Page 113 of His Son's Ex

Sunlight pours through the tall windows, gentle and golden, warming my bare skin tangled around the crisp white sheets.

I blink into the brightness, stretching slowly. Every muscle aches, but it’s not the physical pain that stings—it’s the ache in my heart.

I wish Dante was here.

The thought sneaks in before I can stop it. I know it’s ridiculous. After everything—the lies, the betrayal, the violence—I shouldn’t be yearning for him. I want space, mostly. But the truth is, I miss him.

Even after Isabella told me the truth about my father, even after she cleared Dante’s name, a shadow of doubt still lingers. Trust doesn’t come easy—not anymore. But despite it all, I crave his touch. His mouth on mine. His low, gravelly voice melting all my defenses.

I let my eyes drift shut, my heart betraying me as it conjures up images of him with vivid clarity. In my mind, I’m back in his arms, wrapped in his kiss like I was the only thing that mattered.

“I should go,” I say breathlessly in the dream, though my fingers clutch desperately at his shirt.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dante speaks against my throat. “Not when I finally have you back.”

His hand slides beneath my shirt, his palm dragging heat across my skin. I gasp, arching into him, helpless against the way he commands every part of me—body, breath, thought. His lips brush my collarbone.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. I swear it.”

A flutter in my belly snaps me out of my daydream. I blink hard, heart racing. “Okay,” I say, smoothing a hand over the slight swell of my stomach, “that’s enough of that.”

Dragging myself out of bed, I wander into the bathroom. It’s stunning—glass enclosed stone shower, large garden tub, marble floors and countertops gleaming beneath a high skylight. I turn on the water in the shower, practically salivating at the thought of being able to take one. The simple things I was deprived of while being held captive have become luxuries. I step inside, reveling in the warm water and steam that envelops my body. After washing and conditioning my hair, I later up with the vanilla body wash, breathing in the calming scent.

I step out and towel off, then slip into the plush robe hanging on the hook. I shuffle downstairs, wrapping the robe tighter around me.

The house is quiet. Peaceful. Almost unnervingly so. Through the kitchen window, a pair of guards patrol the property’s perimeter, moving in practiced silence. They’re the only human contact I’ve had since arriving here a week ago.

Dante said they could escort me into town if I wanted. I haven’t taken him up on that yet. Maybe because I’m still rattled by the whole ordeal or maybe because I’m still figuring out what comes next with us. Either way, I’ve kept to the estate.

I flip on the kettle and move around the kitchen slowly, my body still sore. The kitchen smells like honey and lavender from the tea I’ve been living on.

My phone lights up on the counter, Halsey’s name flashing on the screen with a text message.

En route. Prepare yourself. I’ve got tea and baby stuff like you wouldn’t believe. ETA: 5 min.

I smile for the first time all morning.

I pour my tea and curl into a chair near the window, sipping slowly while staring out at the garden. The view is beautiful in an eerie way—quiet, expensive, secretive. But for the first time since I got here, it doesn’t feel so suffocating. Halsey coming to visit gives me a new hope. I haven’t seen her since before the craziness.

I’m safe and alive and my best friend is about to arrive.

The doorbell rings. I shoot up like I’ve been electrocuted, padding across the heated wood floors barefoot, tea forgotten on the table. I pull the door open and?—

“Halls!” I yell.

“Eva!” she screams back, practically jumping across the threshold.

We crash into each other, hugging so tight it hurts.

“You smell like chamomile and trauma,” she says.

I can’t help but laugh. Of course she’d say something like that. “You smell like the city. God, I missed you.”

“I brought tabloids, contraband gummy bears, and enough mafia gossip to fuel ten bad mob movies.” She wiggles the oversized tote on her arm. “And maybe there’s some varieties of tea and lots of cute baby stuff in there too. You ready?”

I step aside, eyes misty. “I was born ready.”

For the first time since I got here, the house doesn’t feel like a prison.

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