The Jockey was alive with the usual chaos—drunken laughter, glasses clinking, and the occasional argument brewing in the corner. Jamie Maguire stood behind the bar, cleaning a pint glass with slow, deliberate motions. Karen worked beside him, exchanging insults with customers, while Mimi sat in her usual spot, sipping a drink and keeping a sharp eye on the room. Shane and Micky hovered nearby, talking lowly about business, but their conversation cut short the moment the pub door swung open.

Emma walked in.

Jamie’s grip on the glass tightened. Emma rarely set foot in his world, and when she did, it was never good news. But it wasn’t just her presence that sent a ripple of tension through the room—it was the small child standing beside her. A little girl, no older than four, with dark hair streaked with red highlights, clinging to Emma’s coat as she scanned the unfamiliar faces.

Mimi was the first to react, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Emma ignored her. Her gaze was locked onto Jamie. “We need to talk.”

Jamie exhaled slowly, setting the glass down. “You don’t belong here, Emma.”

Emma lifted her chin. “Neither does she,” she said, nodding toward the little girl.

A slow, heavy silence settled over the pub. Karen frowned, glancing between them, putting the pieces together faster than she liked. Shane stiffened. Micky let out a low whistle. Mimi, always the first to recognize a shift in power, leaned forward with interest.

Jamie’s expression didn’t change, but his voice was quieter, deadlier. “What are you saying?”

Emma swallowed. “She’s yours, Jamie. You have a daughter.”

The world inside The Jockey seemed to pause. The glass in Jamie’s hand slipped slightly. Mimi’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.

And the little girl just stood there, staring up at the man she was meeting for the first time.