Chapter 16
(Marcus POV)
The smell of coffee filled the kitchen before the sun was fully up. I moved on autopilot, eggs in the pan, bread in the toaster, skillet hissing low and steady, like muscle memory from a life I’d left years ago. A life with a wife, a daughter still in pigtails, a family I thought would stay whole.
But the soft sound behind me wasn’t from that life. Bare feet on hardwood. A quiet yawn.
Aria.
She padded in wearing nothing but my shirt, sleeves swallowing her hands, hem brushing the tops of her thighs. Christ. I had to look away before I burned the eggs.
“You cook?” She teased, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter.
“I eat,” I said, plating toast, “So yes, I cook.”
Her laugh was small, soft, but it curled through me in places I’d boarded up long ago. I set the plate in front of her. She blinked, surprised, then smiled like I’d handed her something more than scrambled eggs and coffee.
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
“Yes,” I said simply, sitting across from her. “I did.”
She toyed with the fork, eyes flicking up at me through her lashes. “So… do I keep the key?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant. “You keep it. You come here whenever you want.”
Her lips parted. “And what do you want?”
I should’ve deflected. Should’ve told her to eat her breakfast, to not push. But the truth ripped out of me before I could stop it.
“You,” I said, leaning forward, locking my gaze on hers. “I want you.”
Her breath caught, hope lighting her eyes like fire. “In public?”
The question gutted me. Because the answer should’ve been yes. Because I wanted to claim her in every damn way. Because she deserved more than stolen hours and locked doors.
But I didn’t know if I could. Not yet. “That’s… complicated.”
She tilted her head, studying me, waiting for more.
I reached across the counter, taking her hand. “I don’t want to hide you. But I don’t want to hurt you, either. Or your father. We’ll figure it out.”
Her smile returned, softer this time, like she believed me.
And for the first time in years, I believed myself.
==========
(Aria POV)
I was rinsing my plate in the sink when the knock came.
Marcus froze mid-sip of his coffee. A muscle in his jaw twitched, just once. Then he set the mug down with a quiet click.
“Go upstairs,” he said. His voice was low, calm, but it wasn’t a request.
“Who…”
“Upstairs, Aria.”
I swallowed hard and obeyed, padding barefoot back toward the stairs, heart hammering. But I couldn’t make myself climb all the way. I crouched on the landing where I could see slivers of the kitchen through the railing.
Marcus opened the door.
“Natalie.”
Her name landed like a stone in the room.
“Don’t look so surprised,” the woman said, stepping in without waiting. She was tall, sharp-cheeked, her dark hair swept into an elegant knot. She looked like she’d walked into of a gallery opening instead of a kitchen.
“What do you want?” Marcus asked evenly.
“Emma,” she said, tossing a folder onto the counter. “She’s out of control. Still sneaking around with that man. I told her if she doesn’t end it, she’s cut off. She thinks I’m bluffing.”
Marcus’s sigh was heavy. “She’s twenty-one. You can’t control her forever.”
Natalie’s laugh was bitter. “Says the man who hasn’t lived with her since she was twelve.” She looked around, eyes narrowing. The sink. Two plates drying. Two mugs on the counter.
Her brows arched. “Another one, Marcus? Already?”
He said nothing.
She gave a dry little smile. “You never change. Always chasing the same thing. Too young, too eager. Exactly like I was.”
Heat flamed up my neck. My palms stung where I gripped the railing.
Marcus’s voice dropped, clipped. “That’s enough.”
Natalie tilted her head, assessing him like she had years of practice. “Be careful, Marcus. One day, you’ll get caught with your latest little distraction. And when you do, it’ll cost you more than you’re willing to pay.”
She picked up her bag, let herself out, and the silence that followed was deafening.
I stayed frozen on the landing, the words echoing inside me. Too young. Too eager. Exactly like I was.
Was that what he saw when he looked at me? A type. A mistake he kept making.
The door clicked shut behind Natalie. The silence stretched, heavy, suffocating.
I came down the stairs before I could stop myself, my bare feet hitting the hardwood like hammer blows.
Marcus turned, startled, his eyes flashing with something I couldn’t name. Guilt. Anger. Both.
“You didn’t tell me she was coming,” I said, my voice thin with fury and something worse, hurt.
“I didn’t know,” he said evenly.
I shook my head, bitter laughter bubbling in my throat. “She called me a type. Said I was just like her. Young. Eager. The next… whatever-you-want-to-call-it.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
“Is that what I am to you?” I demanded, stepping closer, chest tight, eyes burning. “Just a pattern you can’t quit? A plaything until the next one comes along? Tell me now before I fall any harder.”
His silence cut deeper than words ever could.
“Marcus,” I whispered, voice breaking. “Tell me.”
He looked at me then, dark eyes steady, unflinching. “I never promised you anything.”
The words sliced me open.
My throat closed, my eyes stung, and before he could see me crumble, I grabbed my bag from the counter. The key weighed heavily inside it, an anchor I suddenly hated.
“Right,” I said, my voice jagged. “That says it all.” And I walked out, my legs shaking. The morning sunlight far too bright for the storm inside me.
I didn’t look back.