Jason
He hadn't meant to see her.
Not today. Not like this.
He'd told himself he would wait. Find a quiet moment, speak to Henry first—if at all. Maybe just watch from a distance and then vanish again. That had been the plan. Clean. Cowardly. Safe.
But then the boy had found him.
And then she had come.
And the world shifted.
Jason stood still as stone, though his heart thundered like a war drum in his chest.
He had imagined this moment too many times to count.
Fantasized about it.
Feared it.
And yet nothing had prepared him for the reality of Adele standing before him.
She wasn't dressed like the girl he remembered. No — she was a woman now. Regal, graceful, every inch the countess. Her gown was pale blue silk embroidered with silver vines, her hair twisted in a soft updo, strands curling at her cheeks like secrets.
But it wasn't her beauty that undid him.
It was the way she looked at her son — a tenderness that made his throat burn. And then, when her gaze lifted to Jason — the way her entire body stiffened, her lips parted slightly, eyes wide.
She knew. Instantly.
And he knew she knew.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
He could see it — the wave crashing inside her. Surprise, disbelief, anger, confusion… and something else. Something more dangerous. Something that looked like grief soaked in longing.
He had no right to stand here.
He'd left. Vanished. Like a coward. A broken-hearted, illegitimate shadow of a man.
He had nothing to offer her. Not then. Not now.
And still, here he was — unable to take a step away.
Because seeing her again was like breathing after years underwater.
When Charles ran into her arms, Jason looked away. Not out of shame — but to give them a moment he had no place in. Yet he couldn't help stealing glances. The way she kissed the top of her son's head. The way she clutched him tighter than she meant to.
She's been carrying this alone.
His jaw clenched.
He should have come back. He should have written. He should have—
"—You're back," she said.
He looked up.
Her voice was cool, but her eyes were full of unshed questions. And pain. So much pain.
"I didn't plan to… not today," Jason said, voice rough, barely his own. "I just—"
He stopped. There was no excuse that didn't taste like dust.
But then the boy — their boy — smiled and invited him to a birthday party.
And Adele didn't refuse.
He saw her swallow her shock, saw her take the weight of everything and fold it into elegance. Just like she always did.
She was still wearing her crown.
Even as she stood on trembling legs.
He didn't move until she walked away.
Even then, he stayed frozen for a moment longer — heart cracking open like a wound that never really healed.
She was everything he remembered.
And something more.
A mother. A queen. A woman who had survived without him.
He had no right to ask for anything.
But he also knew — with terrible, aching certainty — that he could never leave again.
Not truly.
Because Jason Ashbourne had spent a lifetime loving Adele.
And now he knew:
She was no longer a dream.
She was flesh and soul and sorrow and strength.
And he was burning.
Burning with the need to hold her.
To claim the years he lost.
To shatter the chains that bound them to silence and duty.
To do whatever it took — whatever it cost —
to finally make her his own.