Page 43 of His Nephew's Ex
Pure, overwhelming joy floods through me—the kind of happiness I thought I’d lost the capacity for after twenty years of violence and moral compromise. But underneath the joy runs something darker, more possessive.
She’s mine now. Completely, irrevocably mine.
Not just because of the protection I offer or the passion that burns between us, but because she’s carrying the next generation of the Simeone Codella bloodline. My heir. My legacy. The future I never dared to dream about.
“Stellina.” I rise from my chair slowly, noting how she takes an instinctive step backward. “Come here.”
“Simeone, I need you to understand something—”
“Come. Here.” The command in my voice brooks no argument, and after a moment’s hesitation, she moves closer. Not close enough—never close enough—but within reach.
I cup her face with hands that shake with the magnitude of what she’s given me. “You’re pregnant with my child.”
“Yes.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean—”
“It means everything.” I lean down until our foreheads touch, until I can feel her breath ghosting across my lips. “It means you’re not just under my protection anymore—you’re the mother of my heir. It means this isn’t temporary, this isn’t negotiable, this isn’t something you can walk away from when you get bored with my world.”
Her brown eyes flash with familiar fire. “I’m not walking away from anything. But I’m also not some broodmare you can claim just because we had sex once.”
“Once was enough.” My thumbs stroke across her cheekbones, and I feel the moment her body betrays her with a slight tremor. “Once was enough to create a life, to bind us together in a way that can never be undone.”
“Biology isn’t destiny, Simeone. Having your baby doesn’t make me your property.”
The protest is sharp, defiant, absolutely magnificent in its futile bravado. She’s fighting this with everything she has, clinging to the illusion that she has a choice in what comes next.
She doesn’t.
“Doesn’t it?” I step closer, backing her against the wall beside my bookshelf. “Your body chose me,stellina. Your body opened for me, welcomed me, gave me exactly what I needed to plant my seed deep inside you.”
Her breath catches at the crude language, but I can see the heat building in her eyes despite her protests. “That’s not—it doesn’t work that way—”
“Tell me you don’t want me,” I whisper, bracing my hands against the wall on either side of her head. “Tell me your pulse doesn’t spike every time I get close. Tell me you don’t think about that night in your apartment, about how perfectly we fit together.”
“That’s just physical attraction,” she manages, but her voice lacks conviction. “It doesn’t mean anything beyond—”
“Beyond what? Beyond the fact that you let me be your first? Beyond the fact that you trusted me with your virginity?” I lean closer, until my chest brushes against her breasts with everybreath. “Beyond the fact that your body chose mine to create our child?”
The reminder of her inexperience, of the gift she gave me that night, makes something primitive and possessive unfurl in my chest. She was pure before me, untouched by any other man, and now she’s carrying the proof of my claim on her body.
“One night doesn’t equal a lifetime commitment,” she argues, but I can feel the way her body melts toward mine despite her words.
“One night created a lifetime responsibility.” My hand moves to her still-flat stomach, splaying across the silk of her dress. “My child is growing in here. My blood mixing with yours. Tell me that doesn’t change everything.”
“It changes some things,” she admits quietly. “But it doesn’t mean we’re in love. It doesn’t mean we’re going to live happily ever after just because I’m pregnant.”
“You think this is about love?” I ask, and the bitter edge to my voice surprises even me. “This isn’t some fairy tale, stellina. This is about possession, about claiming what’s mine.”
Her eyes flash with something that might be hurt or relief. “So you’re admitting this is just about ownership?”
“I’m admitting that what I feel for you goes beyond anything I understand or control.” I lean closer, until my lips brush againsther ear. “Call it obsession if you want. Call it madness. But don’t call it love—I’m not capable of that kind of weakness anymore.”
“Obsession,” she breathes, and I can hear both fear and fascination in her voice.
“The most consuming kind.” My mouth finds the sensitive spot below her ear, and I feel her shiver despite her protests. “The kind that makes men tear down kingdoms and build new ones from the ashes. The kind that creates dynasties.”
“I don’t want to be conquered,” she protests weakly.
“Too late.” I nip at her throat, tasting the jasmine scent that’s been haunting my dreams. “You surrendered to me that night in your apartment. Your body, your trust, your innocence. You gave me everything.”
