The gondola rocked gently, suspended high above the world. The golden hues of fireworks reflected off the glass as the sky erupted in color.

Emily sat across from Evelyn and Welby, her fingers still loosely tangled with Lucas’s, her heart still pounding from the ride, from the view, from everything.

And then—

She saw it.

Evelyn.

Welby.

Kissing.

Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched.

Her first instinct was shock.

And yet—

Some part of her wasn’t surprised.

It made sense, didn’t it?

After everything—after the way they’d held onto each other, after the way Welby had protected Evelyn, after the way she had clung to him in her weakest moments—

Of course, it would happen.

Of course, it was inevitable.

And then—

A quiet, grumbling voice beside her.

“Screw it if they’re going to…”

Emily blinked, turning her head just in time to see Lucas shifting toward her.

Her heart stuttered.

Wait—

Was he…?

The fluttering sensation in her chest grew bigger and wilder, and she didn’t know how to contain it.

Her mind screamed at her to stay still, to wait, to let him make the move.

But he hesitated.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for Emily to lean in—just barely, just a fraction, just enough to say that she wanted this too.

And then—

Lucas grinned.

And before she could process what was happening—

His lips were on hers.

And her world exploded.

It was electric.

A rush of warmth, of excitement, of something so much bigger than words could describe.

Her breath shuddered, her fingers tightening in his, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

Lucas was soft and eager. His kiss was playful but real, teasing but deep as if he had been waiting for this moment forever.

And maybe—

Maybe she had, too.

The fireworks crackled beneath them, the colors painting their faces, bathing them in the glow of reds, blues, and golds.

And for once—

For once—

Emily let herself forget.

Forget Miranda.

Forget the diapers.

Forget the act.

Because this?

This was real.

This was hers.

And she never wanted it to end.

The world melted away.

The fireworks, the gondola, the gentle rocking of the Ferris wheel, the soft murmurs of Evelyn and Welby lost in their moment—none of it mattered.

Because all Emily could feel was Lucas.

His hands, warm and firm, slid against her, sending shivers down her spine.

One is on the back of her neck, fingers curling gently into her hair, and his thumb is brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear.

The other—

Her hip.

A slow, careful touch, pulling her closer, bringing her flush against him, pressing against the heat of his body.

And she wanted it.

God, she wanted it.

Wanted to be closer, to drown in his warmth, to lose herself in the way his lips moved against hers.

She had never let herself want like this before.

Never let herself take.

But Lucas was giving.

And she was more than happy to receive it.

By the time he finally pulled back, her breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps.

Her lips felt swollen, tingling, and hungry.

And when she looked up—

His eyes were burning.

Deep, dark, filled with something new, something hungry, something she had never seen before but craved instantly.

His gaze held her captive, his lips parted as if he was about to say something—but he didn’t.

As if words didn’t matter.

Because, at that moment, they understood.

Whatever was happening between them—it wasn’t just an accident.

It wasn’t just the fireworks.

It wasn’t just a fleeting moment in the illusion of this perfect night.

It was real.

He wanted her.

And she—

She wanted him just as badly.

Emily was still wrapped in Lucas’s arms, her body pressed against his, her heart pounding against her ribs.

The warmth of his touch still lingered, his hands still resting on her, her breath still uneven, her lips still tingling.

And then—

She realized.

The gondola had gone quiet.

Her blush deepened instantly, a wave of embarrassment crashing over her as reality snapped back into focus.

Slowly, hesitantly—she turned her head.

And there they were.

Welby and Evelyn.

Nestled close together, Hannah between them, their expressions soft, warm, unmistakably affectionate.

And—oh no.

They were smiling at her and Lucas.

Lovingly.

Knowingly.

Emily opened her mouth, scrambling to say something, anything—

But Evelyn spoke first.

“I’m super happy that you two get along.”

Her voice was gentle and understanding, filled with something Emily couldn’t quite place—approval? Amusement? Affection?

Emily swallowed, her blush deepening further.

“And I want to foster that relationship,” Evelyn continued.

Emily’s stomach twisted with anticipation, waiting for the but.

“Welby and I both approve.”

Emily’s heart skipped a beat.

Wait—what?

Evelyn smiled knowingly, her gaze flickering between Emily and Lucas, their bodies still tangled together, neither of them having moved.

“But…”

There it was.

“Perhaps it’s best to keep it confined to when we’re alone. Outside the home…”

She tilted her head slightly, her smile tinged with both warmth and warning.

“You two should pretend to be loving brother and sister.”

Emily and Lucas nodded sheepishly, the weight of their humiliation pressing into them. Their faces were still flushed and burning.

They were embarrassed, caught, exposed.

And yet—

Neither of them let go.

Their hands remained locked, their bodies still close, their connection still undeniable.

Because despite the awkwardness, the sudden shift in the atmosphere, the quiet reminder of the world they lived in—

They had found something real.

Something the act couldn’t erase.

And no matter what Miranda did—no matter how much she tried to shape them into perfect Littles, into obedient, mindless babies—

This moment was theirs.

Her blush deepened, the heat in her cheeks refusing to fade as she settled back into her seat, her fingers still tingling from Lucas’s touch.

The gondola continued its gentle sway, the world slowly shifting back into focus, the fireworks still blooming in the sky beyond them.

But Emily felt something else now.

A weight.

A new, unexpected guilt pressed into her chest.

Because across from her—

Hannah was watching.

Her big, curious eyes locked onto Emily, her pacifier bobbing lazily between her lips, completely unreadable.

And in that moment—a wave of shame crashed over Emily.

She had done this right in front of her.

Right in front of Hannah.

They had always been close, bonded by the shared weight of their captivity, the unspoken understanding of what it meant to have everything taken away.

Hannah had been there for her through everything. She had been her anchor, her confidante, and her sister in all the ways that mattered.

And this—this didn’t replace that.

But still—

Emily felt like she had done something wrong.

Like she had betrayed something sacred between them.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she lowered her gaze, a silent apology forming in her expression.

She wanted to say something, explain, reassure, and promise that nothing between them would change.

But before she could—

Hannah smiled.

Wide. Approving.

A soft, knowing glint in her eyes, like she had been waiting for this moment to happen.

Like she was telling Emily without words—

Go for it. Be happy.

Emily’s breath hitched, emotion swelling in her chest, a mixture of relief and something deeper.

And in that moment—

She knew.

No matter what happened, no matter how much their world shifted, no matter how much was stolen from them—

She still had Hannah.

And Hannah still had her.

Nothing would change that.

Emily gave Hannah a small, sheepish smile, but before Hannah could react, the familiar infant haze dulled her features once more.

Her eyes softened, her body went limp, and she nuzzled deeper into Evelyn’s embrace. The rhythmic bobbing of her pacifier slowed as she settled.

Emily’s heart twisted painfully.

Hannah was still in there, still herself.

But each time she slipped back into that fog—

It was like losing her all over again.

And then—

The gondola descended, the Ferris wheel moving smoothly back toward the loading platform, and the magic of the moment faded into the past.

They were moving again.

Evelyn undid the restraints, helping Lucas out of his seat, and before Emily even had time to process the next steps—

Lucas’s hand was in hers.

Warm. Steady.

And just like that—

They were skipping down the walkway.

Emily’s heart fluttered wildly, excitement and nervousness tangled together in her chest.

Everything in her screamed to STOP.

To hide.

To pull her dress down, to cover the obvious bulk poking out beneath her outfit, to shield the humiliating indicator strip that practically announced to the world that she was wet.

Every part of her fought against the instinct to protect what little dignity she had left.

But she had to keep pretending.

She had to put on the show.

Miranda had been silent for a while, which could only mean one of two things—

Either they were doing a good job…

Or she was waiting for them to slip up.

Emily didn’t want to find out which.

So she played along.

She let herself skip beside Lucas, feel his hand in hers, and focus on the weight of his presence rather than the weight between her legs.

They reached Lamplight Lounge, the bustling, upscale restaurant glowing with warm lighting, the murmur of conversation filling the air as guests lined up for tables.

The smell of grilled seafood and fresh citrus cocktails, combined with the cool ocean breeze, created a calm, almost serene atmosphere.

Emily stood beside Lucas, waiting patiently for a table.

And then—

A familiar pressure settled in her bladder.

She barely even reacted.

Just let out a small sigh internally, relaxing as the warm trickle soaked effortlessly into the thirsty padding beneath her.

The diaper swelled slightly, and the damp warmth spread comfortably around her, no different from the countless times before.

Her cheeks burned.

The warmth spread far beyond just her diaper.

She had barely even registered the moment, had barely reacted to the act of wetting herself—

But Evelyn had noticed.

Of course, she had.

Emily should have expected it.

Evelyn wasn’t dumb.

She was watching.

And now Emily had two choices.

She could pretend nothing happened, hope Evelyn ignored it, pray that she wouldn’t call her out on it—

Or she could do what was expected of her.

What she loathed.

What Miranda wanted.

Emily summoned every last ounce of willpower, forcing herself into the role of the perfect, obedient Little that Miranda expected her to be.

She let go of Lucas’s hand, ignoring the way her heart clenched at losing his warmth.

And then—

She skipped up to Evelyn.

Her legs felt like lead.

Her face burned hotter than the fireworks had moments before.

But she forced herself forward anyway.

“Mommy?”

Her voice came out higher, sweeter, her cheeks flaming as the word slipped from her lips.

Evelyn smiled, leaning down, her expression warm, affectionate, so natural that it almost made Emily believe it wasn’t all an act.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

Emily wanted to sink into the ground.

Wanted to run, to disappear, to never have to do this again.

But instead—

Her fingers hooked around the hem of her skirt.

Her brain screamed at her to stop, to fight, to hold onto what little dignity she had left—

But her hands moved on their own.

And then—

She lifted her skirt.

Revealing her wet diaper to Evelyn, to anyone who happened to glance their way, to the entire damn world.

Her voice was steady, her body burning with shame.

“I went tinkle in my diaper.”

The words tasted like acid in her mouth.

But Evelyn—

Evelyn played her part flawlessly.

Her smile never faltered, her voice never hesitated, her warmth never wavered.

“Such a good girl, pumpkin,” she cooed, her praise effortless, so genuine that Emily almost forgot to resent it.

Emily let the skirt fall back into place, her breath shaky, her body screaming at her to get away.

So she skipped off, fast, desperate, her cheeks burning with utter, soul-crushing humiliation.

She hated this.

Hated every second of it.

But Miranda was silent.

And that meant she had done exactly what she was supposed to.

Emily barely had time to breathe through the humiliation, barely had time to force herself back into the act before she felt it—

Lucas’s hand.

His fingers laced into hers, warm, steady, grounding.

A soft squeeze.

A silent I see you.

A silent You’re not alone.

She squeezed back, grateful beyond words.

And then—

They were led to their table.

It was perfectly placed along the waterfront. Cool night air drifted in from the lake, and the smell of fresh seafood mixed with the crisp, salty breeze.

The water show had just ended, but the final shimmering mist hung in the air, and lights reflected off the surface in shifting hues of blues and purples.

Evelyn settled into her seat, Hannah still curled in her lap, the girl’s body limp, her infant haze still clouding her eyes as she nuzzled deeper into Evelyn’s embrace.

Emily and Lucas, however—

They were fitted into highchairs.

The familiar click of restraints tightening over her shoulders sent a shiver down her spine, the straps pulling snugly against her.

And beneath her—

Her squishy, wet diaper pressed against the firm plastic seat, reminding her of exactly what she had just done.

Emily’s cheeks burned again, her stomach twisting uncomfortably.

She hated this.

The restraints.

The highchair.

The way she could feel the lingering warmth between her legs was a constant, humiliating reminder that this was her reality now.

She let out a slow breath, her fingers curling into her lap.

Lucas caught her eye across the table, offering another tiny, sympathetic smile.

Welby and Evelyn ordered for the table, their voices calm, controlled, and completely natural.

Emily barely paid attention, still too caught in the shame and weight of the evening, her fingers idly playing with the straps of the highchair.

And then—

A bottle was set in front of her.

Not just any bottle—a Little’s bottle, babyish in design, but filled with a sparkling, deep red liquid that shimmered under the restaurant’s lighting.

Emily stared at it.

She didn’t want to drink it.

Didn’t want to participate in this charade any more than she already had.

But she knew she had to.

For Miranda’s sake.

For the performance.

For their safety.

So—with a quiet, resigned sigh, she lifted it to her lips, tipping it back, expecting something sweet, something fruity, something innocuous.

And instead—

She nearly choked.

A sharp burn scorched her mouth, racing down her throat before she slammed the bottle down onto the table, her body shuddering at the unexpected heat.

Her eyes blurred with sudden tears, her breath coming fast, shallow, panicked.

She turned toward Welby, wide-eyed, her face demanding an answer.

And then—

She saw it.

A twinkle in his eye.

A knowing wink.

Not just at her.

But at Lucas, too.

Lucas was equally stunned. His fingers were still gripping his bottle, and his face was a mixture of shock and intrigue.

Emily’s mind raced.

Wait.

Was this—was this alcohol?!

She glanced back at her bottle, hesitating before bringing it to her lips again.

This time, she braced herself.

And when the liquid touched her tongue, she recognized it.

A sweet cocktail.

Strawberries.

Coconut.

Pineapple.

The underlying burn of rum.

Emily let out a slow, steadying breath, her hands tightening around the bottle as realization hit.

This was—a gift.

A small, secret act of defiance, tucked inside something so innocent, so perfectly disguised, that Miranda wouldn’t even notice.

Emily met Welby’s gaze again.

And this time—

She smiled.

Welby grinned back at her, that same knowing, playful glint in his eyes, and then—

Evelyn smiled, too.

They were both in on it.

A thrill rushed through Emily’s chest, conflicting emotions twisting in her gut.

Was this just a small act of kindness?

A secret reward for playing their roles so well?

Or was it something… more?

Something more insidious.

The waitress hadn’t even blinked when bringing the bottles.

She hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t raised an eyebrow.

As if—

As if this was normal.

Emily fidgeted slightly, her grip tightening around the bottle.

Maybe—just maybe—this was a common thing.

Maybe Amazons did this on purpose.

It could be allowed, even encouraged, as a tool to loosen Littles up and help them relax into their roles.

To make them stop fighting.

Because drunk Littles wouldn’t think as hard, wouldn’t resist as much, and wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from ‘proving’ they needed diapers.

It was a diabolical trap.

A way to set a Little up for failure.

To let them think they were still in control, still capable—

Only to watch them slip, to humiliate them even further.

And yet—

That didn’t quite apply to her and Lucas, did it?

Because they were already ‘true babies.’

Already locked into their roles.

There was no need to ‘prove’ anything.

So, this wasn’t a trap for them.

This was just a small, quiet act of rebellion.

A treat.

A way to ease the shame, even if just for a little while.

Emily let out a slow, steady breath, forcing herself to accept it for what it was.

And then—she took another sip.

This time, the burn didn’t make her shudder.

This time, she welcomed it.

The plates were set down in front of them—a perfectly arranged meal for each of them, carefully curated to fit their 'roles.’

Lucas and Emily—finger foods.

Soft, easy-to-eat bites, cut into adorable shapes, colorful, playful, and undeniably meant for Littles.

Hannah—a bottle of milk.

Her pacifier was swapped out effortlessly, the bottle’s nipple pressed to her lips as she instinctively latched on, suckling without hesitation.

And the adults?

Real food.

Amazon food.

Plates of rich, indulgent dishes, the portions massive, decadent, overwhelming.

Emily didn’t mind.

She had long since accepted that Amazonian cuisine was beyond her.

The flavors were too intense, the richness too overwhelming, the portions impossible to finish.

Even her plate—her small, carefully prepared, undeniably humiliating meal—was still delicious.

The warm, buttery textures melted on her tongue; the subtle seasoning was just enough to be flavorful but not overpowering.

And with the gentle buzz from her bottle still humming pleasantly in her veins…

She actually enjoyed it.

Despite the highchair.

Despite the straps across her shoulders.

Despite the crinkling between her legs.

Despite everything.

For the first time in a long time—

Emily actually let herself just eat.

She didn’t fight.

Didn’t overthink.

Didn’t let the shame stop her from enjoying the food in front of her.

Because right now, she was buzzed just enough not to care.

The moment she finished her drink, her bottle was refilled, the faint clink of glass barely registering through the warm haze settling over her mind.

Her thoughts slurred deliciously, each one flowing into the next like warm honey, thick and slow and pleasant.

Her stomach was full, her limbs felt light, and the soft, cozy buzz in her veins made everything feel… fun.

Evelyn and Welby chatted and laughed, their voices blending with the distant hum of the restaurant, the soft lapping of water against the pier, and the faint echoes of fireworks in the distance.

And Emily—

Emily wanted to be part of it.

She wanted to be in the warmth, in the laughter, in the moment.

She giggled, the sound bubbling up before she could stop it, her feet kicking playfully 

beneath the highchair, swinging with pure, mindless delight.

Welby and Evelyn turned toward her, their smiles softening, brightening.

"Aww, look at you, sweetheart," Evelyn cooed, reaching out to gently ruffle Emily’s hair.

"Someone’s in a good mood," Welby chuckled, his voice full of genuine warmth, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Emily beamed, wiggling slightly in her seat, her hands gripping the edges of the highchair tray.

She felt good.

She felt warm, bubbly, happy.

And every bit of attention, every bit of praise, only made the feeling grow.

“She’s such a happy girl tonight,” Evelyn mused, her voice playful and affectionate.

"A perfect little princess," Welby added with a wink.

Emily giggled again, kicking her feet even more, her cheeks flushing in delight.

She should have felt embarrassed.

Should have felt humiliated.

Should have hated this.

But right now—

She didn’t care.

Because right now, she felt loved.

It was probably the alcohol.

It was absolutely the alcohol.

But she didn’t care.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt… easy.

Effortless.

Enjoyable.

She was supposed to be playing this part, right?

She was supposed to be a baby.

Supposed to be giggly.

They are supposed to be excited, happy, and carefree.

Why not enjoy it?

Even if it was only because of the warm buzz humming pleasantly through her veins, making her limbs loose and her thoughts slow and syrupy.

Even if it was manufactured.

Even if it was a lie.

She barely even noticed the pressure building in her tummy until it was too late.

One moment, she was kicking her feet, laughing, basking in the warmth of the moment—

And the next—

She was pooping herself.

Her stomach fluttered, her body instinctively shifting, lifting just slightly against the highchair straps.

A soft muffled crinkle, a slow spread of warmth, and then—

It was done.

She had just… done it.

Without thinking.

Without bracing.

Without even realizing it was happening until it was too late.

The thick, squishy padding beneath her swelled, pressing against her in ways she had trained herself to ignore, to not think about.

But this time—she couldn’t.

Because this time—her mind was too soft, too hazy, too gone to fight it.

And worse—

It didn’t feel bad.

Not in the way it should.

Not in the way it used to.

Emily’s breath hitched, her cheeks burning as a soft, familiar tingle spread through her limbs, an all-too-familiar sensation following in the wake of her accident.

Before she could stop it before she could even process the full weight of what was happening—

The alcohol burned in her veins, warm and intoxicating, loosening everything—her thoughts, her control, her inhibitions.

And then—

She moaned.

Loud.

Unfiltered.

It slipped out before she could catch it, choke it down, and pretend it hadn’t happened.

Her fingers gripped the highchair tray, curling tight, her body rocking instinctively, uncontrollably, back and forth in her messy diaper.

The squishy, spreading warmth pressed against her with every shift, every movement, every tiny bit of friction, sending a ripple of something dangerous through her.

A feverish, terrible heat pooled low in her belly, mixing with the thick, fuzzy haze of alcohol in her bloodstream.

She should be humiliated.

She should be mortified.

She should be fighting this.

And yet—

The shame was secondary.

Distant.

Muted.

Because Evelyn’s voice cut through everything, warm and full of praise.

“Oh, sweetheart! Such a good baby, making a present for Mommy!”

Her tone was gentle, doting, overflowing with approval.

And Emily—helpless against the wave crashing over her—

Shuddered.

Her breath hitched, and her body went taut for half a second before relaxing completely. A blissful, mindless daze swept through her.

She didn’t even realize she was sucking her thumb until Lucas’s hand found hers beneath the tray, lacing their fingers together, grounding her, reminding her she wasn’t alone.

Emily blinked through the haze, her body still humming, still weak, still warm.

Naomi and Oliver had done this to her.

Had rewritten her body.

Had buried this programming so deep that now, even with a numbed mind, even under the influence of alcohol—

She couldn’t stop it.

She should have felt disgusted.

She should have felt ashamed.

She should have wanted to curl in on herself, hide, and pretend this never happened.

But she wasn’t.

She was far from disgusted.

Far from humiliated.

Instead—

A soft giggle bubbled up in her chest, slipping past her lips before she could stop it.

And the moment she laughed—

She was met with even more praise.

“Oh, look at her! Such a happy girl,” Evelyn cooed, her voice overflowing with warmth, with encouragement, with the perfect, doting affection of a loving Mommy.

“She’s just precious,” Welby chuckled, his eyes soft with pride, his smile unshaken.

Their words wrapped around her like a warm, fuzzy blanket, comforting, familiar, intoxicating.

Her body hummed with a pleasant, tingling sensation. Warmth radiating from the inside out, it curled around her like a sleepy haze.

Her feet kicked playfully again, and her giggles turned into happy little squeals. Her body rocked slightly in the highchair without even thinking.

She was so warm.

So happy.

Her mind swirled with blissful, alcohol-induced serenity, her limbs lost and relaxed, her headlight full of static.

She felt safe.

She felt loved.

And most of all—

She felt good.

So damn good.

She barely registered how deeply she had fallen into the role, how perfectly she was playing it, and how much she loved it.

Because right now—

Right now, she was a perfect Little girl, adored and cherished, sitting between two doting parents who loved her unconditionally.

And at this moment—even knowing what Naomi and Oliver had done to her, even knowing how wrong this was, even knowing that Miranda was watching—

Emily didn’t care.

Not one bit.

The warm, blissful haze wrapped around Emily like a cocoon, the alcohol still buzzing pleasantly in her veins, her giggles spilling freely as Evelyn and Welby showered her with love and praise.

She was floating, her body tingling, light, carefree.

And then—

A gasp.

Several, actually.

Sharp, startled inhales.

The kind of sound that cut through the din of a restaurant, that turned heads and made time slow down for just a moment.

Emily blinked, her mind fumbling through the haze, struggling to catch up.

Something had changed.

Something was happening.

She swayed slightly, trying to focus—wait.

Welby was gone.

No—not gone.

He was beside Evelyn.

On his knee.

Emily’s eyes widened, the world around her snapping into clarity despite the sluggish hum of intoxication.

And then—

Her breath hitched.

Because in his hand, held between his fingers, was a ring.

A diamond glistening in the warm glow of the restaurant’s soft lighting.

A proposal.

Welby was proposing.

To Evelyn.