Page 11 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

“I didn’t plan this.” The words feel like a confession.

“I didn’t think I could ever—God.” A sob breaks free.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m not even sure I ever knew…

me.” I look at Anthony like he holds all the answers.

“Between my mom, my dad, Michele…my entire fucking life so far, have I ever really known who I am? Or was I always just this extension of everyone around me, everyone who’s tried to control me? ”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He shifts from his chair to the side of my bed, grabbing my hand.

“You heard the doctor. No stress. Okay? I know it’s hard, but try to keep yourself calm.

None of that matters right now. Whether you’ve always been versions of what others made you, or whether you’ve always just been…

you, it no longer matters, because right now,” green eyes find mine, “you’re someone’s mother, Everly. ”

Those words hit me like a freight train, and I try not to cry. I try not to choke on a breath. But I do. Hot tears slide down my cheeks, and I wrap my arms around my stomach like I can protect what’s already there. This new life. This new… everything.

“What if I’m not ready?” I cry.

“You just gotta take one day at a time. Okay?” He squeezes my hand, leaning close. “One day. At a time. We’ll get through this.”

I swallow. “We?”

“I’ve always been there for you, and I’m not about to stop now.”

My heart clenches so tight it hurts. Because for the first time since that night on the rooftop—when he sat beside me and became my best friend—I see it. Not friendship. Not sympathy. Not the gentle, protective kindness I’ve always clung to.

No. This is different. Something deeper. Something—

His lips crash against mine, and I stiffen.

It’s a rush of air that never reaches my lungs as he kisses me.

It’s warm, steady, real, and for a split second, my chest squeezes so tight I almost let myself believe it could be enough because I do care about him.

I always have. And for a split second, I wish I loved him in a way that would make all this easier.

Less complicated. But even though his lips are soft, his touch careful, it feels like a betrayal to everything inside me.

It’s like bitter lies coating my tongue, seeping into the cracks of my broken pieces.

I press against his chest, harder than I mean to, and he pulls back.

His eyes burn, but it’s the wrong fire. Isaia is the only man who sets me alight, makes my body surrender.

Anthony’s heat twists instead of ignites.

The way he looks at me feels bent, twisted.

And I don’t want it. I don’t want him looking at me like that.

“Everly…”

“Please don’t do that again,” I murmur. “You might not approve of the decisions I’ve made when it comes to Isaia, but he is my husband.”

“A husband who—”

“I’m married, Anthony.” Conviction snaps in my tone, sharp enough to cut into him. My best friend. And I hate it—hate hurting him.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and I watch as he drags his fingers down the corners of his lips, his green eyes showing the storm that rages. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes. You did.”

The silence stretches thickly until I feel it pressing against my skin, and nothing about this moment feels right. It’s like reading the wrong lines in a play where everyone knows the script but me.

Anthony wraps his fingers around his cane and stands, guilt trickling through the cracks as it always does whenever I see him use it.

As he stands, he says, “I know you don’t love me the way you love him, but I will be good to you, Everly Beaumont.

” His eyes gleam with resolve. “That, I swear to you.”

My heart constricts. “Anthony, I can’t—”

“—learn to love me the way I love you?”

I bite my bottom lip.

“Maybe if you pull out the claws he has in you, you’ll find a piece of yourself that can love me.”

“And you’ll be happy with just a piece of me?”

“I will take the smallest morsel of you and love it like it’s everything.”

Tears prickle, and something I can’t name tightens around my throat.

“I love you too much to only give you a piece, Anthony. You deserve a woman who can give you all of her, someone who can love you in a way that will never have you questioning just how much.” I swipe at my tears.

“But that’s not me. And I wish it were.”

He scoffs. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. I wish I could love you the same way because that would make all this a hell of a lot easier. You’re a good man.”

“Then give me a chance. Just the tiniest speck, and I promise I’ll take it and turn it into something beautiful. Not something as distorted and ugly like he did.”

“I’m sorry, Anthony,” I start softly, the ache of breaking my best friend’s heart spreading wide and fast. “But I can’t give you what belongs to someone else.”

Instantly, his demeanor shifts, a layer sliding into place, like armor, as the raw emotion shutters behind his eyes, replaced by something steadier, harder.

His gaze drops to my stomach—not with wonder or love, but with the quiet weight of inevitability, like he’s staring at the thing that will ruin me.

When his eyes lift back to mine, I catch the doubt there. Like he’s certain I don’t understand. As if I don’t already know everything changed the moment I was rushed into this hospital. “You’re pregnant, Everly. And you might not realize it yet, but you need someone who can take care of you.”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No. You’re not. Yet here I am.” He pulls his lips into a straight line like he’s biting back the words but fails. “Where is he, huh? Where is your husband?” he sneers. “Why is the father of your baby not here? He hasn’t even fucking called. Not once.”

There’s a cold rush of pain sweeping over me, and I suck in a breath. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” His eyebrows arch, and his mouth gives a bitter twist. “And what about this is fair to you?”

“I don’t—”

“Just…” His jaw clenches, shoulders tight, chest rising like he’s holding something back. He swallows it down, forcing calm into his voice. “You need to rest…and I need to get some air. I’m going to see if I can get you some real food around here.”

Anthony’s almost halfway to the door when I say, “I should tell him.”

He stills, tense, doesn’t turn to face me. “You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m not,” I say quietly. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”

“Well, you don’t have to decide today. You don’t have to decide tomorrow. You can take your time with this.”

Both my palms flatten on my stomach. “It’s not something I can hide forever.”

“True. But there’s still time.”

“And what, exactly, do I need time for? This is his baby. Time won’t change that.”

“And in that lies the problem.” Finally, he turns to look at me with worry. “You’re carrying a Del Rossa inside you, Everly. And you need time to understand what that means.”

There’s a pause. A breath. A blink. And I feel it—the faint hesitation bleeding through me like invisible ink only I can read. “I should tell Isaia. He’s the father.” But something in me doesn’t move those words with conviction. It clenches instead.

“You have no idea what this means, do you? The Del Rossa family keeps their own. Their blood. Their women. Their children.”

“You say that like it’s wrong.”

“It’s control,” he bites out. “It’s not about doing the right thing.”

I pull my lips between my teeth, contemplating his words as they sink through my foggy mind. Control. I've been under the shadow of control my entire life, haven't I? A marionette dancing on strings held by hands that were never mine.

“Everything is a means to an end with them. People, money, power. Even children.”

“Maybe I choose not to believe that,” I snap, and his eyes soften, just a little, his features turning somber.

“Then I’m afraid you’re a fool.” He turns his back, and my heart twists. “Just promise me one thing,” he starts, his large frame filling the doorway. “Whatever you decide, it has to be what’s best for you and your baby. Not what’s best for Isaia. Not what you think you owe him.”

My throat burns and my chest aches, my brain spinning with everything I can’t name.

All I know is the flicker of that heartbeat. That tiny, wild drumbeat inside me.

Before tonight, I was just trying to survive my own story. Now I’m a part of someone else’s beginning.