Page 39 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

“Why are you really doing this?” Her voice is quieter now, a blade wrapped in velvet.

I could feed her the easy lie-strategy, control, self-preservation- but my fingers move first, tucking that rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. My knuckles graze her cheekbone. Her breath stops.

Mine does too.

“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment.” Flat words, but her eyes are wildfire searching for kindling in mine.

I tilt my head, all feigned innocence. “Enlighten me.”

She crosses her arms, her shoulders tightening. “You keep staring at me like… like I’m some restoration project. Like you think I’ll magically become someone worth sticking around for.”

A muscle jumps in my jaw. “You think I’m that stupid?”

Her eyes dart away- just a flash of vulnerability before the walls come back up. “I think you’re stubborn. And stubborn people do stupid things.”

A slow smile cuts across my face as her breath hitches- the only tell I need. “Maybe I just know how this ends.”

Her laugh is sharp. “You’re delusional if you think this ends with me wearing white and walking down some aisle.”

“I don’t need you in white, Fantasia.” My voice is firm, unwavering. “I just need you.”

She goes statue-still- lips parted, eyes wide with something between terror and hunger. Then the mask slams down with a shake of her head. “You’re insane.”

“No.” My voice drops to something intimate, dangerous. I crowd into her space, refusing to let her look away. “You've always known we fit. And one day, when those walls finally crumble…” I press closer, my mouth at her ear, “...you'll beg me to put a ring on it.”

She recoils like I've branded her, arms wrapping tight around herself.“You'll die waiting.”

I catch her wrist, spinning her back to face me.“What's life without a little gamble, sweetheart?”

For one charged second, her eyes scream everything her mouth won't. Then she wrenches free, kicking loose gravel as she strides ahead with forced nonchalance.

“Move your ass,” she tosses over her shoulder. “I’m starving.”

I exhale through my nose, watching her go.

Then I follow.

Back at the cabin, the firelight flickers, catching the rim of Fantasia’s glass as she swirls the grape juice inside. She still gets that hazy, far-off look in her eyes from time to time, but she doesn’t reach for distractions as often.

I notice the absence of breakfast- the table left untouched, no sign of Chef Marcel’s usual spread. I shrug, trying to pass it off. “Maybe he’s sick,” I say. “I’ll call the front desk later, see if they’ve heard anything.”

“I’m surprised you’re not going insane,” Fantasia muses, and for a second I think she’s talking to herself. Then her gaze meets mine, her pale green eyes sharp even in the dim lighting. “You haven’t been taking calls, haven’t checked in at Wesley Hall. You’ve never been the type to sit still for long.”

I consider that. “Maybe I’ve been running long enough.”

I pause, looking down at the deep purple liquid swirling in my glass. “And maybe I’ve avoided the inevitable long enough too.” I lift my eyes to meet hers, resolve hardening in my chest. It’s time I get my answers. I take a slow sip, then set the glass down. “Why did you do it?”

Fantasia doesn’t pretend not to understand. Her fingers tighten slightly around the stem of her glass, but she doesn’t withdraw.

She exhales through her nose, eyes burning into the firelight. “You already know why.”

“I need to hear it.”

Her jaw tenses. For a long moment, I think she’s going to shut down, to throw up the walls she’s so good at building. But then she shifts in her seat, setting her glass on the coffee table, fingers still lingering on the rim.

“I spent my entire life knowing exactly who I was supposed to be,” she says quietly. “I was raised for this. I learned how to lead, how to fight, how to command. And no matter what I did, it was never going to be enough. Because in the end, my father didn’t choose me.”

She finally looks at me, and something sharp lodges itself in my chest.

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