Chapter 249: Chapter 249: A Qualified Full-Time Dad
Wren Sutton raised a trembling hand. Her fingertips brushed against the cold wetness on her cheek.
A faint sliver of light filtered in from the window.
She leaned against the headboard without turning on a light, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The faint morning light traced pale patterns on the ceiling, like shimmering reflections on water.
She stared at the play of light and shadow, and everything that had happened in the dream rushed back into her mind with sharp clarity.
The almost transparent, azure waters of the Calypsos Sea, the salty wind lifting her long hair and the hem of her dress.
Adrian Lancaster smiling at her in the sunset, the tenderness in his eyes nearly overflowing.
He held her hand as they walked barefoot across the sun-warmed sand. He fumbled clumsily with the SIZZLING skewers on the outdoor grill. When the fireworks bloomed in the sky, he pulled her into a tight embrace, his warm breath tickling her ear.
Those images were so real—they had warmth, a scent, a heartbeat.
It was a happiness she had never possessed.
Wren could even recall the all-consuming sweetness of the dream, as if her entire being was enveloped in warm ocean water.
Then, Maya Marshall appeared.
The sweet bubble was instantly pierced by a sharp blade.
The cold steel, the glaring blood, the crazed eyes, the venomous curses.
Wren closed her eyes. More tears slid silently from their corners, soaking into her pillow.
A panicked tightness seized her chest, followed by waves of dull pain.
The more real the sweetness of the dream, the more heart-wrenching the subsequent violence and gore.
She couldn’t tell if her tears were for the beautiful, illusory dream that was ultimately shattered, or for the heavy past that lay between Adrian Lancaster and Maya Marshall—a past she had never truly understood.
After some unknown length of time, motes of dust began to float in the gradually brightening light.
From downstairs, she could faintly hear the soft sounds of the staff starting to prepare breakfast.
But her heart remained trapped in that terrifying dream, torn between sweetness and fear, unable to find peace for a long, long time.
...
「One week later.」
The stabbing pain and swelling in Wren Sutton’s ankle had completely vanished. It had healed well, and she could walk normally again.
Adrian Lancaster had just finished bathing the two children.
He was dressed in simple gray loungewear, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He still carried the scent of steam and the warm fragrance of baby shampoo.
With one hand, he securely held his daughter, who was wrapped in a soft towel with only her little head peeking out. He skillfully placed her in the crib with its safety rails.
Fresh from her bath, the baby was so comfortable her eyelids were drooping, and she waved a tiny hand unconsciously.
Their son was on the changing table nearby. Adrian walked over and took the clean diaper the maternity nurse handed him.
"I’ll do it."
Adrian bent down, gently holding his son’s kicking feet with one hand. With the other, he deftly unfolded the diaper, slid it underneath, adjusted its position, and secured the Velcro tabs.
The entire process took less than thirty seconds, his technique precise yet gentle.
The maternity nurse stood to the side, a smile of approval on her face. "Mr. Lancaster is even better at this than I am now. He’s a qualified full-time dad."
Adrian didn’t look up. He tested the temperature of the bottle with his fingertip before carefully bringing it to his son’s mouth.
He slightly adjusted the angle, his gaze fixed on the little one’s sucking. Only after confirming the baby was swallowing properly did he murmur, "Practice makes perfect."
The clumsiness and overcautiousness from a week ago had faded, replaced by a steady, effortless rhythm.
Adrian could now accurately distinguish the meaning of their different cries—whether they were hungry, tired, or uncomfortable.
He knew which brand of wipes was the softest, which angle for burping was most effective, and he had learned how to do simple exercises with them to relieve gas.
Wren couldn’t help but turn her head to look at him.
The warm yellow light outlined the contour of Adrian’s profile.
There was a hint of new stubble on his chin and faint dark circles under his eyes—traces of sleepless nights spent caring for the children.
But his eyes were bright. The sharpness he carried in the business world was gone, replaced by something more grounded and solid.
He was completely immersed in the unique atmosphere of the nursery—a blend of milky scents and clean air—and it made him seem incredibly soft.
Time passed, second by second. The night deepened, and all was still.
Wren woke from a deep sleep with no warning. Her consciousness was like a stone dropped into still water, sending out clear, sharp ripples.
The room was pitch-black, with only a few faint wisps of light seeping through a gap in the curtains—she couldn’t tell if it was moonlight or the glow from a distant streetlight.
Her sleepiness vanished without a trace. Her mind was unusually clear, so quiet she could hear her own steady breathing and the extremely faint sounds coming from the nursery.
She lay there for who knows how long, staring at the blurry ceiling as time seemed to stretch in the silence.
Wren tossed and turned, unable to fall back asleep.
She finally gave up and got out of bed. Tiptoeing barefoot on the carpet, she made her way to the nursery.
Pushing the door open, she was met with a softer glow.
A small, mushroom-shaped night-light in the corner cast a warm, yellow glow, creating a cozy atmosphere.
In the two side-by-side cribs, the two children were fast asleep.
Her son had his head turned slightly to the side, one tiny hand raised near his ear, his mouth smacking unconsciously.
Her daughter lay on her back, her long lashes casting a small, fan-shaped shadow beneath her eyes. Her little chest rose and fell gently with each even breath, looking as well-behaved as an adorable kitten.
The room was filled with the faint, characteristic baby smells of milk and clean powder.
Wren’s gaze swept past the children and landed on the long sofa placed against the wall.
Adrian was lying there on his side, facing the cribs.
One of his hands extended over the edge of the sofa, resting loosely on the rail of the nearest crib, as if maintaining a protective watch even in his sleep.
He was asleep, his breathing deep and slow, but his brow wasn’t relaxed. A very faint crease was gathered above the bridge of his nose, and his lips were pressed into a tight line.
It wasn’t the posture of someone in a completely relaxed slumber. Instead, he looked like a soldier on a break, still keeping a thread of tension, ready to respond to any disturbance.
The light from the night-light slanted in from behind Adrian, casting an interplay of light and shadow across his sharp features.
One side of his straight nose was illuminated, while the other was hidden in darkness. The line of his jaw was taut, tracing a weary arc.
The thin blanket that was supposed to be covering him had long since slipped off. Most of it was bunched up below his waist, with only a corner draped haphazardly over his body.
The weather had turned cooler, and the room temperature was low.
Adrian’s arm, exposed to the air, looked starkly pale in the lamplight. She could even see the faint network of veins over his firm muscles.
Wren stood by the crib, watching him quietly for a moment.
After a moment, she padded across the carpet and stopped in front of the sofa.
Bending down, she reached out and picked up the blanket that had slipped to the floor. It was soft and slightly cool to the touch.
Wren’s movements were very light; she didn’t want to wake Adrian.
However, the very instant her fingertips felt the fine cashmere fibers, the hand that had been resting casually on the crib rail shot out like a leopard poised to strike, seizing her wrist in a precise, powerful grip.
Wren: "..."
A warm touch and an inescapable strength enveloped her in an instant.
Wren’s breath caught. Before she could even react, she found herself looking straight into Adrian’s open eyes.
