To Love A Villain

Chapter 251: Side Story - Ordinary Days 3

>>Third Person POV

Hael knelt in front of Amber, arms half-outstretched, ready to take Elira—until he felt a firm tug at his coat.

He looked down.

Zola’s tiny fingers were clenched tightly into the fabric of his coat, her eyes wide with protest. She didn’t cry—no tears, no scream. Just a long, betrayed look that made Hael freeze in his place.

Then, slowly, Zola turned her head and looked at her mother.

Amber exhaled, caught between amusement and sympathy. "Hael," she said softly, "just hold Elira for a second. I’ll handle her."

He hesitated.

"She’s not going to let me take Elira," he muttered. "Not without declaring war."

"Hael," Amber said gently, already shifting her weight forward. "Trust me."

With a quiet sigh, Hael carefully reached out and took Elira from Amber’s arms. The moment the soft, chubby baby settled against his chest, she snuggled in with the kind of blind trust that made him freeze again—this time from guilt.

Amber leaned down, scooping Zola up into her arms. "Come here, you little storm." She kissed her daughter’s cheek. "Mama’s here, alright?"

Zola’s hands gripped at Amber’s shoulder, but her eyes stayed fixed—locked—on her father.

More specifically... on what was in his arms.

Elira, babbling happily now, had nestled herself cozily into Hael’s chest, one small hand patting his collar like she owned it. And that—that—was the final straw.

Zola’s mouth fell open.

She looked between Amber and Hael. First disbelief. Then fury.

Then... betrayal.

Supreme betrayal.

Amber was trying to soothe her, but Zola wasn’t even listening anymore. She twisted in her mother’s arms, leaned out toward Hael—and launched her tiny hands back at his coat.

"Ah-da!" she barked in baby indignation, trying to snatch a fistful of fabric. "Ba-ba! Na-na-na! Duh! Duhh!"

Hael’s brows lifted in alarm. "She’s scolding me."

"Yes," Amber said, eyes wide as she held Zola closer. "Yes, she is."

Zola pointed a stubby finger directly at Elira, then back at her father’s face. "Duhhh!" she cried again, stern and offended, her cheeks puffed and pink with emotion. "Ma! Ba-ba duh!"

Hael shifted Elira higher on his shoulder, trying not to laugh. "I don’t speak angry baby, but I think she just accused me of something treasonous."

Amber, trying not to lose it, bit her lip. "I think she said you’re hers."

"Pretty sure that’s what Elira thinks, too," Hael added, feeling the other baby drooling contentedly against his collarbone.

Zola had had enough. She reached again, this time pulling hard at Hael’s coat like she meant to pry him away from Elira with sheer strength alone. "BA-BA!" she yelled, her voice breaking for the first time into a wail.

Amber sighed with a small smile and kissed her daughter’s temple. "Jealous little mage," she murmured. "He’s still yours."

"Mostly," Hael quipped, bouncing Elira slightly to keep her calm.

Zola gave him one more guttural baby sound of outrage—then clutched her mother’s tunic and buried her face in her shoulder with a loud hmph.

"Now she’s pouting," Amber said with a helpless shrug.

Hael shook his head, smiling softly. "I’ve seen nobles less dramatic than this."

Amber chuckled. "Welcome to being loved unreasonably by a baby."

Hael peeked at Zola over Amber’s shoulder. "Alright, alright," he said, voice quieter now. "I’ll give her back. No need for a palace coup."

And as he handed Elira back to her returning mother, Hael gently reached out and touched Zola’s tiny back, earning a grumble from her. But what Hael didn’t expect was that when he tried to take Zola back, she turned and swatted his hand away.

!!!

It was something Hael had never expected would happen in this life.

The shock was so huge to him, he paused and stared at his hand for a moment that had just been swatted away while Zola clung to her mother

He then looked at Zola in disbelief.

How could this be?

How could his daughter slap his hand away?

HOW!?

It was like an unsolved world riddle, because to Hael, it didn’t make any sense.

He never thought something like that would happen.

***

Back at home, the warmth of the late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the tower’s main room. The silence was broken only by the quiet clinking of a spoon against a small porcelain bowl.

Hael knelt beside the plush rug where Amber sat cross-legged, Zola snug in her lap, wrapped in a soft mint-green onesie with tiny bears on the sleeves. Her cheeks were still slightly pink from the spa earlier, her hair a little tousled from all the attention she had gotten—and rejected.

Hael offered a small spoonful of mashed pumpkin and rice, the kind Zola usually loved.

"Come on," he said softly, lifting the spoon. "You like this. Just a little bite."

Zola, seated in her mother’s lap with her arms folded (or as folded as a baby could manage), gave him a long, silent look.

Then, slowly, dramatically, she turned her head and ’hmph’d’ away—nose lifted in toddler-level disdain.

Hael blinked. "...She just hmph’d me."

Amber tried not to laugh. "Yes. Yes, she did."

"I fed her this same thing yesterday."

"She’s upset."

"I gave Elira back."

Zola didn’t care. She twisted closer into Amber’s torso and laid her head against her chest, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric like a silent claim.

Hael stared at the spoon. Then at his daughter. Then back at the spoon.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, sitting back on his heels. "I’m being punished by someone who still can’t say a full sentence."

Amber smoothed Zola’s hair. "You held another baby. She’s making her stance clear."

"I didn’t even like holding Elira," Hael protested quietly.

Zola’s head lifted for half a second—just long enough to shoot her father a single, unimpressed glance—before she turned her face away again.

That did it.

Hael clutched the bowl to his chest dramatically. "She’s broken my heart."

"She’s eight months old."

"Exactly. That makes it worse."

Amber chuckled and kissed the top of Zola’s head. "I’ll feed her this time."

But Hael reached over, touched her hand, and shook his head. "No... I want to do it."

He set the bowl down. "I’ll just... wait. I guess."

And with that, the great Archmage of the known world, conqueror of battlefields, scholar of ancient magic, and once most beloved public figure—sat cross-legged on the rug, defeated by a baby’s pout.

Amber tilted her head, watching him, warmth filling her chest.

"She’ll come around," she said gently.

Hael didn’t answer right away. He was still staring at Zola, like he was memorizing her every line and curve and breath.

"I hope so," he finally whispered. "Because... I really missed her today."

From the safety of Amber’s arms, Zola peeked again—just for a second. Just to check.

The bowl sat forgotten on the low table, the spoon tilted to the side as if waiting for forgiveness to be served before food could be.

Hael hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. He sat quietly, arms resting on his knees, fingers loosely linked. His eyes were fixed on Zola—not pleading, not demanding. Just waiting. Hoping.

Zola, still curled in Amber’s lap, gave no immediate sign of relenting. Her tiny fingers clutched her mother’s sleeve, her brows knit in that very serious baby way, lips pursed.

Amber, sensing the weight in the air, hummed softly and leaned down to kiss her daughter’s temple. "You know, little bear," she whispered, "your papa missed you very much today. He was very sad when you turned your face away."

Zola blinked up at her mother. Something in her face softened, just a little.

Amber smiled. "He brought you your favorite food. And he was really worried when you didn’t smile at him. You think maybe... maybe you can give him one more chance?"

Zola’s head tilted slightly. Her big eyes drifted over to Hael.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But his face softened just a touch, and the faintest smile curled at the corner of his lips.

It was enough.

With a determined squirm, Zola wiggled in Amber’s lap, reaching forward. Amber let her go, carefully easing her down onto the rug. The little girl crawled over slowly, her hands pressing into the thick carpet, her every movement filled with deliberation.

Hael held his breath as she approached him, and then—

She sat herself in front of him, plopping down unceremoniously, her small legs folding awkwardly beneath her.

Then she looked up at him. And reached.

A small hand touched his knee.

Hael blinked.

Zola tilted her head, then—after a short pause—leaned forward and gently pressed her forehead against his leg.

That was all it took.

Hael scooped her up into his arms, holding her close, his heart pounding as relief flooded his chest.

"I’m sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I didn’t mean to make you feel like someone else could ever be in your place."

Zola made a soft, breathy sound—neither a cry nor a laugh. Just a baby’s version of "Okay."

And then, her arms—small and warm—wrapped around his neck, just enough to hold on.

Amber watched them from her seat, her hand covering her heart.

Zola pulled back slightly, looking into her father’s face. Her cheeks were still rosy, but her eyes were clear again. And when Hael raised the spoon once more, offering a small bite—

She opened her mouth.

He blinked, stunned. "Really?"

Zola gave him a gummy, tiny-toothed grin, then munched on the food like nothing had ever happened between them.

Amber laughed softly. "Well. That was dramatic."

Hael gave her a look, but couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face. He turned back to Zola, offering another spoonful.

This time, she leaned in without hesitation—one hand on his arm as if to say,

You’re forgiven. For now.