Page 5 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

KASI

The bowl explodes against the floor, chips flying everywhere as my body goes rigid with terror. Every instinct I’ve honed over the years starts screaming at once—run, hide, fight, anything but stand here like prey waiting to be devoured.

Another bang shakes the door in its frame, harder this time, followed by the metallic scrape of someone testing the handle.

The sound makes my skin crawl because I know that technique. I heard Dante’s men use it when they wanted to make their presence known before they broke down barriers.

“No,” I whisper to the empty room, backing away from the door. “He’s dead. I don’t belong to him anymore.”

The lock clicks. The door swings open, and six men in dark suits pour into my tiny apartment like a flood of expensive menace.

I scramble backward over the couch, putting furniture between us. “Get out! Get out of my apartment!”

The man leading them is Dante’s father. Up close, he appears to be older, perhaps mid-forties, with silver hair. But there’s something familiar about him, something that makes my brain itch with recognition I can’t quite reach.

He looks around my modest space—the secondhand furniture, the yellow curtains, the single piece of art on the wall—with an expression I can’t read.

“Are you certain she is the one?” he asks one of his companions.

“Positive, sir. Matches the description perfectly.”

His gaze settles on me, and I feel that same prickle of recognition I felt at the cemetery. Where have I seen him before?

“Miss Vale,” says another man, stepping forward with an apologetic smile. He’s holding a briefcase. “I’m David Roth, an attorney representing the Moretti family. I apologize for the…unconventional entrance, but this is a matter of some urgency.”

“I don’t care what kind of matter it is,” I snap, clutching the back of the couch. “You broke into my home. I’m calling the police.”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” David says gently. “Not until you hear what I have to say.”

“There’s nothing you could possibly say that I want to hear. Dante is dead. I have nothing to do with your family anymore.”

“Actually,” David says, opening his briefcase, “that’s not entirely accurate. You see, Mr. Moretti left a will.”

I laugh. The sound is sharp, hysterical. “A will? What does that have to do with me?”

“You’re the sole beneficiary.”

The laughter dies in my throat.

“That’s impossible. I ran away months ago. We were never even married.”

“Nevertheless,” David continues, “Mr. Moretti’s will contains very specific instructions.

As his beloved fiancée, you are to inherit his entire business, his properties, and his assets.

This puts you in a dangerous position. Mr. Moretti made powerful enemies in his final months.

People who will come for you now that you’re named as his heir and also as the woman who was with him for two years.

The only way to ensure your protection is through marriage into the Moretti family. ”

I stare at him, waiting for the punch line.

“You must marry his father within thirty days.”

For a moment, the words don’t compute. Then I start laughing again, harder this time, until tears stream down my face.

“This is insane,” I gasp and whip around to face Alaric. My voice cracks under the weight of everything boiling inside me. “You—” I jab my finger toward him, shaking. “You must be so proud. You raised him, didn’t you? You created that monster.”

Alaric says nothing. His expression doesn’t even flicker.

“You did a fantastic job raising the absolute scum of the earth,” I spit. “You should be giving parenting seminars. Or maybe write a book— How to Build a Sociopath. ”

Still, nothing from him. Not even a twitch.

“And now you want to finish what he started?” My voice breaks. “You people are unbelievable. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You sure know how to put on a show!”

“Miss Vale,” David cuts in gently, trying to rein me back, “this is not a joke. You need protection.”

“Protection?” I’m still laughing, but it’s sliding toward full hysteria now. “From what? He’s dead! The threat is gone!”

I turn back toward Alaric, daring him to answer.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts one hand and gives a small, silent signal to one of the men behind him, who approaches me.

“I’m afraid the threat is very much alive,” he says quietly. “You can’t stay here tonight. We’re doing this for your own good.”

That’s when I see the handkerchief in the man’s hand, and panic floods my system.

“No!” I try to run, but there’s nowhere to go in the tiny space. “Don’t touch me! Help! HELP!”

The cloth covers my nose and mouth, reeking of something sharp and chemical. The room spins, and the last thing I hear is Alaric’s voice, calm and authoritative.

“Be careful with her. Check for her valuables. ID cards, passport. We’ll be needing those.”

Then everything goes black.

I wake up in someone else’s bed.

My head swims. The light is too bright. The silk sheets are too soft. For one horrible moment, I think I’m back in Dante’s house. My head throbs, and my mouth tastes like cotton balls.

Someone is standing over me.

The déjà vu hits like a physical blow, so strong it makes me nauseous. A man silhouetted against the light, watching me sleep in a bed that isn’t mine.

But this time, when my eyes focus, I see his face clearly.

Silver hair. Strong jaw. Green eyes that are achingly familiar.

The man from the hotel room. The stranger who held me with such tenderness, who made me feel beautiful and wanted and safe.

The man from the cemetery and my house who watched me with recognition.

Dante’s father.

I cover my mouth with both hands, my voice coming out as a strangled whisper in disbelief. “No fucking way.”

His expression is cold and disgusted. Nothing like the gentle man who traced my tattoo with worshipful fingers.

“I didn’t say anything earlier because there were others present,” he says, voice clipped. “It’s pretty fucked-up to know that I slept with my son’s fiancée.”

“Ex-fiancée!” I snap, on my feet before I know it. My pulse is pounding. “He became my ex the moment I discovered what I was!”

His voice stays level, but tighter now. “I can imagine what you must be feeling right now. I never asked for this.”

“Neither did I!” I throw my arms out. “But at least you have a choice!”

His eyes harden, but he still doesn’t lash out. “I am not the one who wrote his will.”

“You’re not? Then why am I standing here? Why did your men break into my apartment? Why am I being drugged and hauled into your fucking house like cargo?!” My voice cracks, but I don’t stop. “You’re finishing what he started whether you want to admit it or not!”

“You are in this situation because of my son’s decisions. Not mine.”

“And yet you’re benefiting from it.” My breath is shaking now. “Do you know what it feels like to finally get free after years of being controlled, only to wake up here? Again?”

His nostrils flare. “You think I wanted to discover the woman I slept with was engaged to my son?”

The words hit me like a slap to the chest.

“You think I wanted any of this?” His voice is quieter now, but edged. “I made a mistake once. I didn’t know who you were. Now Dante leaves me this—this mess—and puts both of us in it.”

“You don’t get to stand there and pretend we’re both victims,” I whisper. “I didn’t drag you into this.”

“No,” he agrees tightly. “But we’re both standing here now.”

I lurch forward, the fury bubbling up. “LET ME GO!”

His hand catches my wrist instinctively as I shove past him. His grip is loose.

“Don’t touch me!” I scream, yanking my arm free.

The slap lands before I even register my hand moving.

We both freeze.

His head turns back to me slowly, cheek flushed where my palm connected. His eyes are unreadable.

“You don’t own me,” I whisper, shaking. “Not him. Not you. No one owns me.”

We stare at each other, breathing hard. The room feels too small, the air too heavy.

“You have no idea what you’re up against.” His hands close around my wrists again, and the irony makes me want to scream. These same hands that held me so tenderly are now keeping me prisoner.

“My son entrusted everything he owned to you,” he continues, his voice low but clipped. “His funds. His businesses. His assets. Every single contract, account, and holding now bears your name. That makes you my responsibility, whether either of us likes it.”

He takes one slow step forward, eyes sharp.

“And you’re not safe out there. Dante made enemies—men who don’t care who you are, only what you control.

If they find you first, they won’t kill you.

They’ll keep you breathing just long enough to strip every asset tied to your name.

You won’t be free—you’ll be owned again.

Only this time by men far worse than Dante ever was. ”

The words land like a punch to my gut, but I don’t let him see how hard they hit.

“I’ll kill myself first,” I whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll find a way to end this before I let your family turn me back into a prisoner.”

We stand locked in a stare across the lavish bedroom, the air between us tense, oppressive. The man who once touched me like I was something fragile, who whispered that I was beautiful as his mouth worshipped my skin, now looks at me like I’m a complication he never wanted to face again.

But my gaze betrays me before I can stop it.

I take him in—the tailored suit that clings to his broad frame, the tension in his jaw, the way his chest rises just a little too fast.

Even now, despite everything, there’s a pull I hate myself for feeling. A current humming beneath my skin, dangerous and unwanted.

His green eyes stay locked onto mine, cold but flickering for the briefest second.

I tear my eyes away before I fall into whatever this is.

“I’ll be back by morning,” he says, turning to leave. “You better not do anything foolish.”