After a lingering embrace, Renaâs voice, velvety soft, articulated her rationale.
âI want our babyâs father to be just as informed.
I wonât take on this journey alone.
â
Waylenâs mind rewound to the past.
Renaâs Labor with Alexis was shadowed by his trial in Braseovell, the same morning their villa was engulfed in flames.
The birth of Marcus was tainted by Mavisâs interference, depriving Rena of proper care.
Regret rippled through Waylen, a pang of sympathy for Renaâs past experiences.
Seated beside her, Waylen pressed his forehead against Renaâs, a gesture of intimacy.
He murmured, âI vow to cherish the mother of our baby.
Rest easy, Miss Gordon.
â
Renaâs gaze ascended, her lashes quivering ever so slightly.
Miss Gordon?
Had his memories returned?
Waylen remained taciturn, enfolding her within his embrace.
From his pocket, he withdrew a delicate object and tenderly placed it in Renaâs hand.
âThis is for you.
Keep it.
â
Renaâs head dipped, her gaze now resting on her open palm.
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Nestled there was an emerald, its pieces interwoven.
It was a token once bestowed upon her by Harold.
This very trinket had been her lifeline in her darkest hour.
Her fingers traced the emeraldâs contours, and she inquired with a hint of playfulness.
âWhen did you become so magnanimous, Mr.
Fowler?â
Her use of âMr.
Fowlerâ indicated an awareness of their shared dream.
Waylen regarded her, a tender smile playing on his Lips.
âTell me, when did I become anything but magnanimous?â
Rena returned the smile.
In her serene countenance, Waylen detected an inexplicable sentiment, stirring something within him.