Page 130 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
I glanced up at the dark clouds gathering outside. They looked heavier than usual, like the sky knew something I didn’t.
I turned the corner into the scheme leading to the shops—and forgot how to breathe.
Garrett stood beside the polished black car, parked right in front of Nahla’s shop.
I started to back away, heart hammering, but I hit something solid.
Hands clamped around my arms like vices.
“Hello, love,” Laurent whispered against my ear.
I froze. His grip was firm, almost unyielding, and when he turned me around, my heart slammed against my ribs.
Laurent.
Up close, he didn’t look like the man I’d left behind. His hair was a little longer, his beard darker at the jaw and streaked with silver. His eyes—God, his eyes—looked tired, sunken, but still carried that fierce light that used to pin me in place.
For a second, neither of us spoke. The scent of his aftershave hit me like muscle memory—clean, sharp, expensive. My pulse stumbled.
He scanned my face like he was trying to read months’ worth of missing chapters. His gaze dropped briefly, catching on my belly, before returning to my eyes.
“You’ve been hiding from me,” he said quietly.
I swallowed hard. “I’ve got nothing left to say to you, Laurent.”
Something flickered in his expression—pain, anger, maybe both. He tightened his hold, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me he was still the man who didn’t like to be told no.
“You shouldn’t have run,” he murmured. “Not with my child.”
“And you shouldn’t have treated me like a two-bit breeding whore,” I snapped, months of rage bubbling to the surface.
The words came out steadier than I felt. My palms were slick, my mind racing.
“Weren’t those your words, Mr Dubois?” I asked, jerking against his grip.
“I never—it wasn’t like that,” he said, the words rough around the edges.
“Your legal documents stated otherwise,” I shot back. “Do you honestly think I wanted someone like you in my child’s life?”
His fingers loosened, the pressure easing. Something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe regret, but I wasn’t sure which of us hated that more.
“Lucia,” he hissed, low and strained, as if my name alone might undo him.
“Just let me go, Laurent. Find someone else to play your games with. Leave me alone,” I said, my body sagging under the weight of it all.
Exhaustion seeped into every cell. Months of vigilance, of planning and running and second-guessing every move—now that he’d found me, a small part of me almost felt relief. Relief, if only he’d let me go. If only he’d release this obsession and stop trying to take my child from me.
He said nothing until the silence turned heavy.
“I wish I were a better man, Lucia,” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into my arms, grip tightening. “But I’m not. I’ll try—for you, and for our baby. You’re getting in my car and coming back with me.”
My head snapped up, and I opened my mouth to protest—he covered it with his hand.
“No prenups,” he said softly. “And no holding our child hostage.”
I stared at him, searching his eyes.
He looked genuine. Or maybe he just believed his own lies.
