure thing, but let’s start her on the basics first.” I grin. “Like how to sleep through the night.”

“Deal!” Caleb agrees, oblivious to the chuckle his innocence elicits from the adults in the room.

And suddenly, I’m struck by a surge of pride. My family—this quirky, mismatched group—is perfect in its imperfection. And as I exchange glances with Adrian, filled with quiet happiness and unspoken promises, I know we’ll figure out the rest as we go.

“Best big brother, huh?” Adrian muses aloud, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I like the sound of it.”

“I do too, Dad.”

“Good,” Adrian replies, his hand finding mine, his touch grounding me in the present. “Because this little lady is going to need all the champions she can get.”

“Starting with her parents,” I add, squeezing his hand back. It’s a challenge, a commitment, and a promise, all wrapped up in one. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The last of the well-wishers slips out, and a silence descends, thick and soft as cashmere. Adrian shifts his chair closer to the hospitalbed, one hand resting near my own, while his gaze lingers on the tiny bundle swaddled in pale pink. The rise and fall of the baby’s chest is a hypnotic dance, the stuff of life’s quiet miracles.

“Have you thought of a name?” Adrian’s voice is a whisper, as if he’s afraid to wake her, to break the spell of serenity cast over the room.

I nod, tracing a finger over the edge of the blanket that cocoons our daughter. “My maternal grandmother’s name is Rosalie. I’ve always liked the name.”

A smirk tugs at Adrian’s lips. “Rosalie’s a beautiful name. You know, my maternal grandmother’s name was Hayden.”

“Hayden?” I peer down at the baby. “Rosalie Hayden Cole,” I say, each syllable thick with the gravity of new beginnings and ancestral ties.

Adrian’s smile is a slow sunrise, warming everything it touches. He leans in, his lips finding mine in a kiss that feels like the soft closing of a book we’ve both loved reading. “It’s perfect,” he murmurs against my mouth, his breath mingling with mine.

We linger there, lips barely parted, sharing air, sharing this sliver of eternity. The magnitude of the moment presses down, yet it’s as gentle as the weight of our daughter’s head in the crook of my arm. We’ve tangoed through minefields, leapt over hurdles, and here we are—still standing, still together.

“You know, we’re quite the pair, Mr. Cole.”

“Indeed, Ms. King,” he replies, that trademark twinkle in his eye not dimmed by fatigue or the fluorescent lights overhead. “But let’s face it, we’ve always been exceptional at ... collaboration.”

“Collaboration,” I repeat, arching an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Seems fitting,” Adrian says, his thumb brushing my knuckle in agesture so tender it might as well be a vow.

In this quiet, perfect pocket of time, the hum of the hospital fades, the world narrows down to just us three. And I think, maybe for the first time, I can see the outline of our future, clear and bright as daybreak.

---