7. Lila
7
LILA
I wake to the sound of soft crying.
At first, I think I’m dreaming. The room is still, pitch black except for the faint line of hallway light stretching under the door. I hold my breath, listening. There it is again—closer this time. Small, broken sobs, not loud or panicked. Just enough to crack something open in my chest.
I sit up, heart already racing, and step out of bed barefoot. The floor is cold. I don’t bother with a robe.
When I open the door, Lev is standing just outside. His hands are balled into fists, eyes red and wet, curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. His bottom lip is trembling, but he doesn’t say anything. He just looks up at me like I’m supposed to make the world make sense again.
I crouch down and reach for him without asking. He comes easily, arms wrapping tightly around my neck, face pressing into my shoulder like he’s five months old again instead of five years. His whole body is shaking.
“Did you have a bad dream?” I whisper.
He nods against my shoulder, and I pull him into my room and shut the door quietly behind us. I don’t turn on a light. I don’t want to wake the house. Mateo’s probably still awake, or maybe he’s not. Either way, he wouldn't care about something like this. Anton never did. It was an annoyance.
Lev crawls into bed without needing to be told. I follow him in, lying down beside him, wrapping an arm around his back. His breathing is shallow, uneven.
After a few minutes, I feel him shift.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Is this house safe?”
I tighten my arm around him a little. “Yes. Very safe.”
“Safer than the other house?”
It takes me a second to answer. “Yes. Safer.”
“Is Daddy coming back?”
I close my eyes and fight the rising tension in my throat. “No, baby. He’s not.”
“But what if he does?”
“He won’t.”
He’s quiet for a long time. I think maybe he’s fallen asleep, but then he speaks again, softer this time, like he’s afraid of the answer.
“Is Mateo going to leave too?”
That one cuts deeper than I expect. I don’t know what to say. He shouldn't want Mateo to stay, but he doesn't know Mateo is just as evil as his father was. I don’t know what to promise anymore, but I can feel how badly he needs something solid, so I give him the only thing I can.
“No,” I whisper. “Mateo’s not leaving.”
He exhales a long, shaky breath that lets me know he’s still not convinced, but maybe he wants to be. His fingers curl around the fabric of my shirt. He stays like that for a while longer, pressed to me, breathing shallowly, chest still catching on the tail end of a cry.
When he finally falls asleep, I don’t move right away. I just lie there, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how the hell we ended up here. I can’t tell if this is better or just a different kind of broken. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, my father would say, but it feels more like out of the fire and into the fucking volcano.
Signing those papers felt like signing my death warrant. I shouldn’t have come here or let Rafe browbeat me into getting into his car. This house is a veritable fortress with armed guards and security cameras everywhere. There's no way in hell I'm getting out with Lev at my side unless I fight my way out, and that means death. It feels hopeless.
Eventually, I carry him back to his room, careful not to wake him. I tuck him in, smooth the hair from his eyes, and stay for a few minutes to be sure the nightmares don’t come back.
I don’t sleep.
Even after Lev is back in his bed and the house settles again, my body won’t relax. My mind won’t either. I lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling, listening to the stillness pressing in around me like it’s trying to suffocate the thoughts I can’t stop thinking.
Eventually, I get up. The robe is still draped over the foot of the bed, but I don’t bother with it. The air is cool, but not cold enough to chill me. I take the stairs up to the terrace. I don’t expect anyone to be there—certainly not him. But as soon as I push the door open, I see him standing near the edge. He doesn’t turn when I step out.
Mateo has a drink in one hand, his back to me, suit jacket discarded somewhere out of sight. The wind moves just enough to ruffle his shirt at the collar. He’s perfectly still otherwise, eyes fixed on the city below like it might shift if he watches it long enough.
I walk toward him, slow, quiet steps on stone. I stop a few feet away, arms folded.
“You have a habit of lurking in the dark,” I say.
He doesn’t answer right away, just lifts the glass to his mouth and finishes whatever’s left.
“I could say the same about you,” he says finally without looking at me.
I stare at the back of his head for a few seconds, considering whether or not to speak again. My shoulders are still tense after standing in front of that officiant signing those documents. I was wrong about Mateo. He's not as bad as Anton. He's worse than Anton. At least my dead husband would've told me what I was going to be forced to do before he forced me to do it.
“You lied to me about the custody hearing,” I say. “About the marriage. About everything.”
“You didn’t ask,” he replies.
“And you didn’t offer.”
This time he turns just his head, slowly and deliberately, until his eyes are on me. There’s nothing apologetic in them, just quiet, exact calculation.
“You weren’t going to win,” he says. “Your mother has money, a legal team, and a reputation you gave up the second you got pregnant with Anton’s son. If I hadn’t intervened, she would’ve buried you in court. You know it.”
“I don’t care what you think you saved me from,” I snap. “You’re still treating me like I’m a guest in a life that used to be mine.”
“I’m treating you like someone who has a responsibility,” he says, “to the boy you claim to protect.”
“Don’t you dare judge how I protect him.” I'm seething, skin bristling against the night air now. But I'm too angry to be cold. My arms fold across my chest indignantly, and his eyes flick down to my chest briefly.
“Then don’t make it so easy to question.”
The words land with enough force to hit something raw. I don’t know if it’s the way he says them or the fact that they come from him, of all people. I feel my body react before I fully think it through. My hand lifts and flies toward his cheek.
This time, he’s ready.
He catches my wrist with the same speed and precision as before, but before I can make connection with his face. His grip is tight, but not cruel.
“If you’re looking for a fight,” he says, voice low, controlled, “pick someone who won’t finish it.”
He doesn’t let go.
And I don’t pull away.
The wind moves around us, cooler now. My chest rises and falls too fast, but I don’t step back. His hand is still wrapped around my wrist, and I can feel my pulse thudding under his fingers. I hate that I notice. I hate that I don’t want to move.
I hate the look in his eyes—like he sees all of it and isn’t the least bit surprised. We stare at each other in silence, breathing harder than we should be. My chest is tight. My mouth’s dry. There’s something sharp in the space between us, something that’s not anger but sits close enough to it that I can’t tell the difference anymore.
I hate him.
I hate the way he looks at me like he sees all the pieces I’ve been trying to hold together. I hate that he took control of everything—Lev, the hearing, my name—and somehow made it all feel like he was doing me a favor. Worst of all, I hate that he actually did save me. That without him, I might’ve lost my son to a woman who only wanted to punish me.
My shame burns hotter than my fury.
I should scream. I should claw my way out of this moment, but I don’t. I stay still, frozen in place while my body does the thing I promised myself it wouldn’t do—respond.
My skin buzzes where he touches me. My breath catches when he shifts, just slightly, like he’s waiting for something. The worst part is, I think he knows. I think he’s been waiting for me to break like this.
And I do.
I move first. Not fast, not certain. Just enough.
He doesn’t stop me.
My mouth finds his like it’s instinct, not choice. The kiss is rough from the first second—no buildup, no softness. Just pressure and heat and something desperate in the way our mouths collide.
His hand is still locked around my wrist when my other one fists in the front of his shirt. He kisses like he fights—calculated, brutal, and precise. There’s no give in him. No space. Just tension, coiled and snapping between us.
I taste whiskey on his tongue. My teeth drag across his lip. His hand moves to the back of my neck, anchoring me there, and I don’t resist. I hate how much I want it, hate the sound I make when he presses in harder.
There’s no control here, no line we’re pretending not to cross. We’re already over it. Teeth, lips, hands—every touch is a dare, every breath stolen. I don’t care how dangerous it is. I don’t care what it means. I just want to feel something that doesn’t hurt. Even if I hate myself for it later.
It’s only when he yanks the shoulder of my nightgown down and his hand cups my breast, thumb stroking the erect nipple, that sanity begins to seep back in. The feel of his callused fingers against my naked skin is like a fire alarm going off in my head. What the hell am I thinking? He’s a lunatic and a sadist, and I’m stupidly ready to spread my legs for him.
Mateo takes charge at the first hint that I might pull away. His hands are greedy, groping me, tearing at my nightgown. I’m whimpering, my body shuddering with desire as he pins me against the railing. The metal is cold against my hips, his fingers harsh against my thigh as he hooks them into my panties’ waistband and jerks them down.
The hand on my thigh slides upward, brushing against the center of my now-drenched core. I know I should pull away, but there’s a part of me that’s wet, soaking wet for how he dominates me. The last thing I need right now is to belong to another abusive man, but God, I can’t stop myself.
His fingers probe me, testing the slickness and eliciting moans I can’t hold back. He withdraws them and then, before I can protest, he thrusts them into my mouth. I taste the salty-sweet mixture and bite him hard, which earns me a slap to the thigh and a dark expression.
“You little minx,” he purrs with dark eyes devouring me. “You’re gonna regret that.”
“Make me,” I say when his fingers withdraw. My chest is heaving, hands planted on the metal railing as he undoes his belt buckle and unzips his fly. His cock is rock-hard, larger than Anton’s was. Seeing it sends a rush of arousal to my core. I swallow hard, and he reaches up and grabs my hair, pulling it hard to expose my neck where he sinks his teeth into my flesh.
“I’m going to fuck you so raw, you’ll think about me every time you piss,” he growls.
I must be insane.
But before I can say anything, Mateo is perching me on the railing, positioning his cock at my entrance. He slides in just the tip, slowly watching my face, savoring my startled expression. His hand on my hair has my neck craning so I barely make eye contact, and that brief passing thought between us vanishes as he pushes himself into me all the way.
He’s right. Mateo doesn’t disappoint, fucking me so hard that I feel like I might fall off this railing to my death. But the thrill of it has me whimpering. He’s relentless, merciless, and each time I moan or whimper, he spanks my ass or bites my shoulder. It hurts, but I'm wetter than I’ve ever been in my life. He knows exactly where to touch, how to angle his hips so that my orgasm is just within reach.
And when it does come, I see stars. My body arches on pure desire, and the hard bite he leaves on my neck only fuels the fire more as I spasm and jolt. With one of his hands tangled in my hair, the other pinning me against his body, I let loose and feel the waves of pleasure consume me.
“You’re mine now,” he says in between breaths.
“Don’t stop,” I whine, clinging to his tie like it’s a lifeline.
The sex is wild, primal. It feels like punishment but also release after years of pent-up frustration. I know I should be horrified at myself for submitting to him, but there’s a part of me that has always craved this—this lack of control, this freedom from the pain that’s plagued me for so long.
When he comes, he holds my hips and drives himself deep inside me as his body shudders. I feel every hot pulse of his orgasm inside me as he stares down and watches his cock entering me and pulling back slowly.
I’m breathless, still clinging to him, and I come to myself and realize how easily I could fall. I lean in, wrapping my arms around him in a move meant to steady myself, but he misreads it, putting his strong arm around me too. It’s a tender embrace momentarily before he turns and sets me on the cold stone again.
The breeze whips across my skin, now fully chilling me, and I can’t even make eye contact. My hair shields my eyes and his cum drains down my legs as my nightgown falls around my hips.
Mateo fixes his slacks, and I back away, tucking my tit back into my nightgown. I'm not sure why I did that, but it was incredible. I walk toward the door on shaky legs. I might not think of him every time I piss, but I will think of him—and never again in the same way.
He's even more dangerous than I thought.
Even my own body is on his side.