After dismantling the unfair class system in England alongside the Moriartys, you remained by Louis’s side, waiting until Albert and William finally returned, reuniting the family once more. Soon after, you and Louis married, just as you had promised each other. The two of you built a life filled with love and peace, and in time, you welcomed a new joy into your home—your son, Markle.

Markle, now five years old, was the perfect blend of his father. With Louis’s striking dark crimson eyes and golden hair, he was like a miniature version of him—except far more energetic and mischievous. A vibrant little boy who filled your days with laughter and endless surprises.

On a cold winter night, after a long and tiring day, you and Louis lay peacefully under the covers, basking in each other’s warmth. The windows were shut tight against the frigid air outside, and the steady rhythm of your breaths filled the room in perfect harmony. But of course, such tranquility never lasted long in a house with Markle…

"Markle..?"

You and Louis stirred as the familiar weight of a small figure clambered onto the bed, wriggling between you with determined little hands. With a soft sigh, Louis shifted back to give him space, though it was clear from his expression that he already had an idea of what was coming.

"Markle? It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing out of bed? Why—"

"That’s my mom, not yours, so this is my place," Markle declared with a firm pout, his small arms wrapping possessively around you.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected boldness, while Louis let out a quiet sigh, rubbing his temple as if trying to muster patience. The boy had already nestled himself comfortably in your embrace, almost pushing Louis away in his mission to claim all the warmth for himself. A selfish little thing—but by now, neither of you were surprised. Especially Louis, who had long since realized one undeniable truth: Markle had made him his rival.