Chapter Three: The Car
The car was exactly what she’d expected.
A black Mercedes with windows so darkly tinted she couldn’t see inside until the door opened. The interior smelled of leather and that cologne that haunted her dreams.
Dante’s hand pressed against the small of her back, guiding her into the seat.
She felt like she was stepping into a memory she’d tried desperately to bury.
He slid in beside her, maintaining a careful distance that somehow felt more intimate than touching.
The driver — a man she didn’t recognize, though his posture screamed military training — pulled smoothly into traffic without a word.
Another car followed behind them.
Security. Always security.
“You’re afraid,” Dante observed quietly.
She turned to look at him. Found him watching her with that unnerving focus he’d always had.
“Of course I’m afraid. I’m in a car with a man I’ve been running from for two years.”
“You were never running from me, Emma. You were running from what I am.”
The distinction felt meaningless.
But she didn’t argue. Instead, she looked out the window, watching the city blur past. They were heading uptown toward the glittering towers where people like Dante lived in the clouds. Far above the problems of ordinary people.
“Why did you come today?” he asked. “To the office, I mean. My lawyer could have sent papers for you to sign remotely.”
“He said it would be faster this way. That there were complications with doing it by mail.”
“He lied.”
Dante’s voice hardened.
“Marcus has been stalling for months. I didn’t know why until now.”
She turned sharply. “What are you talking about? Marcus said you were the one holding things up.”
“Marcus works for me, Emma. Not you. I bought his firm three years ago. He’s never been yours.”
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through something with quick, angry movements.
“He’s been feeding you excuses while reporting back to me that you’d gone completely dark. That he couldn’t find you to serve papers.”
The realization hit her like cold water.
*Marcus had never been her lawyer. He’d been Dante’s puppet the entire time.*
“You’ve known where I was this whole time.”
“Since three weeks after you left.”
He didn’t look at her. Still focused on his phone.
“You think I wouldn’t move heaven and earth to find my wife when she disappeared in the middle of the night?”
“Ex-wife. Almost ex-wife.”
“Wife,” he corrected.
His voice dropped to that dangerous register that used to make her knees weak.
“The papers aren’t signed, Emma. You’re still mine.”
“I was never yours.”
“I—”
She stopped. Her hand moving to her belly as the baby kicked hard.
A sharp pain radiated across her lower back. She couldn’t suppress the small gasp.
Dante’s attention snapped to her immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. The baby just— it happens sometimes. Braxton Hicks contractions. They’re normal.”
His jaw clenched.
“How would you know what’s normal? When was the last time you saw a doctor?”
“Two weeks ago. At the free clinic.”
She lifted her chin defensively.
“They said everything was fine.”
“A free clinic.”
He repeated the words like they tasted foul.
“You’re carrying my child, and you’ve been going to a free clinic.”
“Some of us don’t have private physicians on speed dial, Dante. Some of us have to work for a living.”
“You wouldn’t have to work at all if you’d just—”
He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration she remembered too well.
“Where have you been staying?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Emma.”
“No.”
She turned to face him fully. Anger finally overriding her fear.
“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to swoop in now and act like you care. Where were you when I was throwing up every morning for four months? Where were you when I had to choose between paying rent and buying prenatal vitamins? Where were you when I was so tired I could barely stand, but I had to work a double shift because the diner was short-staffed?”
“I was looking for you.”
His voice rose. Then immediately dropped back to that controlled tone. But she could see the fury burning in his eyes.
“Every single day, Emma. Every resource I had was dedicated to finding you. To making sure you were safe. Do you have any idea what it did to me? Not knowing where you were. Not knowing if you were hurt or sick or—”
He stopped. His hand clenching into a fist on his thigh.
“I thought you might be dead. There were nights I was certain you were dead.”
The raw pain in his voice caught her off guard.
She’d never considered what her disappearance might have done to him. In her mind, Dante was invincible. Untouchable. The idea that he’d suffered seemed impossible.
“Then why didn’t you just finalize the divorce?” she asked quietly. “If you knew where I was, you could have forced it through.”
“Because I’m not ready to let you go.”
The admission hung in the air between them.
Outside, the city continued its endless rhythm. But inside the car, time seemed to stop.
She stared at him. At the man she’d once loved with a desperation that terrified her.
And she saw something in his expression that made her chest tighten.
Longing.
Regret.
And beneath it all, that same possessive hunger that had both thrilled and frightened her.
“Dante. We’re here.”
The car had pulled up to a building she recognized. One of the most exclusive addresses in the city.
The doorman was already opening her door. Dante was out and around to her side before she could protest, offering his hand again.
She didn’t take it this time.
She managed to extract herself from the car on her own. Though the movement was awkward and ungainly.
Her independence lasted exactly three steps before another contraction hit.
This one stronger than the last.
She must have made a sound. Because suddenly Dante’s arm was around her, supporting her weight.
“That’s twice in five minutes.”
“I’m fine. It’s just—”
“You’re not fine.”
He was already guiding her toward the entrance. His body curved protectively around hers.
“And you’re seeing the doctor. No arguments.”
The lobby was all marble and gold. The kind of ostentatious wealth that had once intimidated her.
Now she just felt tired.
Tired of running. Tired of pretending she could do this alone. Tired of carrying the weight of her choices.
