To Love A Villain

Chapter 246: Side Story - New Parents 3

>>Third Person POV

Zola didn’t cry. She didn’t move. She just stared at him, still and alert, as if seeing him for the very first time.

And Hael... forgot how to breathe.

Time didn’t move. The room, the world—it all seemed to still. It was just the two of them. The sorcerer and the newborn. The man who had known battlefields and broken oaths, and the girl who had only just begun to exist.

He didn’t know what she saw when she looked at him.

He only knew what he saw: something fragile, something whole. Something that, for reasons beyond him, had chosen him as father.

His hand moved slowly—hesitantly—and rested gently beside her on the bed. Not touching. Just there. Close.

Zola blinked once, then again. And then, after a long, silent moment... her eyelids fluttered shut.

Still breathing softly. Still safe.

Hael let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He stayed there, unmoving, afraid that even the smallest shift might break whatever delicate thread had just been spun between them.

Hael sat still as stone on the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on the sleeping child no bigger than his forearm. Zola had returned to sleep almost instantly after their moment of strange, wordless connection—but Hael hadn’t looked away.

Her little chest rose and fell in a soft, steady rhythm, the blanket rising like a tide with each breath. A faint sigh left her lips, and one of her fingers twitched in sleep. So peaceful. So unaware of the quiet storm churning inside the man who watched her.

He wondered if she dreamt.

And then he wondered—would it be wrong to pick her up?

The thought came unbidden, but once it rooted itself in his mind, it grew fast. Like a spell with too many outcomes. Too many variables. What if she woke up crying? What if she didn’t like his touch? What if his hands were too cold, too big, too... unfamiliar?

She clearly doesn’t like his touch. Because whenever he tried to hold her, she would cry... But that was when she was awake... Could he hold her now that she was asleep?

He stared a while longer.

Then slowly, carefully, he reached out. His fingers brushed the edge of the blanket, then slid beneath the curve of her back. The other hand cupped under her head.

So small. So fragile.

His breath hitched as he lifted, ever so gently.

Zola stirred.

Her brow creased, and her lips parted with a soft sound—neither a cry nor a sigh. Just a question. A moment of unrest.

Hael froze, mid-lift, his entire body still. His hands hovered inches from the bed, caught between fear and reverence.

He was about to lay her back down. He couldn’t do this. He shouldn’t do this.

But then—

"Keep going," Amber said softly.

!!

Hael startled slightly and turned his head.

She was awake now, watching him from the tangle of blankets, her voice still blurred with sleep but sure.

"She’ll wake," Hael whispered, the slightest thread of guilt in his voice, as if he’d been caught stealing something too precious for his hands.

Amber smiled faintly. "Maybe. Do it anyway."

He looked at her for a long beat. Then back at Zola.

And he did.

With the slow grace of someone holding the last fragile piece of something sacred, Hael lifted her fully into his arms. She stirred again, but only for a second—letting out a faint, breathy hum before settling against his chest, her head tucked beneath his jaw.

Hael didn’t breathe.

Then he did.

She was warm and impossibly light, her weight nothing at all—and yet everything. His arms curved around her instinctively, protectively. And for a second, he forgot every reason he had to be afraid of this moment.

Amber watched from the bed, eyes soft, a small knowing look passing over her face.

Zola nuzzled into the crook of Hael’s collarbone, her tiny body molding against his chest like she’d done it a hundred times before. Hael dared to breathe again, relief blooming slow and tentative through his lungs.

But then—

Zola’s head shifted.

A tiny, twitching movement, then a pause—like she had smelled something unfamiliar in the air.

And just like that, her eyes snapped open.

Hael went still.

Those small, dark eyes stared straight into his, unblinking, as if trying to place where she was, who she was with, and why it wasn’t where she had fallen asleep.

Hael didn’t move a muscle. He held her carefully, the way one might cradle a piece of magic they barely understood, afraid even breath might break it.

Then—

Her lower lip trembled.

And she let out a wail.

"Wahhhhhhhhhhh" A sharp, sudden cry that pierced the quiet, her soft face scrunching in dismay and confusion.

"No, no, no—" Hael whispered, swaying instinctively, his voice edged with helplessness. "It’s me. It’s alright, little star. I’m here..."

But Zola cried louder.

Hael’s arms tightened reflexively as he shifted to soothe her, but every motion seemed to make it worse. She arched slightly in his hold, her hands flailing, seeking something—someone—she hadn’t found yet.

He glanced at Amber, almost apologetically.

But she didn’t scold him. She just sat up slowly, brushing the sleep from her eyes with a tired but patient smile.

"She doesn’t hate you," Amber said softly, as if reading his mind. "She’s just new. You both are." She simply wanted to assure him that this was normal and nothing to be afraid of.

Zola’s cries echoed gently off the walls, not a storm—but a signal. A sound that said ’I don’t understand this yet.’ A sound that had haunted Hael before, when all his magic and all his knowledge couldn’t give him the right words to calm her.

Still, he didn’t hand her off—not yet.

He just held her a little closer, swaying slightly as her cries continued, his face tightening in quiet frustration and something else. Something harder to name.

Amber rose from the bed slowly, walking toward them with open arms and a voice like lullaby wind.

"Let me try?"

Hael hesitated... but this time, not from pride. From sadness. He looked down at his daughter—his daughter—crying in his arms like he was a stranger.

Hael moved to hand Zola over, her cries sharp and trembling now, the corners of her mouth damp with tiny tears. He braced himself for the usual exchange—the quiet shame of giving her away, of watching her find comfort somewhere that wasn’t him.

But Amber didn’t take her.

She withdrew her hands.

!!??

Startled, Hael froze. "What are you doing?" he asked, brows knitting, his voice low and taut beneath Zola’s wailing.

Amber didn’t flinch. She just looked at him, calm even in her tiredness.

"She already knows I’ll calm her," she said softly. "Maybe... maybe it’s time she learns you can, too."

Zola’s cries hiccupped with urgency, and Hael stared at Amber like she had just asked him to walk into a storm barefoot. "Orenya," he said, his voice tight, "I don’t know how. I don’t know how to be gentle—she’s—look at her. She’s breaking apart in my arms."

Amber smiled, not in amusement, but with something softer—something knowing.

"Then let me show you," she said.

Hael didn’t respond, but his hands adjusted slightly—unsure, awkward, protective. Amber stepped closer and gently reached to guide him—not to take Zola, but to support him. She placed her hands lightly over his: one steadying the crook of Zola’s head, the other resting beneath her tiny bottom.

"Hold her closer," she murmured. "Not tighter. Just... closer. Like you’re giving her a place to land."

Hael obeyed, uncertain but willing. His arms adjusted, drawing Zola into his chest. She cried on, but her fists weren’t flailing now—they rested against his shirt, curled like question marks.

Amber stepped beside him and placed her hand on Zola’s back, then looked up at Hael. "Now sway a little. Like the wind. Soft, no rush."

He shifted his weight awkwardly, unsure. But then found the rhythm—slow, patient, almost like a pulse.

Zola’s cries faltered, then picked up again.

"She’s still—" Hael started.

"She’s learning you," Amber interrupted gently. "She’s never known you like this before. Give her time."

Hael nodded, jaw clenched, but something inside him loosened. Slowly, he lifted a hand—one that trembled—and pressed his fingers gently to Zola’s back. He closed his eyes.

And summoned a thread of magic.

Not a spell. Nothing grand or forceful. Just the warmth of something ancient and safe that pulsed quietly beneath his skin. A hum. A whisper of calm.

It radiated softly from him, not into her mind, but around her. A warm cocoon of stillness. Protection. Love, even if he didn’t know how to name it yet.

Zola’s breathing hitched.

Then steadied.

Her cries softened into faint whimpers, then faded altogether. Her body slackened in his arms as her head pressed against his chest. Her fingers unfurled.

Amber watched in silence, her eyes shining with quiet pride.

Hael stood there, stunned.

Zola was asleep.

In his arms.

And this time... she stayed.

"She’s listening to you now," Amber whispered, stepping back, letting the moment be his.

Hael didn’t speak.

He just looked down at his daughter, sleeping peacefully against him. A strange sense of pride and confidence took birth within him then, which was secretly followed by the feeling of a loving parent.