"Sometimes, the truth we refuse to see is the one reflected right before our eyes."
*****
(Brayden's POV)
The moment I stepped out of her office, I thought I could finally breathe again.
But as I walked past the art room, a soft sound of laughter made my footsteps falter.
I turned my head—
and there she was.
The little girl from before.
She sat by the window, small hands moving with care as she drew bright flowers on white paper. Sunlight spilled across her hair, turning it into threads of soft gold.
Something in her smile—open, gentle, achingly familiar—made my chest tighten.
I didn't know why.
But for a fleeting second, it felt like looking into a reflection of something I'd lost—
a part of me I never realized was missing.
Before I could think more, Tian's voice broke through the haze.
"Sir, we need to go. Your next meeting starts in twenty minutes."
I blinked, as if waking from a dream. "Right."
But I didn't leave.
Not yet.
My steps slowed, and instead of walking away, I found myself lingering by the doorway, watching her.
Her quiet humming filled the room—soft, steady, innocent.
Those eyes… those eyes shouldn't have felt so familiar.
And yet, they did.
*****
The next morning, a pale light draped the city as I found myself once again before the gates of the foundation.
I hadn't planned this.
The driver had merely followed the address I'd mumbled—and I hadn't realized where I was going until I saw the building standing before me again.
Inside, Anya was arranging papers at the reception desk. Her head snapped up when she saw me.
"Mr. Brayden?" she asked, surprise coloring her tone. "You're here again? Do you have another meeting with Mrs. Brianna?"
I shook my head. "No. I just wanted to… look around. This place has been on my mind since last night."
Anya hesitated, uncertain how to respond. "Oh. I see. Well, Mrs. Brianna isn't here right now."
I nodded, though my gaze drifted past her, down the familiar hallway.
Then, a cheerful honk echoed outside—the school bus.
Anya smiled. "Ah, the kids are back."
Moments later, a small figure hopped off the bus.
A tiny backpack bounced on her shoulders as her laughter filled the air—light, melodic, disarmingly pure.
It was her.
Ella.
She waved goodbye to her friends before running toward the reception desk.
"Miss Anya! Has Mommy come back yet?"
Mommy.
The word landed like a fist against my ribs. My breath caught, my chest tightened— No. That's impossible.
Anya smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Ella's forehead. "Not yet, sweetheart. Your mom's still checking the restaurant for the charity event."
"Oh." Ella nodded, still smiling. Then she turned—
and froze when she saw me.
For a heartbeat, our eyes met.
She didn't look away. Just blinked up at me curiously, lips curling into a polite, innocent smile—
the kind that somehow made something deep inside me shift.
"Then I'll go to the art room, Miss Anya," she said softly. "I want to finish my hope flowers."
Anya chuckled. "Of course, sweetheart. Be careful, okay?"
Ella nodded and skipped away down the hall.
I watched her until she vanished around the corner, an unexplainable ache twisting in my chest.
"Who's that girl?" I asked quietly.
Anya blinked, surprised. "That's Briella, sir."
"I know her name." My voice was lower now. "I meant… who's her mother?"
Anya hesitated, then answered carefully. "Mrs. Brianna."
The words landed like a silent explosion.
Brianna.
Ella was Brianna's daughter?
My pulse stumbled. "So… she's Brianna's child?"
Anya nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. Ella is her biological daughter."
For a long moment, I couldn't speak. The air itself seemed thinner—harder to breathe.
A thousand thoughts collided in my mind, sharp and blinding.
Brianna had a daughter.
She had a child.
But if she never married…
I swallowed hard. "Is Mrs. Brianna married?"
Anya shook her head immediately. "No, sir. She's never been married."
The ground beneath me seemed to tilt. "Never married," I repeated softly.
"Then who was the father?"
The question clawed at the back of my mind, burning for an answer I wasn't ready to hear.
Anya fidgeted, uneasy. "I'm sorry, sir. Mrs. Brianna never talks about Ella's father. It's something she keeps very private."
I nodded absently, my gaze slipping toward the window overlooking the garden.
Private.
Of course.
Brianna had always been good at hiding the things that hurt.
Still, something about that little girl refused to let me go—
her laughter, her warmth, those eyes I couldn't forget.
I'd seen them before.
Years ago.
"May I look around a bit more?" I asked, keeping my tone steady.
Anya smiled politely. "Of course, Mr. Brayden. Take your time."
I gave a brief nod and walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last.
Then I heard it again—
her laughter.
It floated from the art room, light as air.
I stopped by the door, peering through the narrow gap.
Ella sat at the table, her tongue peeking out in concentration as she carefully colored the petals of a flower.
Around her, the other children chattered and giggled, but she seemed lost in her own little world—softly humming to herself.
There was a peace in her, a quiet joy that tugged at something buried deep within me.
My hand clenched at my side.
She was just a child. A stranger.
And yet...
The way she tilted her head when she smiled.
The tiny furrow in her brow when she focused.
It was too familiar. Too close.
Too much like—
No. That's impossible.
I drew in a slow breath, forcing myself to move—but I didn't leave.
I stood there in silence, unable to tear my gaze away from her—
from the little girl with Brianna's smile—
and the eyes that shouldn't have looked like mine.