Chapter 2 — Uninvited Ghosts

Axarii

The café door swung open with a soft jingle, letting in a brisk morning breeze that tousled the ends of Axarii’s curls as she sat hunched over her laptop. The warm scent of cinnamon and espresso cocooned her, mingling with the faint hum of soft jazz playing in the background. She was immersed in the intricate details of a client’s logo design, her fingers dancing across the keys as she adjusted the gradient of a rose-colored petal. This was her element—creating order out of chaos, finding beauty in structure. The café was her sanctuary, a space where the demands of motherhood and the noise of the outside world softened into a manageable, rhythmic buzz.

Her usual table by the window, with its scuffed wooden surface and the faint coffee rings of countless mornings, was a small, constant refuge. The barista had smiled knowingly when she walked in, already preparing her usual cappuccino. Here, she could breathe, focus, and, for a moment, feel like more than just a mother juggling endless responsibilities.

But the moment fractured. The air shifted, a subtle disruption that tightened her chest before her mind even registered why. She glanced up, her hazel eyes scanning the café with casual curiosity—until they landed on him.

Oliver Hayes.

He stood just inside the doorway, silhouetted against the sunlight streaming through the glass. He had always carried himself with a composed and commanding air, and time had only refined those edges. His broad shoulders filled the space, his dark brown hair neatly groomed, and his sharp blue eyes scanned the room with that quiet intensity she once knew too well. He wore a simple button-down shirt and jeans, but nothing about him felt casual. He was a man who turned heads without trying, and right now, hers was spinning.

Her heart lurched, a physical jolt that left her breathless. Her fingers stilled on the keyboard as though frozen mid-thought. Five years. Five years of silence, of absence, of rebuilding. And here he was, as if conjured by some cruel twist of fate.

She clutched the edge of her laptop, her knuckles white against the smooth surface. A familiar weight pressed against her collarbone—the pendant she wore religiously, its infinity symbol cool against her skin. Her thumb instinctively brushed over the stone embedded within, seeking refuge in its quiet strength. Her mother’s words echoed faintly as her fingers lingered: *“Never forget your strength.”*

For a moment, Oliver didn’t see her. He turned to the counter, nodding politely at the barista as he scanned the menu, his movements unhurried, almost cautious. Axarii’s mind raced, her instincts warring—should she bolt before he noticed her, or stay rooted, unmoving, like prey hoping to avoid a predator’s gaze? Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the steady jazz in the background.

Then he turned, and their eyes met.

The world tilted.

For a single, excruciating beat, his expression was unreadable—the mask of composure he wore so expertly. But then it cracked. His blue eyes widened just slightly, and a flicker of something raw passed through them: vulnerability, hesitation, perhaps even regret. He took a step forward, and the spell broke.

Axarii’s hands trembled as she closed her laptop, shoving it into her bag with sharp, deliberate movements. Her stomach churned with a cocktail of emotions too tangled to name. Before she could think of what to do next, his voice cut through the din of the café.

“Axarii,” he said, low and steady, yet unmistakably hesitant.

Her name on his lips hit her like a blow, a force that yanked her backward into memories she’d spent years trying to bury. She froze, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. Slowly, she turned to face him, her expression carefully guarded as she met his gaze.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice calm but edged with steel.

Oliver hesitated, his hands dropping into his pockets as though trying to anchor himself. “I wanted to see you,” he said, his tone measured. “And the twins.”

The twins. *Her* twins. Axarii’s chest tightened as a protective instinct reared up, fierce and unrelenting. She thought of Reyna’s sparkling grin and Cole’s quiet wisdom, thought of the nights spent comforting them when their questions about a father they barely knew became too much to bear. Reyna, who would likely embrace him with open arms, and Cole, who would see through him in an instant. The life she had built for them—solid, nurturing, safe—was her greatest achievement. And now, here he was, threatening to disrupt it all.

“You don’t get to just show up after five years,” she said, her voice low but firm, unmistakably resolute. “You don’t get to waltz in here like—” She bit down on the rest of her words, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. “Why now?”

He shifted his weight, and his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, like a man carrying a burden too long ignored. “I stepped back,” he began, his voice quieter now, “from my role at the company. From everything. I had to. There was a moment—I was sitting in that office, surrounded by everything I thought mattered, and I realized I had nothing.” He paused, his gaze steady but his voice faltering slightly. “I needed to make things right.”

Axarii’s laugh was sharp and humorless, cutting through the warmth of the café like glass against stone. “Make things right?” she echoed. “You think you can just undo everything with an apology? You can’t fix what you broke, Oliver. Some things aren’t as easy to repair as a broken promise.”

He flinched, the words landing squarely. For a flicker of a moment, pain etched itself across his features, raw and unguarded, before he reassembled his composure. “I’m not here to pretend I can fix it all,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something softer. “I know I hurt you, Axarii. More than I can put into words. And I’ll never stop regretting it. But I want to try—for them.”

Her stomach twisted at his words. The twins. Always the twins. Her grip tightened on her bag, nails digging into the fabric. “You don’t know them,” she said, her voice trembling despite her attempt to remain calm. “You don’t know who they are or what they need. You don’t get to just walk in and decide to be their father now.”

“Then let me learn,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers, unwavering. “Let me try. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I’m asking for a chance to be in their lives.”

She took a step back, her pendant clutched tightly between her fingers. The smooth metal grounded her, its weight a reminder of her strength, of all she had endured and rebuilt. A flash of memory flickered—Reyna’s hopeful question, *“Do you think Daddy misses us?”*—sending a pang of doubt through her resolve.

“I can’t do this,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Not here. Not now.”

His lips parted as if to respond, but she didn’t let him. Turning on her heel, she walked toward the door, her flats clicking against the tiled floor. The brisk morning air hit her like a slap as she stepped outside, the chill biting at her skin even through her jacket.

She didn’t look back.

Her feet carried her down the street, past the familiar rows of shops and trees that lined the quiet suburban road. The café faded into the background, along with the weight of his gaze. Her mind was a maelstrom, her thoughts fragmented and jagged. *Reyna would welcome him. Cole would hesitate. And me? I don’t even know.*

Clutching her pendant tightly, she quickened her pace, her breaths coming in sharp bursts that matched the rhythm of her steps. She thought of Reyna and Cole, of the warm, steady bubble she had built for them, and drew strength from that image. Whatever came next, she would face it as she always had—deliberately, fiercely, on her own terms.

Letting Oliver back into their world would require more than words or intentions. It would require proof. And she wasn’t sure if even he could give her that.