Page 88 of Pastel Kisses

I step into the room like I own it—because in many ways, I do. “Hey,” I call out casually, padding across the tile floor.

Jaxton’s head snaps up, relief instantly softening his features. He crosses the kitchen in two strides and wraps his arms around my waist, careful but possessive. His hands span across the sides of my belly like it’s second nature.

“There she is,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You look beautiful.”

I glance past him at the housekeeper, who’s suddenly much more interested in the edge of the counter.

“Thanks.” I smile sweetly, resting my cheek against his chest for a moment before adding, “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Jaxton chuckles low under his breath. “You’reneverinterrupting, Kitten.”

He turns with me tucked securely to his side, his hand resting gently on the small of my back as he walks me toward the table. “Thank you for your help today,” he says to the housekeeper—his tone polite but unmistakably final. “We’re all set now. You can go.”

Without missing a beat, he pulls out a chair and helps me sit, brushing a soft kiss to the top of my head like it’s second nature. I already know what’s coming—he’s heading to the kitchen to fix me a snack, because that’s what Jaxton does. He takes care of me like it’s his full-time job.

And by the little flutters tumbling in my stomach, our baby is just as excited about that snack as I am.

Jaxton hums quietly to himself as he smooths two generous dollops of peanut butter onto a plate. The familiar, comforting scent drifts through the air while he slices up a crisp apple with easy precision. His movements are effortless, like this is just another ordinary afternoon—and maybe for him, it is. For me, moments like these feel sacred. Every kind thing he does, every careful gesture, wraps around me like a blanket I never want to take off.

But the moment I glance toward the housekeeper still lingering by the counter, unease curls in my gut.

She has her back to us as she methodically gathers her cleaning supplies, moving a little too slowly. The dark smock she’s wearing is the same style I’ve seen on other hotel staff—but something about her feels… off. It’s not what she’s doing, exactly. It’s what she’s not doing. No polite acknowledgment. No casual smile. No sense of urgency to leave even though Jaxton had already thanked and dismissed her.

Instead, she moves as if she belongs here. As if this is her space, and we’re just passing through.

A chill prickles along the back of my neck, raising goosebumps on my arms despite the cozy warmth of my silk robe. My instincts whisper louder than my rational thoughts, warning me with a quiet intensity I’ve learned not to ignore—especially after everything I’ve been through.

I shift slightly in my chair, pressing my hand over my belly like I can shield the baby from a feeling. From a threat I can’t quite name.

Something isn’t right.

I can’t explain it—there’s no sound, no warning—but my body knows before my mind does. A chill dances down my spine, making every hair on my arms stand on end.

The housekeeper turns around, and in a split second, the air shifts.

She looks different—new hair color, different eye shade, even the uniform is standard—but there’s something about her, something familiar and bone-deep terrifying. Her eyes lock on mine, and in them, I see it. That unhinged glint I’ll never forget. The same one that haunted me for months.

My breath catches. My heart stumbles. I open my mouth to warn Jaxton, but the words don’t come fast enough.

Before I can even shout, she lunges—grabbing Jaxton from behind and pressing a cloth over his face. His startled noise is muffled, his strong body twisting in surprise as panic floods his features.

“Jax!” My voice catches on a gasp, sharp and panicked, as I push to my feet in a rush, heart thundering in my chest.

He meets my eyes, and the fear there nearly undoes me. He stumbles back, trying to shake her off, trying to hold his ground—but I recognize the dazed look beginning to take over. I know that helpless sensation all too well.

Still, he fights. He slams her against the wall, dragging them both across the floor. But she clings on tightly, fueled by something unhinged. I can see how hard he’s trying to stay upright, how his instincts scream to protect me, even as his strength fades. He glances toward me one last time—eyes filled with apology, desperation, and love—and then he goes still.

“Jaxton,” I whisper, the breath stolen from my lungs.

She releases him, letting his body slump to the floor as she straightens and turns to face me. Her smile is eerie—wide, unnatural, too calm. She brushes her bangs from her eyes, as if we’re old friends meeting for lunch.

“Hi, Avery,” she says lightly. “How’s my baby doing?”

The room tilts slightly, but I plant my feet and stand tall, heart pounding, every protective instinct roaring to life.

Not today.

Not again.

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