Page 10 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

KASI

I haven’t seen him in two days, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or insulted.

The breakfast tray sits untouched on my nightstand again, eggs gone cold and orange juice flat. My stomach growls, but the thought of eating makes me nauseous. Everything reminds me of that night on the highway—the taste of him still on my tongue, the way he cleaned me afterward.

The shame burns hotter than the memory.

From my window on the second floor, I can see most of the estate grounds. Manicured grass, surrounded by a stone wall that’s probably older than this country.

I’ve been watching and learning.

The guards change shifts at six a.m. and six p.m. There’s a blind spot near the service entrance where deliveries come and go. The gardeners start work at seven, and by ten, most of the outdoor staff are focused on the far side of the property.

The delivery trucks are my best chance.

I force myself to take a bite of toast, chewing mechanically while I study the patterns below. Maria, the housekeeper, mentioned yesterday that the catering van arrives every Tuesday and Friday for staff meals. Today is Tuesday.

“Miss Kasi?” Maria’s familiar voice calls softly through the door. “May I come in with your fresh linens?”

I set down the toast and straighten my shoulders. Time for the performance.

“Of course, Maria.”

The head housekeeper enters, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and graying hair pulled into a neat bun. She moves around the room, replacing towels and sheets while I sit on the window seat, trying to look defeated.

Maria has been kind to me, always reminding me that I’m safer here than outside, that Mr. Moretti is a good man who’ll take care of me.

“Are you feeling better today, miss?” she asks, glancing at the untouched breakfast. “You haven’t been eating much.”

I let my voice waver slightly. “I think I need to speak with the lawyer. About the will, about…everything.”

Maria pauses in her work, hope flickering across her face. “You’re ready to discuss the arrangements?”

“I don’t see that I have much choice.” I look down at my hands. “This is my life now, isn’t it?”

“It’s a good life, miss,” Maria says gently. “Mr. Moretti is a good man. He’ll take care of you.”

I nod like I believe it. “Could you tell him I’d like to see the lawyer? Today, if possible.”

“Of course, miss. I’ll let Mr. Moretti know right away.”

By afternoon, everything has changed.

The guard outside my door—a young man named Lionel with nervous eyes and a tendency to check his phone too often—actually smiles when he brings my lunch.

“Heard you’re ready to make things official,” he says, setting the tray on my table. “About time, if you ask me. Running around like a wild animal wasn’t doing you any favors.”

I bite my tongue and nod. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Mr. Moretti’s a good man to work for. He treats his people well, as long as they’re loyal.” He adjusts his gun holster with obvious pride. “You’ll be happy here once you settle in.”

When the door opens an hour later, I’m ready. I’ve brushed my hair, changed into a modest dress, and practiced my defeated expression in the mirror.

But it’s not just David Roth who enters.

Alaric walks in behind him, and my breath catches. My heart hammers against my ribs as he fills the space with his presence. This is the first time I’ve seen him since we left his jet two nights ago.

“Miss Vale,” David says, taking the chair across from my bed. Alaric remains standing by the door, arms crossed, those green eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin burn. “I understand you’d like to discuss the will.”

“And,” Alaric begins, his tone like ice cracking under pressure, “I sincerely hope you’re not playing games. Because if this is another one of your little stunts…it won’t end well for you.”

“I want to understand my options,” I say to David, ignoring Alaric. “Or if I even have any.”

“The terms are straightforward. Marriage to Mr. Moretti within thirty days, after which you’ll inherit everything Dante left behind. His properties, his accounts, his business interests.”

David’s weathered face is neutral. “In return, you’ll have the protection of the Moretti name and the security of the family, but if you refuse, then you forfeit everything and remain a target for Dante’s enemies. Without protection.”

He leans forward slightly. “I won’t lie to you, miss. There are people who would hurt you for what they think you know.”

I let the silence stretch, then nod slowly. “I’d like to walk in the gardens. To think. Would that be possible?”

Alaric and David exchange a look.

“I think that can be arranged,” David says. “You seem to have found some peace with your situation.”

“Don’t do anything stupid out there,” Alaric warns. “I’ll give my men orders to shoot if you so much as look at the gate wrong.”

I fight the urge to tell him exactly what he can do with his threats.

Instead, I let my eyes fill with tears, my voice breaking slightly. “I’m doing everything you want, aren’t I?” The tears spill over, streaming down my cheeks. “I just want some fresh air. I’m trying to…accept this.”

The performance works. David’s expression softens, and even Alaric’s jaw unclenches slightly.

The moment I’m given permission for supervised walks, I start planning my real escape.

The gardens are even more impressive up close in daylight—terraced flower beds, marble fountains, hedges sculpted into perfect geometric shapes.

But I’m not here for the scenery.

The service entrance is exactly where I thought it would be, tucked behind a grove of oak trees that block it from most of the main house. A simple gate with a card reader, just wide enough for delivery trucks.

I keep my eyes open while we walk. There’s a camera on that lamppost, another one by the fountain. The guard who usually stands by the main gate is chatting with one of the gardeners instead of watching. Everyone seems relaxed.

“This is beautiful,” I tell Lionel, gesturing to a particularly elaborate fountain. “How long have you worked here?”

“Three years,” he says, puffing up with pride. “Started in the mailroom, worked my way up to personal security.”

“It must be exciting work.”

“It has its moments.” He grins. “Better than my old job at the factory, that’s for sure.”

Back in my room, dinner arrives on a silver tray, and this time I force myself to clean my plate. Maria refills my water glass, a smile creasing her weathered face.

“You look better already, miss,” she says, refilling my water glass. “There’s a little color in your cheeks.”

I set down my fork and look up at her. “Maria, how long have you worked here?”

“Twenty years come October,” she says, settling into the chair across from me like she’s relieved to have a real conversation. “Started when Dante was just a little boy.”

“That’s a long time. You must have seen a lot of changes.”

“Oh yes. This house has known joy and sorrow both.” She refills my glass again, though it’s barely empty. “Mr. Moretti, he’s a good man, but he’s been alone too long.”

“Alone?”

“Never married. There was a woman once—Dante’s mother—but she never loved him back. She broke his heart when she left.” Maria’s voice drops to a whisper. “When she died, he blamed himself for not protecting her better, even though she never really cared for him. He’s carried that pain ever since.”

My stomach tightens. I don’t want to think of Alaric as someone capable of heartbreak, someone who loved and lost. It makes him human in ways that complicate everything.

The sky is still gray when I drag myself out of bed.

I pour coffee from the thermal carafe Maria left last night and position myself at the window.

At exactly eight-thirty, a white catering van pulls up to the gate.

The driver swipes a card, the gate opens, and the van disappears around the side of the house.

Twenty minutes later, it reappears and leaves the same way.

But today, there’s a second van. This one belongs to a floral delivery service, and when the driver gets out, I see my opportunity.

She’s about my height, wearing dark pants and a company polo shirt. When she opens the back of her van to unload arrangements for what I assume is some kind of event, she accidentally knocks over a container of plant food that spills all over her clothes.

I watch her curse and brush at the stains, trying to clean herself off with napkins from her van.

When that doesn’t work, she grabs a towel from the back and tries to scrub the worst of it off.

Finally, she gives up and heads toward the house, probably to ask the kitchen staff if she can use a sink to clean up properly.

“Lionel,” I call sweetly. “I’d love another walk in the gardens today. Yesterday was so peaceful.”

“Of course, miss. Give me a few minutes to get clearance,” he answers from outside my door.

While he’s gone, I change into the darkest clothes I can find and tie my hair back in a ponytail that matches the delivery woman’s style. When Lionel returns with approval for my walk, I’m ready.

The gardens are busy this morning—staff preparing for some kind of event, gardeners trimming hedges, the kitchen team setting up outdoor service stations. In all the activity, one more person in dark clothes won’t be noticed.

“What’s all this for?” I ask Lionel, gesturing to the workers arranging chairs and decorating archways with white flowers.

“Steve Moretti’s wedding,” he says, watching a worker test the sound system. “He’s Mr. Moretti’s cousin. Well, distant cousin. They’re using the east courtyard for the ceremony tomorrow.”

“How lovely. Do you think I’d be allowed to attend?” I try to sound wistful, like a lonely woman hoping for some social interaction.

Lionel gives me a small smile. “Sorry, miss. Too many outsiders, too many variables. Wouldn’t be safe for you.”

Shit.