The ride home from the hospital was heavy with silence. Scarlett’s head rested against my chest, her soft breaths warm against my collarbone. Relief should have been flooding me after the chaos of the last few hours, but instead, an uneasy weight pressed down on me.
By the time Leyla pulled into the driveway, exhaustion had draped over us both.
I’d just entered the house when I froze..
Someone was sitting in my living room, legs crossed like he owned the place.
Tall, broad–shouldered, dressed too sharply like he was on his way to a meeting.
On a second thought, he looked like he hadn’t changed since he left the hospital
Edmund.
My stomach dropped.
Our eyes locked across the distance, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. The dread that had been circling all day coiled tight around my chest. He stood up as soon as he saw me, hands slipping from his pockets, his expression unreadable but intent.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice low, sharper than I meant.
He took a step forward. “I was worried. The way you left earlier… I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “And how exactly did you find my house?” I asked, then quickly shook my head. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t even want to know.”
Scarlett stirred in my arms. Her lashes fluttered, and I tightened my hold. She needed rest, not this storm brewing on the front lawn. I turned to Leyla, forcing my voice to steady.
“Take her inside, Leyla. Put her to bed, please.”
Leyla looked between us, me tense, Edmund unyielding, then nodded. Carefully, she lifted Scarlett from my arms. My daughter whimpered softly but stayed asleep, curling instinctively into Leyla’s shoulder. My heart ached watching her carried inside, vulnerable and small.
When the door closed behind them, I faced him fully. The air between us felt razor–thin.
When I finally turned, Edmund was still there, sitting like he owned the space, his tie loosened, his jacket folded neatly over the arm of the chair. His eyes followed me in a way that made my skin prickle.
“Well, you’ve seen me,” I said, folding my arms to stop them from trembling. “I’m fine, Everything’s fine. Will
that be all?”
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He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just… stared. His eyes held mine in a way that made my throat tighten. I shifted uncomfortably, heat rising under his scrutiny.
Instead of answering, he leaned back and studied me like I was some puzzle he’d been trying to solve for
years.
“What?” I snapped. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Was it that girl that got you running back to the hospital?” He asked.
I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Have you ever figured that maybe I don’t owe you explanations anymore.”
“See, that’s the thing. You say you don’t owe me anything, but I still care.”
I scoffed. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I, really?” His tone softened, “you only talk to me or see me when it’s related to work.”
“Which is how it should be, shouldn’t it?”
“Why are you really here?” I asked sharply. “Because you didn’t drive across town just to psychoanalyze me.”
He shrugged lightly, but I saw the tension in his jaw. “I told you. You left in a way that didn’t sit right with me. I needed to know you were okay.”
“Right,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping me. “So now you’re my guardian angel?”
“Don’t mock me, Amelia.” His voice dropped low, serious. “You think I don’t care, but you’re wrong. You’ve always been wrong about that.”
I froze at the intensity in his tone, my heart thudding against my ribs.
“Edmund…” I started, softer this time, but the words died on my tongue.
“That girl…”
My chest clenched. “Yes?” I forced casualness into my tone. “What about her?”
His gaze sharpened. “Who is she to you?”
Panic licked at the edges of my mind. I cleared my throat, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. “She’s my… she’s my, um… my niece.”
His brows shot up. “Your niece?”
“Yes,” I nodded quickly, too quickly. “My niece. Is there a problem?”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “No problem,” he said, though his eyes glinted. “Well… maybe a teensy weensy bit of a problem.”
I stiffened. “And what would that be?”
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He took a step closer. “Last time I checked, Amelia, you don’t have any siblings.”
My blood ran cold.
Fuck.
“Well-“I started, scrambling for words, any words, but he cut me off.
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“And I know for a fact that Leyla doesn’t have a child,” he said, “and I also know that you are terrible at lying.”
My pulse hammered in my ears.
“What’s with all the questions anyway?” I shot back defensively, my voice louder than I intended. “Is your child missing or something?”
His jaw tightened. “No. No child missing,” he said, looking around the house as if inspecting it. ” but this house, feels… lived in. Different from you, Amelia. Softer. Warmer.”
I swallowed, panic rising. “So what? I can’t have a cozy home?”
“You could,” he said slowly, “but this… this feels like you’ve built it around someone else. Not just you.”
I clenched my fists at my sides. “Stop reading into things.”
“Great, thanks for the great observations,” I said quickly, brushing past the heat rising in my face. “So, what do I offer you? Tea? Coffee? Or would you rather be taking your leave?”
For a moment, I thought he might. But then he started walking toward me, deliberate, each step slow but heavy with intent.
“Even if she does happen to be Leyla’s,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine, “then tell me this-”
And then, without warning, he tugged his shirt over his head.
I gasped, stumbling back a step. “What the hell are you doing?”
His chest was bare, muscles shifting under his skin. But that wasn’t what made my stomach twist. It was the mark. That huge, distinct birthmark on his shoulder, the same one Lewis had seen the other day.
His voice was low, almost accusing. “Why the hell does she have the same mark that I do?”
My mouth went dry. I blinked rapidly, feeling cornered, my back nearly against the wall. “What mark? She doesn’t have any marks.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I know what I saw, Amelia.”
“You saw wrong,” I shot back quickly, but the words sounded weak, thin, desperate.
His voice softened, but it cut sharper than ever. “Okay. Then tell me this, how old is she?”
The world tilted.
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I could barely breathe. “You know what?” I said, clinging to anger because it was the only shield I had left. “I think it’s high time you get the fuck out of my house, Mr. Montgomery.”
He didn’t move. His chest rose and fell, his eyes boring into me. Then, in a voice that stripped me bare.
“Tell me something, Amelia,” he murmured, his gaze sharpening. “What are you hiding from me?”
“Get. Out.”
“Tell me the truth, Amelia… is she mine?”
AD
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
