Page 52 of Devil in Disguise

Moments later, he slid my phone across the table and smiled. “There. I’ve redirected all incoming calls and texts to my phone. Let me handle the underworld while Sypher gets the help he needs.”

“Does King know we are here?”

“No one does.”

“How is Ellery?”

Nav chuckled. “Still pregnant. Ryder won’t leave her side. He’s driving her nuts.”

A heavy silence descended as Nav and I sat, the unspoken words pressing down on us like a physical weight. The tea steamed untouched in front of us. The sweet scent of honey filled the air, but did little to mask the tension. I felt a surge of protectiveness towards Danny, my fragile man who had once been so full of life and who now sat pouring out his soul to a stranger. I wanted to be the one to fix him, to take away his pain, but I knew my limitations. The arrival of Dr. Walker, this kind-faced woman with her soft voice and compassionate eyes, offered a glimmer of hope. But it also forced me to confront my own failures and the realization that I couldn’t do this alone.

The sound of movement broke the silence in the other room. Dr. Walker emerged, her face composed, but her eyes held a depth of understanding. She gave a small, reassuring smile, and I felt a slight easing of the anxiety that had been coiled tight within me. Danny remained seated, his gaze downcast, his features unreadable. I wanted to rush to his side, to demand an instant solution from the doctor, but I forced myself to stay put, my throat tight with unshed words.

Dr. Walker’s eyes met mine, and I saw the unspoken communication pass between us. She understood my worry, my desperation, and my fear of failure. With a gentle nod, she indicated I should join them. My legs felt like lead as I pushed back my chair and moved towards them. The weight of my promise and my love for Danny felt like a physical burden, but I steeled myself, determined to face whatever came next together.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Danny

I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be anywhere. This desolate farmhouse, swallowed by the endless expanse of wheat fields, felt like a tomb. It wasn’t just the unfamiliar setting; it was the suffocating weight of my own choices, a leaden blanket pressing down on me. I didn’t know this place, or even where I was. All I knew was that this small house, a prison of polished wood and hushed silence, was a far cry from the gritty, desperate energy of the New York motel room—a room that, despite its squalor, felt somehow more honest. I couldn’t look at Dante. The sight of him, etched with a pain I’d inflicted, was a constant, burning shame.

Why didn’t he just leave me? He should have left me to wallow in the filth and self-loathing I deserved. He should have. My so-called “morals,” the ones I clung to like a life raft in a storm, were shattered. They’d always whispered of loyalty, of commitment; but now they felt like mocking whispers, taunting me with the gaping chasm between what I preached and what I did. It wasn’t just the infidelity. That was bad enough.

The betrayal of my vows, the searing pain I’d caused Dante—that was a monstrous act I could never forgive myself for, only compounded by the fact my memories returned, making everything worse. The flood of lost time, the realization of the things I’d done before I went and fucked everything up, things far darker, far more selfish, things that violated my deepest-held beliefs about myself. It was a betrayal even worse than the one Dante had witnessed.

It was a betrayal of my sense of self.

The memories haunted me, specters of a past I wished I could forget. In this isolated farmhouse, with Dante’s wounded gaze haunting me, I was forced to confront the truth. My actions had not just hurt Dante, but they had betrayed the very core of who I was. The man I thought I was—loyal, committed—seemed like a stranger now. The fucking cunt used me, dragged me down into the dark fathomless pit of rot, a rot that had infected my soul. I had violated my own sense of self and the shame of it was a bitter taste I couldn’t wash away.

How could I have sunk so low? The wheat fields, golden and endless, mocked me with their beauty, a stark contrast to the ugliness within me. I wanted to run, to escape this place that felt like a tomb, entombing my past self along with my secrets. But Dante remained a silent sentinel, his presence a reminder of the pain I had caused. I deserved his anger, his reproach, yet he stayed a silent vigil by my side.

The silence between us was heavy with unspoken words and the weight of our shared history. I knew I had to confront the darkness within me, to face the truth of my actions and perhaps, just perhaps, I could find a way to redemption. But the path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in the mist of my own self-deception and the shadows of my shattered morals.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the tense silence between us.

I felt a surge of panic as the reality of my situation came crashing down on me, and my eyes flickered toward the window, wondering what the hell awaited me next.

Dante walked unhurriedly toward the door and opened it to greet whoever had arrived. From my seat on the couch, I could see the pretty woman. Her kind face and long hair pulled back in a sleek braid offered a small measure of comfort. But she wasn’t the one who captured my attention. Behind her stood a familiar face.

One I didn’t expect to see.

“Hey, Dante,” Zach greeted my husband warmly as I looked away, ashamed to let him see me in this state, let alone anyone else. Dante had told me a doctor was coming, and I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything anymore except the gnawing, relentless pain I’d caused and the pain I knew I’d continue to cause.

It was all my fault.

I did this. I broke us. But even though I knew I’d wrecked everything, a fierce, selfish rage flared within me. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be so... accepting. So patient. It felt like a betrayal of my self-loathing. He deserved better than this broken, pathetic version of myself.

“I’m Dr. Walker,” I vaguely heard the woman say. “But please, call me Haizley.”

“Why are you here?” Dante asked, looking at Zach, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside me.

The pretty doctor’s words cut through the fog. “Because the giant oaf I am convinced is stalking me wouldn’t let me leave without an escort. Ignore him.”

Zach groaned. “I already told you, woman. None of the old ladies go anywhere without an escort.”

“Once again, I am not his old lady,” Dr. Walker huffed as Dante stepped aside.

I remained on the couch, my gaze fixed on the floor. I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. There was no way to fix what I’d broken. I knew that. Yet Dante’s stubborn refusal to let me go felt like a heavy, suffocating blanket. A part of me, the selfish, cowardly part, wished he would let me go. I wouldn’t be able to hurt him anymore. But another, deeper part—a part I desperately tried to ignore—ached with the terrifying realization that letting him go meant accepting absolute, crushing loneliness. A loneliness far worse than the guilt and shame.

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