Page 158 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

Ulysses Zakynthos. The man who caused the death of my family, who stole my parents and the life we had from me.

He strides over to where she stands and my hands close into fists, the urge to go to her almost too strong for me to deny. But then he stops and I see Olympia straighten even more, drawing herself up as her brother approaches. I’m close enough to see his face and…he looks drawn, as if he hasn’t slept in years. Is that the effect taking his sister away had? Did I cause him sleepless nights? Did I cause him pain?

A savage satisfaction turns over inside me and in the glass, I see my reflection smiling viciously. Good. I hope I caused him pain because what he felt is only the faintest echo of the agony he caused me.

I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they’re clearly having some kind of discussion. Then Olympia walks towards him and every muscle in my body tenses. I almost break and stride from the room, the urge to go outside and pull her away from him so strong I can barely resist. She can’t go back with him. She can’t. I won’t let her.

Don’t make it worse, you stupid bastard.

I grit my teeth, my jaw aching. It’s true, going after her when she told me to stay here won’t make things any easier between us. She’s already furious with me for not listening to her and maybe she has a right to be. She promised to marry me and she did. Whereas I…

You promised to drop your revenge, but you lied.

I watch as Olympia puts her arms around her brother, hugging him, and a whisper of shame ghosts through me. It’s not a feeling I’m used to, not considering how I embraced my dark side years ago, but I feel it now and I don’t like it. Yet I can’t escape. I promised to drop my revenge against her brother, yet I didn’t, not truly. I only pushed it aside, to think about later.

What will your father think of his son now?

I know the answer to that. He’d hate what I’ve become. Then again, I had no choice. He was the one who decided to run away, to take himself from my mother and me in the most brutal way imaginable. I only did what I had to in order to survive.

Olympia is looking up at her brother and she’s smiling, and I can see the warmth in her face and in her eyes. She loves her brother, she loves him deeply and he loves her too. And my chest hurts. It’s tight and sore, and it’s strange, because I don’t want any part of the love they share. I don’t wantherlove.

Love doesn’t save you. It doesn’t pay debts or keep you fed, with a roof over your head. Love is cowardice. Love is abandonment. All it does is devastate you, and I don’t want any part of it.

Yet, despite that, all I can think about is what it would be like if she looked at me that way, as if she loved me, and the pain worsens.

I can’t stand it, so I force myself to turn away, striding over to the drinks cabinet near the fire to pour myself a Scotch. Then I knock it back and pour myself another. The alcohol sits in my stomach, lighting a fire inside me, making me burn. Making me think about what I promised her and what I promised myself, and yes, it’s true. I’m as selfish as she thinks I am. What she wanted didn’t matter to me and I didn’t think about that, not fully. But now I am, now I’m thinking about her strength and her determination. What she went through as a child and what I’ve put her through since I found out that she’s carrying my child. And I think about that child,mychild. What kind of father am I who uses his child and the mother of that child for his own ends?

I know what kind of father that is. It’s the kind of father I had, who chose death, who chose his own escape, his own pain over his family.

I’m still standing there, a third Scotch in my hand, when I hear the helicopter lift off. Is she going with him? Is she choosing to leave me?

Can you blame her?

I can’t blame her, that’s the problem. If I was her, I’d leave me too.

My heart is wrapped in briars, thorns digging in, and I don’t know why. What does it matter if she leaves? I’ve got what I wanted: she’s my wife. She didn’t ask for any kind of prenup, so what’s hers is mine and what’s mine is hers. Yes, she could take me for everything I have and that, out of anything, should matter to me. And yet… Is that even important if I don’t have her?

I can feel someone watching me, so I turn and there she is, in the doorway, her gaze steady. A rush of the most intense relief courses through me and my hand almost shakes.

‘You didn’t go with him,’ I say before I can stop myself.

‘I thought I might,’ she says, sparing me nothing. ‘But I’ve done nothing but hide since I was ten years old, and I’m tired of it.’

Putting down my Scotch, I cross the room to where she’s standing, unable to help myself. And I reach for her, pulling her to me, looking down into her golden eyes. She doesn’t protest, gazing up at me steadily.

My wife.Mywife.

‘Take off your dress,’ I order, the need inside me growing. The primitive need to make sure of her, to make sure she’s mine and mine alone.

She ignores me. ‘My brother is in love. He just told me.’

But I don’t care about Ulysses Zakynthos. For the first time since my parents died, I don’t care about him at all. The only thing that matters is the woman in front of me and the fact that she hasn’t gone after all. She’s here. She chose me in the end, not him.

‘Do as I say,’ I growl.

Again, she ignores me. ‘He let her go because of me. So I told him he was an idiot and that he needed to go and find her.’

‘I don’t care about your damn brother,’ I grit out, pulling her even closer, the press of her soft body making me even harder than I am already. ‘What I care about is you getting naked.’