Page 34 of The One Who Changed Everything

As we walked on, the library fading into the distance behind us, I allowed myself to feel the full weight of Sophia's question, and my carefully crafted defenses began to crumble. Maybe it was time to face the truth that my heart knew all along: Evan Mercer still held a piece of it, whether I liked it or not.

"Do you think... I mean, would it be weird if I asked him if I could call him Dad?"

The question hung in the air, fragile and weighted, like a dandelion seed caught on a breeze. I felt the sidewalk tilt slightly, my pulse tapping a staccato rhythm against my throat.

I had prepared myself for a lot of things when Evan Mercer crashed back into our lives.

But not this. Not the quiet, tentative way Sophia asked the question. Not the way her fingers twisted in the hem of her hoodie, a nervous habit I’d seen a hundred times before.

I forced myself to breathe, to think, even as my heart squeezed painfully in my chest.

Would it be weird? Maybe.

Would it hurt? Absolutely.

But this wasn’t about me.

I swallowed, choosing my words carefully. “I think… that’s a big question, sweetheart.”

Sophia nodded, staring down at her sneakers. “I know.”

I reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And I think it’s one you should ask him when you’re ready.”

Her head jerked up. “You don’t think he’d be mad?”

“Mad?” My chest tightened. “Oh, honey. No. I don’t think he’d be mad at all.”

He’d be stunned, maybe. Overwhelmed. I couldn’t even imagine what would flicker through his eyes if she asked him something like that.

But he wouldn’t be mad.

I had seen the way he looked at her, the way he leaned in when she talked, like every word mattered. Like he wasalreadystepping into something bigger than either of us had anticipated.

Sophia let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “Okay.”

We walked the rest of the way home in silence, her mind clearly turning over the idea, mine desperately trying to prepare for whatever came next.

CHAPTER 15

Evan

As I pulled up to the sprawling estate of my parents' house in Chicago, my heart knocked around my chest like a rookie firefighter facing his first blaze. The place hadn’t changed one bit—same intimidating iron gates, same meticulously trimmed hedges that would probably snip themselves out of sheer respect for my father's strict standards.

"Welcome back, Mr. Mercer," said James, the butler who’d been with us since I was knee-high to a fire hydrant. “I didn’t have your visit on the schedule today.” He always said schedule with a soft “sh” sound that made me smile.

"Thanks, James." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “It was a spur-of-the-moment visit,” I said. The door swung open, and the smell hit me—the rich blend of polished wood and leather that was as much a part of this house as the stone it was built from. Memories flooded back of Mason and me, tearing through these halls, our laughter echoing off the high ceilings. A simpler time, before life got complicated by things like grief and threats to be disowned by my father. “I assume he’s in his office?”

"I’ll let him know you’re here," James said.

“That’s okay. I’ll announce myself.” I wanted to catch my father off guard. It was the only way to get a read on him. We reached the heavy oak door, and James gave me a nod before turning back.

"Good luck," he whispered, leaving me standing there, feeling like I was about to walk into the lion's den armed with nothing but a water pistol.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open. Dad sat behind his massive mahogany desk that looked like it could double as a Viking ship if you flipped it over. He glanced up, barely a hint of surprise flickering across his features. He acknowledged me with a nod so cool it could frost glass.

"Evan."

"Father." I stepped inside, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of my footsteps. It was just like him to create an environment where even your own presence felt muted.

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