Page 57 of Velvet Chains

Alek stepped back—like he’d said too much, or maybe not enough.

“I’m coming over tonight,” he said, eyes still on mine. “And you’re going to tell me everything.”

Then he walked away.

Just like that.

I closed my eyes and breathed, hoping that Rosie hadn’t realized something was wrong. Alek was absolutely right…and I’d been even more of an idiot than I’d realized. Kieran might be planning something—planning on using me.

And I had to stop him.

Before I could lose my nerve, I shoved my hand into my pocket and grabbed my phone. Kieran’s number was blocked…but I unblocked it, because I needed to say something to him.

Don’t come back to my house, I typed out, swallowing the lump in my throat.Don’t you dare come near my daughter.

Then I pressed send…and told myself I hadn’t just invited hell through my front door.

Chapter Sixteen: Kieran

Ishouldn’t fucking care this much.

I told myself that as I paced the length of my kitchen, jaw tight, fingers twitching. I told myself that as I poured a whiskey I didn’t want and let it sit untouched. I told myself that as I scrolled through that stupid text thread one more time and stared at the last thing she sent.

Don’t come back to my house. Don’t you dare come near my daughter.

Bullshit.

She could lie to herself all day. Pretend that the only thing between us was a bad decision. Pretend that what happened in her foyer—her back pressed to the wall, my mouth on her, her fingers in my hair while she bit down on her own wrist to keep from screaming—meant nothing.

But I knew better. I tasted better.

And it wasn’t just about her. It was about them. Her and my daughter. My fucking family.

That kid wasn’t just hers. That kid had my eyes. And Ruby could pretend I was some ghost from a mistake she made in her twenties, but she couldn’t scrub me out of her life. Not anymore.

I wasn’t just a secret she could shove back out into the night when things got too complicated.

I belonged there.

In her house. At her kitchen table. In her fucking bed.

I was supposed to be the one helping Rosie with her math homework while Ruby cooked dinner in one of those sweaters that clung to her hips. I was supposed to be the one pouring her coffee in the morning, watching her sit barefoot at the counter with sleep in her eyes and my shirt on her back. I was supposed to fuck her slow on the nights she couldn’t sleep and kiss her neck while she made lists on her phone.

I was supposed to be her husband.

And Jesus Christ, it turned me on. That normalcy. That softness. The idea of waking up with her tangled around me and Rosie yelling from down the hall for breakfast. The fantasy of it all hit me hard, like a drug I hadn’t realized I needed until it was already in my system.

It made me feel fucking unhinged.

Because I didn’t want a girlfriend.

I wanted a wife. I wanted her. And if she thought she could push me out and pretend this wasn’t real—pretend I wasn’t real—I was going to burn down every lie she told herself until she begged me to come home.

I walked into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch, my hands braced on my thighs, knuckles white. The throw pillow she’d slept on the one night she was here was in the chair across from me, and I leaned forward to grab it. It had only been that one time, but God, just the faint scent of her…I didn’t know if it was my imagination or if it still lingered there, but I couldn’t get enough of it.

I would take anything as long as it came from her, I realized. Even just the ghost of an aroma. I thought it smelled faintly like her shampoo—something soft and coconuty—and just beneath it, the warmer scent of skin and sweat.Her.

I brought it to my face and inhaled deep, holding it there like it was oxygen.