CHAPTER 67: CHAPTER 67 HIS JOURNEY TO WIN HER HEART2

Serena’s POV

I woke up way too early this morning, rushing to get ready for work. When I opened my door, there was Milton standing in the hallway, holding what looked like a gourmet breakfast spread.

I pretended not to see him, hurrying past with my purse clutched tightly against my side.

The pregnancy was making me nauseous in the mornings anyway—the last thing I needed was Ryan’s personal chef hovering around me like some kind of food-wielding guardian angel.

"Ms. Quinn! I’ve prepared a nutritious breakfast with extra folate! Very important for the baby!" Milton called after me, his voice echoing down the hallway.

I quickened my pace, jabbing the elevator button repeatedly. "Not hungry, thanks!" I called back, relief washing over me when the doors finally slid open.

Little did I know, Milton wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

I’d been at my desk for barely an hour when the receptionist buzzed me. "Ms. Quinn, there’s a Chef Milton here with what he calls your ’essential prenatal nutrition package’?"

My hand froze over my keyboard. "Tell him I’m in a meeting."

"He says he’ll wait. And... he’s already setting up in the break room."

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. By lunchtime, the entire studio was buzzing with whispers and sideways glances. Maya cornered me in the supplies closet, her eyes wide with excitement.

"So it’s true—he moved in next door?" she demanded, barely containing her excitement. "You were really going to keep this from me?"

"Could you say it a little louder? I don’t think they heard you in CHINA," I hissed, looking around nervously.

"Is that why he sent his personal chef? Oh my god, are you two getting back together? The whole office is talking about it!"

I winced, imagining the gossip spreading through every department. "We are NOT getting back together. He’s just being... considerate."

Maya raised an eyebrow. "Considerate enough to move next door and send his chef to feed you daily? That’s not consideration, honey, that’s a full-blown reconciliation campaign."

I couldn’t argue with her logic, but I wasn’t ready to admit it either.

When I finally emerged from hiding, Julian was standing by my office, his expression unreadable. His usually warm eyes had turned cold, his shoulders stiff under his perfectly tailored blazer.

"Congratulations on your pregnancy," he said formally, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. "I wasn’t aware you were planning to reunite with your ex-husband."

Before I could correct him, Maya leaned against my office doorway, sighing dramatically. "Such a shame, really. Poor Julian, so faithful and devoted, all for nothing."

I shot her a withering glare. "Don’t you have work to do? Those sketches for the Hanover account were due yesterday."

Julian walked away without another word, leaving me feeling oddly guilty despite having nothing to apologize for.

The next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of success.

Dreamland Studio was thriving—we’d secured contracts with three major retailers, and my designs were being featured in fashion magazines across the country.

As our reputation grew, so did my belly, becoming harder to disguise under loose-fitting clothes.

One evening, scrolling through news updates while resting my swollen feet on the coffee table, a headline caught my eye: "Children with Congenital Diseases Abandoned, Living Out Short Lives in Orphanages."

I clicked on the article, my heart squeezing painfully as I read about children born with genetic disorders, abandoned by families unable or unwilling to care for them. These kids were growing up without proper medical care or family support, many not expected to reach adulthood.

The photos hit me hardest—tiny faces peering out from hospital beds, brave smiles despite their circumstances. I ran my hand over my growing belly, tears welling in my eyes.

"This isn’t right," I whispered to myself, reaching for my phone.

Within minutes, I was texting WhisperStream, the social media influencer who’d helped me before.

"I want to start a foundation for children with congenital diseases. Can you help spread the word?" I wrote.

"On it. This is exactly the kind of cause that gets attention. Dreamland supporting sick kids? People will eat it up," he replied almost immediately.

Within an hour, the hashtag #DreamlandHeals was trending. By morning, it had reached the top of the trending list, with thousands sharing their support.

I was finalizing the details of my two-million-dollar donation when my assistant Lucy knocked on my door.

"Ms. Quinn? Blackwood Industries just announced they’re making a substantial donation to the same cause. Mr. Blackwood released a statement saying he’s partnering with Dreamland to establish the foundation."

I blinked, surprised. I hadn’t told Ryan about my plans.

When I checked my phone, there was a text from him: "Great minds think alike. Let’s do this together."

A week later, Ryan and I stood side by side at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the Dreamland-Blackwood Children’s Foundation. Camera flashes popped constantly as we smiled for the press. I wore a loose-fitting cream silk dress that elegantly disguised my pregnancy, while Ryan looked devastatingly handsome in a charcoal suit.

When handed the microphone, Ryan surprised me by turning to face me directly.

"I want to thank Dreamland Jewelry and specifically Serena Quinn for spearheading this initiative," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "Serena is the most compassionate woman I’ve ever known. Her heart for these children inspired all of us to do better."

The raw emotion in his voice made my cheeks warm. When it was my turn to speak, I found myself softening toward him in a way I hadn’t allowed in months.

"This foundation represents hope," I said into the microphone. "And I’m grateful to have Blackwood Industries as our partner in providing that hope."

As we cut the ribbon together, Ryan’s hand brushed against mine, sending a familiar tingle up my arm. I didn’t pull away.

The foundation’s success exceeded all expectations. I designed a special jewelry collection with all proceeds going to the children’s medical care. When the government awarded me a humanitarian honor, Ryan was in the front row, applauding louder than anyone.

My doctor eventually insisted I reduce my workload, so I reluctantly handed day-to-day operations over to Maya. This left me with more time at home—which meant more time for Ryan’s increasingly frequent visits.

One evening, as he brought over dinner (Milton’s specialty, of course), Ryan sat beside me on the couch instead of across from me.

"I’d like to take you somewhere," he said quietly. "A babymoon of sorts. Somewhere beautiful where you can relax before the birth."

I hesitated. "Ryan..."

"Just as friends if you prefer," he added quickly. "Separate rooms, no pressure. The doctor said some sunshine and fresh air would be good for you both."

Against my better judgment, I found myself nodding. "Okay."

A week later, we landed on a private island in the Caribbean.

The beachfront villa was stunning—open and airy, with views of turquoise water stretching to the horizon.

My suite had its own terrace overlooking the ocean, where I spent most of my time reading or simply watching the waves.

On our third evening, Ryan found me there, watching the sunset paint the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks.

Without speaking, he came to stand behind me, his presence warm and solid.

"May I?" he asked softly, his hands hovering near my shoulders.

I nodded, and he gently wrapped his arms around me, his hands resting lightly over my belly. The baby kicked against his palm, making us both laugh softly.

"Serena," he whispered against my hair. "Let’s start over. I promise to be everything you and our child need. If I ever fail you again, you can walk away—no questions asked."

His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "You’re the only one who belongs by my side. You’ll always be the heart of the Blackwood family."

The sincerity in his voice made my eyes sting. "I can’t live without you anymore," he continued.

I closed my eyes, letting myself lean back against his chest.

For the first time in months, I allowed myself to imagine a future where we were together again—not as the naïve couple we’d been before, but as stronger people who’d found their way back to each other.

The sun dipped below the horizon, bathing us in golden light.

I didn’t answer with words, but when his lips brushed against my temple, I turned my face toward his, accepting the kiss he’d been waiting so long to give.