Sleep didn't come.
I lay curled on the very edge of the bed, watching the fragile rise and fall of my daughter's chest. The fever had eased-thank God-but every soft cough tore at me like claws, carving fresh wounds I couldn't bandage.
Her small frame looked too fragile against the thin mattress. I reached out, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead, whispering promises I wasn't sure I could keep.
"Mama's here," I murmured, my lips brushing her temple. "You'll be okay. I'll figure it out. I promise."
Her little hand twitched against the blanket, fingers curling as if reaching for me even in her sleep. My chest ached so sharply it felt like something breaking. She deserved so much more than this. Better than a mother who scrubbed beer-stained tables and laughed at drunk men's jokes just to make rent. Better than nights spent in a cramped apartment where every cough carried the weight of dread.
Better than me.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. The fever was lower, but still there. Relief mingled with fear, a bittersweet cocktail I'd grown too used to drinking. I should have felt only gratitude but another name pulsed in my mind, refusing to let go.
Adrian.
I shut my eyes. The very thought of him was poison and fire all at once.
He wasn't supposed to be here. Not in this city. Not anywhere near me. I had built walls of silence and distance, brick by trembling brick, to keep him out. And yet tonight, one look had reduced it all to rubble.
His voice still lingered in my ears, low and commanding. The way his eyes had locked on mine, unyielding, like no time had passed as if he still had some claim over me. My stomach twisted with fury and something else I refused to name.
You can't let him in. You can't.
Because if he found out-
A sharp knock rattled the door.
I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Midnight knocks in this neighborhood weren't kind. They didn't bring neighbors with sugar to spare or friendly landlords checking on repairs. Midnight knocks meant trouble.
Another rap followed, firmer this time. Deliberate.
My pulse thundered in my ears. I looked back at my daughter-she stirred, whimpered softly, but didn't wake. I tiptoed across the small room, every floorboard groaning under my weight like it wanted to betray me. I pressed my ear to the door, holding my breath.
"Elena."
The sound of my name nearly buckled my knees.
I didn't need to open the door to know.
He was there.
I squeezed my eyes shut, panic surging. Maybe if I stayed silent. Maybe if I pretended I wasn't home. Maybe-
"Elena, open the door." His voice was calm, too calm. But underneath, I heard the steel, the command. The kind of tone people didn't ignore. The kind of tone that had once bent me to his will without question.
I swallowed hard. "Go away."
A pause. Then: "We both know I won't."
My hand trembled on the lock. Behind me, my daughter whimpered again in her sleep. My stomach dropped. I couldn't risk him waking her. Couldn't risk those stormy eyes landing on the one secret I had protected with every breath I had.
With shaking fingers, I cracked the door open just enough to slip outside, shutting it quickly behind me. The cold hallway smelled of mildew and old smoke.
And there he was.
Adrian Moretti leaned against the peeling wall like he owned it. Like he owned everything. His suit was immaculate, with sharp lines and dark fabric that didn't belong in this decaying building. Not a hair out of place. But his eyes... those eyes were fire.
"You shouldn't be here," I whispered, my voice harsh, my arms wrapping around myself like armor.
His gaze swept over me. My thin robe. My tangled hair. The exhaustion carved into my face. His jaw tightened.
"I wanted to make sure you got home safe."
I forced out a bitter laugh. "I don't need your protection."
"Clearly, you do." His voice cut like a knife. "If I hadn't shown up tonight-"
"I would've handled it." The lie stumbled out too quickly, my voice too sharp, too shaky.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. He leaned just close enough that his breath ghosted over my cheek. "You're lying. I can hear it."
Damn him. Damn, the way he could still see through me like glass. Years apart, and he could strip me bare with a single look.
"Why are you here, Adrian?" I demanded, pressing my back to the door, every nerve sparking with fear and defiance. "After all these years, why now?"
He didn't answer right away. His jaw worked, his gray eyes searching my face like he was trying to read the truth I was desperate to hide. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, steady, lethal.
"Because I never stopped thinking about you."
The words hit like a blow.
My breath caught. The hallway tilted.
Liar.
He had left me bleeding once, and I had learned the hard way what his love was worth. He had chosen his empire, his blood-soaked ambition, over me. He had chosen the darkness. And now he wanted to stand here, in my crumbling building, and pretend he still cared?
"I don't believe you," I whispered, hating the way my voice trembled.
He stepped forward, closing the space between us. His presence pressed against me like a cage. I pressed my palms flat against the door, my pulse wild and frantic.
"Then let me prove it," he said.
His words weren't a plea. They were a vow.
And in that moment, I knew-Adrian Moretti wasn't here by chance.
He had found me for a reason.
And no matter how hard I tried to push him away, the past I had buried was clawing its way back into my life
