CHAPTER 148: STILL CAN’T DO IT

Hailee’s POV

For a long time, I stayed quiet. Speechless. Frederick was kind. He saved me when no one else could. He stayed by my side, helped me, and cared for my sons like they were his own. Any woman would be happy to have him.

But me? My heart didn’t work that way. I couldn’t love him, not the way he deserved. My heart was still tied to Nathan, Callum, and Dane. Even though they hated me now, even though I had lied to them, I still loved them. That love hadn’t died. I knew it never would.

And yet... telling Frederick "no" hurt me too. He had given me so much without asking for anything. How could I hurt him like that?

I swallowed hard. "Frederick... you are a good man," I said softly. My voice shook. "Better than I deserve."

He watched me, his eyes calm, but I could see hope hiding there too.

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. "But I can’t answer right now. Your world and mine... they’re too different. And my heart..." My throat hurt as I whispered, "...my heart is still with them."

The room went quiet. I glanced up, scared of what I might see on his face.

He only nodded slowly. His jaw was tight, but he didn’t get angry—or maybe he was good at hiding it. "So... what will you do? The boys need a father... you, Hailee... you need a man," he asked.

I took a shaky breath. He was right, but... "I’ll think about it," I whispered. "That’s all I can promise you now. I’ll think about it."

Frederick leaned back in his chair. His eyes stayed on me, composed and calm. "Then that’s enough. For now, I won’t force you," he said.

I turned my face away as tears rolled down my cheeks. My sons shifted in their little bed, their small sounds breaking the silence. I wished... I wished I could give them everything they deserved. A whole family. A father. A truth that wouldn’t break them. But all I had was silence and promises I wasn’t sure I could keep.

TWO YEARS LATER!!

Time had a way of moving whether I was ready or not. Two years had gone by, and my boys were no longer helpless newborns. They were walking—no, running—through the halls, their laughter spilling like music wherever they went.

Oscar, my eldest, was the loudest. His green eyes burned bright, always daring, always testing the world around him. He had Nathan’s fire. Sometimes when he laughed, my heart twisted so hard I had to look away.

Oliver, with his sea-blue eyes, was softer, thoughtful. He clung to my skirts more than the others, but when he smiled, it lit the room. He was gentle, but his gaze was sharp, noticing things no child his age should. He had Callum’s calmness.

And then Ozzy. My smallest, my quietest. His brown eyes seemed to hold secrets far older than he was. He watched everything, spoke less, but when he cried, it broke me in ways the others didn’t. He carried Dane’s effect on me.

It’s amazing how each boy carries the traits of the men I left behind.

My boys were my world. My reason for breathing. My curse and my blessing all in one.

Frederick had kept his word. He never forced me. Never pressed me again about marriage. But he never left, either. He was there for every scraped knee, every late-night fever, every tear I couldn’t wipe fast enough. The boys loved him—called him "Godfather." To them, he was safe. To me, he was... complicated.

Sometimes, when I caught him watching me, his eyes softer than they should be, guilt crawled up my throat. I had never given him an answer. "I’ll think about it" was still all I had to offer. And yet, he stayed. Never showed up with a woman at the house. Never came back smelling of another’s perfume or with lipstick on him.

Mother often told me I was lucky, that many women prayed for a man like Frederick. But luck didn’t change the ache inside me. I still loved them. Nathan. Callum. Dane. Even if they hated me, even if they thought I’d betrayed them, my heart had never moved on.

And now, with the boys growing, I lived in fear. Fear that one day they would ask who their real father was. Fear that one day the truth would claw its way out, whether I wanted it to or not.

The clock had long passed midnight when the front door creaked open. I was still awake, pacing the hall with Oliver on my hip. He was restless tonight, and though the other boys were asleep, I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes.

Uneven footsteps echoed down the corridor. My stomach twisted even before I saw him.

Frederick.

He leaned against the wall, his tall frame unsteady. His shirt hung loose, his white hair messy, his eyes heavy and unfocused. A faint smell of wine clung to him, sharp and unfamiliar. In two years, I had never seen him like this.

"Frederick?" I whispered, my voice small in the quiet house. I passed Oliver to a nanny quickly and moved toward him. "What happened to you?"

He tried to wave me off, but his steps faltered. Without thinking, I slipped under his arm, steadying him. His weight pressed down on me, cool and solid, heavier than I expected.

"Come on," I murmured, guiding him to his chamber. "You need to lie down."

He didn’t argue. His silence was strange, unsettling. By the time I got him to the bed, my arms were shaking, but I managed to sit him down.

He just stared at me. His eyes, glassy with drink, softened in a way that made my heart ache. Then, in a low, uneven voice, he said, "You shouldn’t have to carry me. I should be the one carrying you."

My breath caught. "Frederick—"

His hand lifted, cool fingers brushing my cheek. The touch lingered, gentle, searching. And then, before I could stop him, his lips pressed against mine.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t even desperate. It was soft, questioning, almost fragile. His lips moved against mine as if asking me for something I didn’t know how to give.

For a heartbeat, I let him. I closed my eyes and tried—tried to feel what he deserved. He had stood by me when no one else would. He had loved my sons as though they were his own. He had protected me when even death came close. He deserved love. He deserved someone who could give him everything.

But my heart refused.

Instead of warmth, I felt grief. Instead of fire, I felt emptiness. Nathan. Callum. Dane. Their faces, their voices, their touch—they flooded my mind, smothering me. My heart still belonged to them, even after two years.

I pulled away, breathless, my chest aching.

Frederick’s eyes searched mine, confused, hurt, but still calm.

"I tried," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I swear I tried. But I can’t feel it. Not the way you deserve."

Silence hung heavy. He looked down at his hands, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.

And I hated myself. Not for refusing him—but for letting him believe, even for a moment, that I could love him back.