Page 88 of His Son's Ex

The crisp night air hits me like a shock. I glance around, my breath misting under a faint moon. A row of cars is parked in a small lot next to the garage—Dante’s staff vehicles. I thought about taking one of his cars parked in the garage—the keys are on the wall—but I know he has GPS trackers on all of themand he’ll quickly track me down. I hurry toward the property’s gates. If they’re locked, I’ll climb over. I’m determined, and my adrenaline is working overtime.

Luck is with me. The gate stands slightly ajar, perhaps left open by a guard or caretaker. I slip through, my heart racing. The road beyond is dark and quiet, a passing car only every few minutes. I fish my phone out, checking the time. It’s half past midnight.

Perfect.

I call for an Uber, shooting a nervous glance over my shoulder at the looming silhouette of the mansion. Anxiety curdles in my gut. The phone’s app pings that a driver is five minutes away.

The minutes crawl as I wait at the side of the road. Every sound—rustling leaves, a distant dog bark—makes me jump. I keep expecting one of Dante’s guards to walk up, or for Linda to come out screeching into the night. But nothing happens. The only drama is inside my own head, swirling with fear and heartbreak.

Finally, headlights crest the bend. A small, dark blue Nissan pulls up, the driver leaning out of the window.

“You Eva?”

I nod, throwing my bag in the back seat and sliding in after it. The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, a curious expression on his face. I give him a tight smile as I say, “West 50th and 9th please.”

Relief bleeds into my muscles as he pulls away from the curb. I did it. I left.No drama, no shouting, no confrontation.

I stare out the window as the car meanders through the dark empty streets, each passing streetlamp illuminating suburbancalm. My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I can’t bear to check it, so I power it off, letting the screen go dark.

The driver tries small talk. I respond with one-syllable answers until he gives up, leaving me to my tornado of thoughts. I rest a hand on my abdomen.It’s you and me now, baby.We’ll figure this out. We’ll find out the truth about your father—whether he’s a monster or just a pawn in a twisted game. And if he’s guilty…God, I can’t even stomach the thought.

My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I blink them back, pressing my palm harder against my belly.I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.

The Nissan merges onto another road, neon signs glowing in the distance. Soon, Halsey’s neighborhood looms, the familiar old brownstones and late-night diners giving me a spark of comfort. The driver pulls up to the curb. I grab my bag and step out, thanking him quietly.

The building’s lobby is dim, a single overhead light buzzing. I enter the code and the door buzzes, granting me access. My footsteps echo in the quiet stairwell as I climb the two flights to Halsey’s floor. The lingering smell of someone’s late night dinner hangs in the air. It feels almost normal, like I belong here.

In front of her door, I fish out the spare key from under a potted plant. A wave of guilty relief hits me. I’m safe here, at least temporarily. I’ll be able to plan my next steps in peace and quiet.

I unlock the door and step inside the dark apartment, flipping a lamp on. The living room is cozy and minimal, Halsey’s collection of quirky art prints dotting the walls. My shoulders slump with exhaustion. Setting my duffel down, I kick off my sneakers.

I brace a hand on the couch, struggling to keep the tears at bay.

Taking a shaky breath, I grab a blanket off the back of the sofa and wrap it around me, sinking into a worn armchair.

Tonight, I need some rest.

Tomorrow, the real fight begins.

CHAPTER 28

DANTE

Itook a red-eye flight home, and I’m exhausted. The second my car pulls up beneath the mansion’s porte-cochère, I know something’s wrong. No staff at the door. No movement. Nothing but stillness.

I step out, my jaw tight, senses on high alert.

Inside, the halls are dim. Empty. My steps echo through the corridor like a warning bell. I head straight for our suite. I left Eva here safe, surrounded by guards. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.

I open the door. The bed’s untouched, her bag’s gone.

No note. No trace.

My stomach drops.

I check the closet. Her clothes are missing though her scent still lingers. The room feels hollow, stripped of warmth.

I yank out my phone and call her. Straight to voicemail.

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