The flashing lights outside Princess Marina Hospital felt more like a red carpet than an emergency entrance. Reporters with mics, bloggers holding phones mid-recording, and photographers fighting for the perfect shot crowded the gates. "Melissa Kgomotso in Labor!" trended faster than the FireThreads launch hashtag had hours ago. And inside, behind thick hospital walls, the woman at the center of it all was barely holding herself together.
Melissa's hand gripped the side of the gurney, her knuckles white as the nurse wheeled her down the corridor. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The pain was sharp and rhythmic, rolling through her in waves that felt both ancient and personal. She wanted to scream, but she also wanted to laugh. Of course her daughter would choose today to arrive the day her company redefined maternity fashion.
"Breathe, Melissa. You're doing great," the nurse encouraged.
She could barely hear her. Her mind spun with too many things: the launch, the paparazzi, Max, Rama...and most terrifying of all, the unknown that came with giving birth. She closed her eyes and whispered, "You are not born broken. You are born unstoppable."
Meanwhile, outside the delivery ward, Max stood like a statue. Lorato paced nearby, chewing on her thumb nail.
And Rama? He sat slouched in the waiting room chair, his phone forgotten on the seat beside him. The overhead light flickered above him, making his face look more tired than it was. His usually sharp eyes were dull.
Max finally turned to him.
"What do you want here Rama, this is my child," he said, voice quiet but firm.
Rama didn't flinch. He nodded slowly. "Then it's high time you start acting like it ypu spoiled brat of an eyesore"
Silence stretched between them. There was no shouting, no dramatics, just a man stepping out of a ring he was never meant to fight in.
He stood up, grabbed his phone, and walked past Max.
"Take care of them," he said simply.
Max didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Back inside, in a sterile room filled with quiet beeps and sharp commands, a masked doctor prepared everything
"All set," a nurse said.
The doctor didn't reply. He reached into a pocket on his coat and slipped a small syringe on his hand unseen. The liquid inside glowed faintly, almost imperceptibly.
"Patient ready for final stage of labor," another nurse called.
The doctor nodded. "Good. Let's deliver this baby."
No one questioned the addition. No one noticed the vial. No one except him knew it was part of an off-the-books experimental serum, cooked up in a private lab hidden deep within the Sahara Desert sands by Avery himself. It wasn't meant for mass testing. It wasn't approved. It was revenge.
The child of Max Botho would carry Avery's mark.
Melissa pushed through hours of pain, eyes wild with effort, sweat soaking through her gown. Nurses surrounded her. One held her hand. Another counted down.
"Push!"
Her body clenched. Her mind blurred. She felt like a warrior from some ancient tale, bleeding and roaring and defying death itself.
And then a cry, not hers but her baby's and the world went still for a moment.
The nurse laid a tiny bundle against her chest. Melissa looked down, breath caught in her throat.
A baby girl.
Tiny. Fierce. Already so loud.
Melissa smiled through her tears. "You're my revolution." Even so no one wondered why did the doctor immediately give the newborn an injection more so that the attention was on cleaning up Mellisa by the assistant nurse. Mission accomplished!
Outside, the hospital remained abuzz. Security had blocked off the entire wing. No press allowed. Only family.
Max paced like a man waiting on a verdict. Lorato tried to distract him with small talk, but he couldn't hear anything. Not really.
A nurse finally emerged. "You can come in now. She wants to see you."
Max didn't wait. He practically ran.
He entered the room and stopped dead.
There, in the hospital bed, pale but beautiful, was Melissa. Her hair stuck to her forehead. Her eyes were half-lidded. But she was glowing in a way he had never seen before.
And in her arms, wrapped in a white blanket with tiny golden stars, was a baby girl.
His daughter.
"Hey," Melissa whispered.
Max moved forward slowly, almost afraid the moment would disappear if he rushed.
"She's beautiful," he said.
Melissa nodded. "She needs a name."
Behind him, his mother entered quietly, her church shawl still draped over her shoulders from the FireThreads show.
She walked to the side of the bed, kissed Melissa's forehead, and looked down at her granddaughter with reverence.
"Evelyn," she said, the name soft like prayer. "Eve."
Melissa looked to Max. He was already nodding, tears in his eyes.
He reached out and held the baby for the first time. She squirmed, let out a tiny sound, then settled.
Max stared at her like she was the first thing he'd ever truly seen.
"Eve," he whispered. "Our Eve."
He looked at Melissa. Something cracked inside him.
"I love you, Mel."
The room went still.
Even his mother blinked.
Melissa blinked.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was too tired, too stunned, and maybe still trying to decide if she was dreaming.
Max kissed Eve's forehead.
"And I love you, little warrior."
Outside, Lorato wiped her eyes with a napkin she had stolen from the nurses' snack bar.
"Well, damn," she muttered. "About time."
The day blurred after that.
Melissa was kept under close watch. Doctors checked her vitals. Nurses monitored her oxygen. The baby's cry echoed softly from the bassinet by her side.
Max refused to leave. His mother brought food no one ate. Lorato kept reporters at bay.
And Rama? He watched the news from a bar in Old Naledi, sipping a coke in silence.
"Max and Melissa welcome baby girl, Eve Evelyn Kgomotso-Botho," the news anchor announced. "FireThreads' launch is hailed a monumental success, and Melissa's birth story is now one of the most beautiful full-circle moments in recent fashion history."
Rama smiled to himself.
"She did it," he said aloud, to no one.
Back in the hospital, Max stood by the bassinet. Eve was asleep. Melissa dozed off too. The room was dim. Soft music played from his phone.
He looked at his daughter.
He didn't know what Avery had done. He didn't know what serum had been injected.
All he knew was that this tiny human had broken something open inside him.
He leaned down and whispered, "No matter what happens, I got you. You and your mama. Always."
He meant it.
Even if the world turned upside down tomorrow.
Even if revenge was still crawling under the surface.
Even if secrets were yet to reveal themselves.
In that moment, all that existed was love.
And the soft, rhythmic breathing of the girl who would soon make the world fall in love with her too.
Eve.