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“You’re pregnant, Ivy.”

The silence is thunderous. And for a moment, I hear the real Daniel beneath the polish—the rage, the disbelief that I would dare move on, dare defy him, dare belong to someone else.

“Whose is it?” He speaks so nonchalantly, as if he isn’t my stalking, manipulating ex but a close friend instead.

“You don’t get to know that.”

“Is it someone powerful?” A sliver of suspicion edges into his voice. “Someone who can protect you from me?”

I say nothing.

His laugh is cold. “Because that’s the only reason you’d keep him a secret. Otherwise, you’d be begging me to take you back.”

I shake my head even though he can’t see it. “You never loved me.”

“I still do,” he says. “You just don’t understand what love is.”

“No,” I say, voice rising. “You don’t.”

A pause, then his tone changes again, morphing back into something calm and patient, the same one he used to use on my mother or on the press. “You need someone like me, Ivy. Someone who knows how this city works. You think Valleria will open its arms for a single mother with a questionable history? Think again. I was your future.”

“I’m building a different one.”

“With whom?” he asks again, and this time, there’s steel under the words. “Is he going to protect you when I decide you’re a problem?”

I close my eyes. “You’re not God, Daniel.”

“No,” he agrees softly. “But I’m still the one they call when they need permission.”

And just then, there's the sound of a car pulling up on the curb outside. I inch up to the window and look outside. It's a black sedan.

The timing is too precise to be anything but intentional. I move on instinct, barefoot and silent, crossing the room like the walls might betray me. When I reach the door, I fumble with the lock, breath caught somewhere between my ribs. A quiet curse slips from my mouth as I twist the bolt once, then again.

Although I head to the bedroom, I already know I'm not getting a wink of sleep tonight.

10

ETHAN

When I finally get home that night, my mind is made up about not letting Ivy do this alone. Unfortunately, when it comes to putting that intention to practice, I quickly find out that she is one stubborn woman. The first time I call her, it rings four times before going to voicemail. The second time, it doesn't even ring. Straight to silence, like her phone already knows what I’m going to say.

By the third attempt, I don’t bother leaving a message.

She’s shut me out before, but this feels different in its finality. She’s building walls faster than I can scale them, and for the first time in years, I feel it acutely—that old, aching fury twisting in my gut, the kind that comes when something you want is slipping through your fingers and you can’t fucking stop it.

I toss the phone onto the nightstand and lie back, one arm stretched over my head, the other resting across my chest. The clock on the wall tells me I’ve got five minutes left to be selfish. Five minutes before I have to become the man the world expects. So I close my eyes and think of her.

She’s lying beside me.

Hair loose across the pillow, lips parted, bare skin lit only by the slow wash of early morning light slipping through the blinds. Her thigh is hooked over mine. Warm. Supple. My hand curls beneath it, possessive by instinct. In this dream version of the world, she came home with me last night. Slipped out of that clingy sweater in my hallway, let me kiss every inch of her like I’ve wanted to since the moment I saw her again.

I close my eyes and breathe her in, even if she’s only in my head. I can still taste her—sweet, addictive, the sound of her moan etched into my bloodstream.

“Touch me,” she whispers.

I turn to her in the dark, reach for her waist, and pull her beneath me. Her legs open easily, as if she is openly greedy for more. And in this version of reality, she isn’t afraid. She isn’t hiding. She arches up with a gasp, that soft sound she makes when she wants more. My hand traces the curve of her hip, over the faint swell of her stomach.

She kisses me like she’s starving. Tongue slick against mine, fingers tangled in my hair. Her hips roll up to meet me, begging without shame.