Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 273: I’m Your Mummy

Winn nodded to Mary—a silent confirmation that they were ready.

Mary rose carefully, smoothing Elizabeth’s onesie before handing the baby over. Ivy’s breath hitched as the warm, impossibly small weight settled into her arms.

"Hey, Liz," she whispered. "Hi." Her bottom lip quivered. "I’m your mummy. And this..." she angled the baby slightly, "...this is your daddy."

Elizabeth cooed. Ivy nearly collapsed from the sweetness.

Winn stood behind her, tall, stoic, every muscle locked.

Mary quietly slipped away, giving them privacy.

Ivy shifted Elizabeth in her arms and shot Winn a sideways glare. "Oh would you at least give her a smile?" she hissed under her breath.

"I... I don’t know what to do with babies," he admitted.

Ivy rolled her eyes, and gently handed Elizabeth over to Winn. His hands were visibly shaking as he took her, palms warm and unsure, afraid of doing anything at all. But the moment Elizabeth wrapped her tiny fingers around his thumb—gripping with surprising strength, as if anchoring herself to him—something profound shifted.

It was immediate.

All the stress, all the grief, all the tension Winn had been carrying melted away. His shoulders sagged. His breath finally escaped him in a long, shaky exhale. The sharp edges of his jaw softened, his eyes warming as they fixed on the tiny human clutching him. The smile that crept up on his face wasn’t forced or cautious. It was instinctive. Natural. Earned.

"See," Ivy said quietly, a teasing lilt in her voice to mask the emotion threatening to break through. "Easy, isn’t it?"

A small laugh bubbled up from his chest. He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving Elizabeth. "She is... gorgeous."

"Yes, she is." Ivy stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm as she leaned in to look at their daughter. "We made this. We made her together."

Then suddenly, Ivy froze.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my God—I cannot marry Eugene."

"What?" He looked up at her, brows knitting together. "What part of this moment warrants that coming up?"

She began pacing immediately, hands gesturing wildly as if her thoughts had suddenly outpaced her ability to process them. "What am I supposed to say to him, Winn? ’Hi, surprise! I have a baby with my ex, but don’t worry, we can coparent’? Because that sounds like a dream pitch."

He adjusted Elizabeth slightly, instinctively protective.

"I like the first idea better then," he said flatly.

Ivy stopped pacing and stared at him. "The first idea? Which part was that exactly?"

"The not marrying Eugene or anyone else for that matter. I’m not doing that coparenting shit with another man. I was raised by a man who wasn’t my father. And I’ll tell you right now, that shit ain’t happening with my daughter."

"You’re being... very intense right now and there is a little baby in your arms. Behave."

"Sorry," Winn said. He clearly didn’t understand the protocol of what one was supposed to say or how one was supposed to behave in the presence of a child—his child.

"Oh jeez. I’m a horrible person... a horrible, horrible person."

Winn frowned. "Can we deal with that when we get back to New York, please?" he asked gently, as if negotiating with a storm. "One crisis at a time."

Ivy looked down at Elizabeth once more. Her daughter. A daughter she had mourned. Buried in her heart. Cried for in the quiet hours of the night when no one was watching.

In that moment—just the three of them, she wished above all things that the universe would be kind for once. That it would stop testing them. That it would let them be a family. A real one.

She leaned her head briefly against Winn’s shoulder.

*****

Tom barged into the house he had bought for Morgana. Fire burned in his eyes.

"Daddy!" Marissa’s small voice rang out.

His seven-year-old daughter rushed forward, her face lighting up with unfiltered joy, arms already lifting for a hug.

"Get the hell out of here!" Tom barked.

Marissa’s entire body folded inward as if she’d been physically hit. Her arms dropped. Her shoulders hunched. The light in her eyes dimmed instantly, replaced with fear. She retreated a step, then another, shrinking into herself the way children do when they learn—too early—that love can be unpredictable.

Morgana appeared from the hallway. "Don’t snap at the kids like that!" she snapped, fury blazing as she approached him. "What’s gotten into you?!"

Morgana crouched immediately in front of Marissa, softening her voice, schooling her face into calm even as anger simmered beneath the surface. She kissed the little girl gently on the head, smoothing her hair back.

"Daddy is sorry," she said firmly. "Okay? Go upstairs. Go play with your brothers."

Marissa nodded silently and scampered away, her small feet pattering up the stairs.

Morgana stood slowly and turned back to Tom, folding her arms. "You don’t get to bring whatever this is into my house and take it out on my children."

"Don’t... don’t snap at me in the presence of the kids," Tom warned.

Morgana turned on him slowly, her eyes sharp and unimpressed. "Oh go to hell, Tom. You don’t treat our kids that way. Ever." She gestured vaguely toward the staircase. "What is the problem? And please—use your bedroom voice."

"I can’t see her. I can’t see Anna."

Morgana arched a brow. "Oh, I thought you were going to start ranting about Sylvia," she said dryly, turning her back on him and moving toward the sofa. She sat with deliberate calm, crossing her legs, as if refusing to grant his chaos a front-row seat. "I really am not in the mood to deal with any kind of sadness today. You can’t see Anna—why?"

Tom stopped pacing. His head snapped toward her. "I have to switch the medicine back, you dumb bitch!"

Morgana tilted her head slightly, studying him the way one might study a poorly behaved animal. "And why would you want to do that?" she asked coolly, as if he’d just suggested changing the curtains.

(this is to 100 golden tickets. Whew! its been a busy day! To the reader who gave 25 golden tickets, thank you. You have been quite the quiet reader, haven’t you?)