Page 33 of Brutal Reign

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

HOPE

“The knight can’t keep losingevery battle,” I protest, holding up the mangled plastic figure that’s seen better days. “This is the third time your T-Rex has made him into dinner!”

Kin’s laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest; the sound makes my heart squeeze. “But, Mama, T-Rex is super hungry. He can’t help it.”

We’re camped out on my son’s bedroom floor, a fortress of pillows and blankets surrounding us, toys strewn everywhere like the aftermath of an epic battle. I should be tucking him into bed by now, but I missed spending time with him today because Simon dragged me to another meeting with new supporters. It was all smiles, handshakes, and pretending to be the devoted fiancée.

Being with Kin is the only time I feel truly myself. Truly happy.

I brush a strand of his dark hair off his forehead, then let my fingers trail down his cheek, marveling at the softness of his skin. At four years old, Kin is already clever beyond his years. Sweet, too, but with a mischievous streak that keeps me on mytoes. He asks big questions—about stars and whales and where thunder comes from—but still dissolves into giggles when I do silly voices during our games.

He looks so much like me: the straight dark hair, the shape of his face, his nose. Everything except for his eyes. They’re bright blue and intense, unlike anything from my family line.

Physically, there’s little of Lukas in him, but I sense he might have inherited some of his father’s personality. I wish I could have known Lukas better, to understand what kind of man he was beyond our one night. What would he think of the incredible little boy we made? I know I’ll never get the answer.

Eventually, I manage to corral the toy chaos and settle Kin into bed with a final story. Before lights out, he flashes those baby blues at me, complete with an exaggerated puppy dog expression.

“Mama?” he whispers.

“Yes, love?”

His face takes on that serious look he gets when he’s plotting something. “I’m really, really hungry.”

I raise a brow. “Impossible. Mei said you ate a mountain of noodles at dinner.” His nanny, Mei, even sent me a picture of his impressive meal.

He nods solemnly. “I think I grew again. I need a snack.”

I stifle a laugh. For all I know, that might be true. I remember when this little schemer could sleep curled up on my chest like a kitten. Now, he’s all elbows and knees, and endless questions about why the world works the way it does.

They say nothing prepares you for motherhood, and in my case, it was doubly true. I had no roadmap, no mother’s wisdom to guide me through the sleepless nights and constant worry. But somehow, against all odds, I figured it out. Kin came into my world and changed my life for the better. I have him, if nothing else.

He’s still looking at me hopefully for that snack. I really should say no—it’s already past his bedtime—but I’m a sucker when he bats his eyes at me.

“Something small,” I agree.

I pause at the door, peeking toward Simon’s wing of the penthouse. He’s rarely home, which is the one saving grace of this arrangement.

With a conspiratorial smile, I turn to Kin. “Alright. The coast is clear, but we have to be extra quiet,” I say because he loves the idea of making a game out of it, pretending we’re on a secret mission.

He puts a finger to his lips as we tiptoe down the carpeted hallway. Kin clutches his stuffed dino under his arms, his small hand in mine.

When we reach the kitchen, he darts ahead, tugging open the fridge to survey his options. He stands on tiptoes and grabs a yogurt cup, then glances over his shoulder with a small grin. “Mama, we need two yogurts because I don’t want to share.”

I shake my head, biting back a smile. “It’s okay. I don’t need a snack.”

“Yes, you do,” he says with authority.

We sit at the island, side by side, as he swings his legs from the stool, happily spooning yogurt into his mouth.

“Mama?”

“Mmm?”

“Why doesn’t Simon like me?”