Page 7

After a bit of catching up with my mom and her cuddling Lumi, I see my dad enter the living room. When our eyes meet, he offers me a wide smile. I return the smile and see my mom turn around to face him.

My body quickly relaxes, feeling that whatever he and Arlo discussed must have gone well. He walks straight up to us, arms outstretched, definitely wanting to hold Lumi. My mother joyfully hands her over to him, and I watch in awe as he lavishes attention on her. This is a very special occasion for my parents; I've always known they'd make wonderful grandparents and love Lumi unconditionally. Seeing them so happy and engaged with her fills me with a sense of peace and contentment.

But then Arlo emerges out of nowhere, and my entire mood shifts. He doesn't seem happy at all; his aura is intense, as if something has really agitated him. I feel anxiety crawl up my spine as he passes across the living room, not looking at me until he is totally out of sight. My brows furrow, and I want to go to him, but I can't since my parents are here and I can't move due to the pain. I try to focus on the moment, but my mind keeps drifting back to Arlo and whatever has him so angry.

Carmella eventually says her goodbyes, followed closely by my mom and dad.

My mom peers down at me with a smile, “Please drop us a visit soon, Wren.”

“Of course I will, Mom.”

She wraps me in a gentle hug, her embrace comforting, before stepping back. My dad then places Lumi in my arms, leaning down to kiss my forehead softly.

“You did great, princess. She’s truly precious,” he says, his voice filled with pride.

I offer him a wry smile, watching them leave until they disappear from sight. A sense of confusion lingers as I stare ahead, my thoughts a mess. Cree snuggles closer to me, his small body warm and I lower my gaze to him, my fingers instinctively running through his curly hair.

“I wonder where your dad is hiding,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

The minutes stretch on, feeling like an eternity until Arlo finally reappears in the living room. He looks calmer, but the uneasy sensation in my stomach refuses to go. Something feels off. When he reaches us, he leans down and gently lifts Cree into his arms, his small frame limp with sleep.

“I’ll get Cree into bed and then help you with Lumi,” he whispers, avoiding meeting my eyes before he walks away.

What happened? Could something have go on between him and my dad? It seems unlikely—my dad is a typical nerd, the last person to provoke someone like Arlo. Yet, the tension in the air makes me think otherwise.

Arlo reappears, breaking me from the thoughts swirling in my mind. He gently takes Lumi from my arms, cradling her against his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with his steady breaths. He extends his arm to me, and I scoot across the couch, tightening my grasp on his bicep as he helps me stand.

We make our way upstairs together, then spend some time bathing Lumi, her small giggles bringing a brief fluffiness to the worry. We dress her in soft pyjamas, tuck her into her crib, and then move toward our bedroom. After taking a seat on the soft mattress, I place the baby monitor on the bedside table, its presence a small reminder of our new reality.

I then watch Arlo move around the room, stripping off his clothes and I can’t help but notice the growing distance between us. The silence is heavy, almost suffocating, and I feel it pressing down on me until I can no longer bear it.

“What's wrong?” I finally ask.

Arlo's brows knit together as he unbuttons his jeans, not looking into my eyes again. “Nothing. Why?” he responds, his tone a little too casual, too dismissive.

My brow arches, and my gaze briefly sweeps over his heavily tattooed body. I try to read him, but he's a closed book tonight.

“I know you, Arlo,” I say. “I know a lot more about you than you think.”

He pauses, his jeans pooled around his ankles, and our eyes lock. He steps out of his jeans and moves toward me, stopping right in front of me.

“Let’s take a shower. You're probably fucking tired after today,” he orders with a head gesture.

I tilt my head back, letting my gaze climb up his muscular frame until it meets his. We stare at each other, and I can tell he's holding something back—again. The realization sinks in, making my heart ache.

“Please, baby.” I murmur barely above a whisper, “tell me.”

For a moment, everything hangs in the balance, my plea hovering between us like a fragile thread, waiting to either bind us closer or snap under the weight of whatever he's hiding.

I know I'm right when he sighs and looks away with a stiff jaw, but it must be something huge that he’s unwilling to tell me. I extend my hand and grasp his in mine, causing him to stare down at me.

“We're having a shower.” he demands, squeezing my hand and tugging on my arm.

I roll my eyes, masking my frustration as he helps me up, and we make our way to the bathroom.

The steam envelops us as we step into the shower and I keep my eyes low, focusing on washing myself, but I can feel his gaze burning into me. Even though he says nothing, it’s like I can hear his thoughts, loud and conflicted, echoing in my mind.

Desperate to break the drift between us, I decide to change tactics, to play with his weaknesses—me. I slowly lift my gaze, locking eyes with his, and take a small step forward. The gap between us closes, and I see him react immediately, his breath catching as my breasts brush against his firm abs. His eyes darkening with desire.

My hands glide up his wet, tattooed chest, tracing the familiar contours of his muscles, each touch sensual. I feel his heart beating beneath my fingertips, fast and strong. When my arms circle around the back of his neck, he instinctively leans in, our faces mere inches apart. The tension in his body shifts, his need for me warring with whatever he’s trying to hide.

Our eyes remain locked, and in that moment, I can feel the power I have over him. It's in the way his breath quickens, the way his hands hover near my hips, aching to pull me closer but restrained by the pain I’m in. The water cascades around us, but all I can focus on is the intense connection between us.

When his lips brush against mine, my eyelids flutter closed, and the connection between us ignites like a storm. The soft kiss deepens as he threads his fingers through my hair, gripping it with a firm but careful hold, his breath growing heavier, his control slipping. The stress, the unresolved tension, all seem to melt away in the heat of this moment.

He tilts my head back, asserting his dominance, and our lips collide with a force that sends a shiver down my spine. I respond eagerly, letting his pierced tongue invade my mouth as it becomes almost desperate. My fingers tangle in the wet strands of his hair, and I moan against his lips. The desire between us is undeniable, an electric current that pulls us together in a way that feels both familiar and dangerous.

As he slowly walks me backward, I realize that my plan has backfired. My back hits the cold tiles, and the shock of it pulls me from the haze of desire for a split second. But then he presses his chest against me, grinding his body against my tits while being mindful of my tummy, and I lose myself in him again. His hands roam down my body, lingering on my breasts before squeezing them with just enough pressure to make me gasp. The sound breaks our kiss, leaving us both breathless.

“I’m pretty sure we’re not allowed to do that just yet,” I manage to murmur.

“Shut the fuck up. We do whatever the fuck we want,” he growls against my lips, his words filled with a possessive hunger that sends another jolt of arousal through me.

Before I can react, he drops to his knees in front of me, and my breath hitches, anticipation and hesitation churning in my mind.

“Arlo…” I whisper, trying to find balance on the tiles as I run my hand through his wet, dark hair, gripping a handful.

When his pierced tongue slips through my pussy lips, running up my slit before latching onto my clit, my legs almost buckle, a moan escaping me. It's been three fucking days. Three days, and I am already weakening to his touch. We don’t even know if we should not be doing this.

Trying to protest, my words disappear into mumbled moans as his skilled mouth explores every inch of my core. He pries my pussy open with his thumbs, gaining better access, tilting his head back to press his face deeper between my thighs, his tongue swirling and dipping inside me, and I begin to hyperventilate.

“Oh, god, yes,” I groan, my will slipping as the pleasure sweeps through me like a wave. Both hands find his hair, encouraging him to continue. He knows exactly what I need, and he delivers. When she starts to suck on my clit with an intense force, my climax builds rapidly.

With one last flick of his tongue, I shatter. My eyes roll back, a cry tearing from my throat as I throw my head back against the tiles. He grasps my thighs, keeping me upright while my body and pussy convulse.

As the orgasm fades, he gives me a few more teasing licks over my sensitive bud before lifting his head and slowly rising in front of me. Closing the gap between us, I throw my arm over his shoulder to keep myself steady, still high, and he presses his lips against the side of my neck.

“I had missed the sweet flavour of your cunt on my tongue,” he growls into my ear, and I gently smile. “You still taste as beautiful as the first time you graced my taste buds.”

When he draws back, his wicked eyes lock onto mine, examining them, and I come back to reality, thinking about trying to ask what's wrong again.

“Are you ready to tell me what bothered you, or will we pretend nothing happened today?” I ask hesitantly.

He lifts a brow but remains mute. When he attempts to kiss me again, ignoring the situation, I turn my head, causing his lips to land on my cheek.

“Tell me, Arlo.”

He takes a step back with a snarl before turning around, showing me his back. “Fucking leave it, Wren.”

“I won’t leave shit, Arlo. Tell me right now,” I shoot back, my frustration mounting.

He rapidly turns around with a fierce glare. “I said, fucking leave it!” he yells in my face, trying to show his authority as always, but unfortunately for him, I’m a different woman now.

“I refuse to accept any more lies between us. You said we're in this together. I can’t, no, I won’t put up with this shit, and if you loved me, you would understand,” I say firmly, my chin raised in defiance.

As we stare at one another, his jaw is tenses, his orbs angry, reflexing my own. When he realizes I'm not backing down, he sighs and presses his brow against mine, his eyes clenched shut.

“This is going to change everything, and I don’t want to hurt you any more than you already are.”

My gaze wanders over his face, my confusion growing, and I begin to fear the worst—that maybe there’s someone else I am unaware of.

“There’s someone else?” I ask, my words trembling.

His eyes widen, and he jerks his head back, his face scrunched up. “Fuck no! What the…”

My body relaxes slightly before he takes my cheeks with his large hands, tilting my head back. “You're the only woman for me, Wren. Always,” he declares with seriousness.

Relief floods through me, but the stress remains. “Then what is it, Arlo? What could be so bad that you can’t tell me?”

He searches my eyes once more before releasing my face and straightens to his full height.

“Everything,” he admits. “You, me, our families, the Elite world, and probably a whole lot of other shit.”

His words echo and he glances away, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Is it selfish of me to say I don’t want shit to change, but I want to tell you everything because you’re my entire world and you deserve to know the truth?”

The raw vulnerability in his words makes my chest tighten. This isn’t just some passing confession—whatever he’s about to say has the power to shake the foundations of everything we’ve built. I let his words settle, allowing their gravity to sink into my bones. Then, slowly, I reach up, cupping his cheek with my hand, and when my fingers make contact with his warm skin, his eyes return to mine.

“Nothing or no one on this fucking planet can change how much I love you, Arlo Hayes. Nothing will change our precious family, and from where I’m standing, that’s all that matters.”

As I let my hand drop away from his face, he rubs his palm over it before he lifts his head, locking eyes with me once more.

“And what if it’s something to do with your family?”

My brow pinches, confusion and worry twisting inside me.

“What are you talking about?”

His jaw tightens, the muscles ticking beneath his skin as he glances away, withdrawing into himself.

“Does this have anything to do with my father?”

He now looks at me, his gaze unreadable, before turning away, reaching to turn off the shower.

“Come on,” he says with a sigh. “Let’s get you dressed and out of here, and then we’ll fucking talk.”

I nod in silent agreement, following him out of the bathroom.

As I dry myself off and get dressed, my mind races with a thousand possibilities, each one worse than the last, but I force myself to stay calm, to keep my focus on the man in front of me. When I finish dressing, I sit on the edge of the bed, my eyes never leaving him as he paces the room, the glass of whiskey in his hand almost forgotten.

“Did anyone ever tell you who runs the Elite underworld in the States while I was dead?” Arlo asks as he stops in his tracks, his eyes avoiding mine.

I pause, mulling over his question, trying to remember information I’ve picked up over time.

“I believe one of the Elites mentioned it was someone who likes to remain anonymous.”

He nods slightly, raising the glass of whiskey to his lips. “Did they say anything about a name?”

I search my memory, the details fuzzy. “Something like Ghost or something, I think,” I finally say, unsure.

The moment the name leaves my lips, his eyes snap to mine, a flicker of something dark flashing across his expression and I feel a wave of confusion wash over me.

“Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

Arlo lets out a heavy sigh, finishing the rest of his whiskey in one gulp before setting the glass down on the small vanity. I watch him closely as he strides toward me, and when he crouches in front of me, he takes my hands in his, his fingers entwining with mine, holding on tightly.

“Ghost was the one who saved me and then left me for dead in Mexico,” he admits.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of his words. “But why would he do something like that?”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze intense as he holds mine. “Because that bullet wasn’t supposed to be for me; it was meant for you.”

I lean back slightly, my head spinning as I try to comprehend what he’s saying.

“You’re making absolutely no sense, Arlo.”

“Your dad is Ghost, Wren.”

We sit there, locked in each other’s silent gaze, the seconds stretching into what feels like an eternity. Finally, I let out a small snicker, shaking my head as if trying to dismiss the stupidity of it all. I reach out, pressing the back of my hand against his brow.

“Baby, are you feeling okay?” I ask, my tone light, almost teasing, as if trying to pull him out of what I assume must be some kind of delirium, but he takes my hand away and looks at me sternly.

“I'm dead fucking serious. This isn’t a joke,” he declares, his tone cold and detached.

My face falls, and I can only blink.

“I don’t understand? How is my father Ghost? He can't be. He's not...”

“He’s not what? Not the type of man who has a secret safe room and blew all of my father’s men apart with a fucking shotgun?”

My eyes widen, the shock of his words echoing through me like a cold slap. Memories of my parents flash before me—dinner conversations, holidays, the quiet, stable life they always provided. They always seemed so normal, nothing like Arlo and his world. How could they be involved in something so dark, so sinister?

“But why would they keep something like that hidden from us?” I murmur.

Arlo shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Silent investors prefer to remain as Ghosts in order to reap the benefits of the underworld.” He explains, his eyes lifting to meet mine, the intensity in his stare making my heart pound. “Then they can live normal lives and have normal families, whereas Elites like me don’t give a fuck and will do it face to face for them.”

The truth of them sinks heavily into my bones. The life I thought I knew, the people I trusted most, suddenly feel like strangers. The room feels colder, the walls closing in as the reality of my father’s double life crashes down around me. I search Arlo's dark eyes, hoping for some sign that this isn’t true, that maybe he’s wrong, or that there’s some kind of explanation that makes sense. But all I find is honesty, an honesty that shakes me to my core.

“Wait, didn't you just say it was Ghost who left you for dead?”

He gives a small nod before responding. “Your dad confirmed it to me today.”

A blend of rage and sorrow swells inside me, my emotions battling for dominance. My eyes begin to well up with tears, and I speak through clenched teeth, barely able to contain the fury in my voice. “And why the fuck would he do something like that?”

Arlo studies my face, taking in my anger. “Because he said I couldn’t protect you, and he couldn’t tolerate that,” he says, but there's a hint of bitterness there. “That bullet was meant for you, Wren. He saved me, but when his men caught the shooter, they confirmed the hit was on you. The shooter was spooked and missed, and that’s when your father decided I wasn’t worth saving. He dumped me in Mexico to die.”

I clamp my eyes shut again, the tears streaming down my cheeks like rivers of betrayal. I feel Arlo release one of my hands so he can gently brush away my tears with his thumb, the gesture tender.

“He did warn me to always protect you,” Arlo continues, his voice softer now, trying to soothe the raw edges of my pain. “And if I didn’t, I’d be held responsible. As much as I hate what he did, I can’t deny that he was just being a father. If it were Cree or Lumi, I can’t say I would do the same, but I would have definitely questioned my morals in that moment for my kids.”

His words strike me deeply. My father’s actions, Arlo’s loyalty, the dangers that lurk around every corner—it all suffocates me with its heaviness. How could my father be capable of something so cruel?

My eyes snap open, and I sniffle, shaking my head as I struggle to process everything. “This is wrong on so many levels, Arlo. I almost gave up on everything while you were gone; we lost so much time with me being pregnant, and Cree thought his dad was dead, for fuck’s sake! These actions are not warranted at all!”

Arlo stays silent and I feel a sharp pang of anger as I cock my head to the side. “How long have you known?”

He rubs his palm over his mouth, clearly agitated, his voice muffled as he finally responds. “Since the moment I met him, I thought he was an Elite.”

I scoff, facing away from him, the hurt cutting deeper with each second. He squeezes my hand, but it feels like a weak attempt to bridge an extending gap between us.

“I looked into him,” Arlo continues, his tone more urgent, “but of course, I couldn’t fucking find anything, and that’s when it clicked. When we went there for dinner, he confirmed it.”

I pull my hand from his grasp, the betrayal stinging like salt in an open wound. I avoid his eyes, but he reaches out, forcing me to face him by gently holding my chin.

“I wanted to tell you, beautiful,” he says, his words gentle, almost begging. “I swear I did, but you have to understand—you weren’t an Elite then, and I thought it was best you didn’t know. It wouldn’t have made any difference for you not knowing.”

I shrug, still feeling the weight of his decision pressing down on me. “So why now? What’s changed?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his expression shifting to something firmer. “Absolutely everything. You’re an Elite now; you’re not just my partner in life but also in business. And since shit has just become a whole lot more serious, I feel you needed to fucking know. Also, I didn’t want to lie about it anymore.”

I give a small nod, waiting for him to continue because I know there’s more. “Your father doesn’t want me involved with finding out who ordered the hit on you.”

When he drops his hand onto my lap, I purse my lips together and look away.

“You want me to speak to him?” I ask, but I see from the corner of my eye that he shakes his head, dipping it low.

“Fuck no.”

I now look at him swiftly, “And why not?”

His eyes lift to mine, and his teeth grind down. “He told me I’m not allowed to tell you, and you need to pretend that you don’t fucking know.”

I feel the anger clawing its way up my throat, and I can’t help the sharpness in my tone. “So what do you want me to do? Just fucking act like my father isn’t the top Elite crime lord in the US and didn’t screw us over? You just want me to let him keep us in the dark about what the hell is going on?”

He takes my hands again, gripping them tightly, his eyes now easing. “What I want is for you to get better, enjoy your time as a new mom, then when you’re ready, do this with me. I know he’s your father, but this is me telling you—fuck him for now. We don’t need him. We don’t need Ghost’s approval to do this shit together. He knows you’re an Elite now, and if he thinks we’re not going to find out what the fuck is going on, he’s got another thing coming.”

I take in his words, understanding them, but my mind is spinning with thoughts of my father. If anyone can influence him, it’s me, and I can’t allow him to ever do something like that to Arlo again. If he even considers it, he’ll face the consequences—father or not.

I nod, keeping my thoughts to myself, and reach out to place my hand on Arlo’s handsome face. “How the hell did this happen? How did two people from the Elite world find love, and one of them had no idea it even existed her entire life?”

He takes my hand from his face, bringing it to his lips and kissing it affectionately before speaking against my skin.

“I have no fucking idea. Fate, maybe.”

A soft smile tugs at my lips, my heart warming at his words.

“Maybe.” I whisper softly.