Chapter Eleven
Seraphina
Moon – Austin Giorgio
Iwatch him dress from the bed.
There’s a shift in Trey as he moves—subtle but unmistakable. Focused. More controlled than the Trey I remember. And yet, he is still him.
He is there in the pauses. In the stillness between decisions. In the way softness doesn’t disappear, only folds inward—becoming something harder, quieter, more deliberate.
The anger is there too. Burning low and constant.
Disciplined.
And that, somehow, frightens me more than shouting ever could.
He pulls on his jeans, muscles moving fluidly beneath golden skin marked by ink and old scars. Every line of him speaks of survival—of a man who should not have made it through what tried to break him.
His dark hair falls into his eyes as he shrugs into his shirt. Longer on top, shaved at the sides, effortlessly undone in a way that never looks accidental, even when it is. It’s the same hair I’ve tangled my fingers in when the world narrowed down to only us.
His tattoos disappear beneath fabric, but I know them by heart. Scripture inked in languages I don’t understand. Symbols of pain and rebirth. Devotion carved into flesh. Marks of a man who has bled and come back sharper for it.
When he lifts his head, those green eyes meet mine—deep, vivid, alive with something unyielding.
Not mercy. Not cruelty. Judgment.
It strikes me then, unbidden and unsettling, how easily he could be mistaken for something divine.
Not gentle. Not forgiving. But absolute.
A force that doesn’t ask for repentance—only consequence.
Fire and reckoning. A man shaped by survival and sharpened into judgment.
Trey doesn’t need permission. He doesn’t ask for approval.
He simply decides.
For the first time since all of this began, I understand with aching clarity that the men who hunted me were not prepared for what they awakened.
They thought him broken. A boy playing at being a man. A rockstar. A distraction. A husband on paper only.
They were wrong.
He is more. He will always be more.
My own fear—my hesitation, my dread—feels cast away in his presence.
I watch him turn back toward me, his gaze softening just enough to remind me that I am the reason for all of this. And in that moment, I know with absolute certainty, that whatever comes next, Trey will meet it head-on.
And I will stand beside him when he does.
Chace slips out quietly, the door closing behind him with a soft click that feels louder than it should.
Once Trey is dressed, his attention returns fully to me.
His gaze moves slowly, deliberately, tracking every inch of me as I pull the sheet down from my chest, heat rising beneath his stare.
His eyes land on the oversized black T-shirt I’m wearing.
His expression tightens instantly.
“Whose clothes are you wearing?” he asks, voice low.
“I don’t know,” I admit softly. “I just wore what was there for me.”
He stares.
“I think your dad left some things in the drawer,” I add carefully. “I don’t know whose shirt this is.”
His jaw tightens so sharply I see the muscle jump.
Before I can react, he steps forward.
His hands close around my wrists—not harsh, but firm—and he lifts my arms. The shirt comes off in seconds, discarded without ceremony.
The air feels colder without it.
He doesn’t look away as he moves to the dresser, opening the drawer and pulling out the clothes inside. He lays them neatly across the bed, as if order alone might steady something in him.
“For now, Dove,” he says, quieter now. “Put something on. I’ll have clothes organized for you.”
I nod, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for a white camisole and slip it over my head, then pull on the black sweatpants.
His eyes follow every movement.
When I’m dressed, he steps back in front of me and takes my hand.
His thumb brushes slowly over the empty space on my finger where my wedding ring used to be.
My throat tightens instantly.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “They took it from me.”
The words feel small compared to what was stolen.
Trey doesn’t look away from my hand.
“I’ll get you a new one,” he says quietly.
Not a promise.
A vow.
When I’ve put on my shoes, he doesn’t hesitate.
His hand closes around mine, firm and unyielding, and he pulls me toward him.
The kiss is not gentle. It’s bruising in its intensity.
A reclamation. A reminder.
I’m here. You’re here. We survived.
My body melts into him without thought, heart stuttering as the world narrows to the press of his mouth against mine.
When he finally pulls back, his breath is uneven.
“I needed that,” he murmurs against my lips.
His thumb brushes my knuckles as he laces our fingers together, holding on like letting go is not an option.
He leads me out.
The dogs follow ahead of us, tails brushing the floor, alert and protective.
I breathe him in as we walk, still feeling the echo of the kiss on my lips.
We barely make it into the lounge before I stop.
A man is seated there.
The same one who was here when Johnathon brought me back.
He rises as we enter, moving toward me with calm precision, offering his hand.
“Mrs. Baker,” he says smoothly. “It’s a pleasure to officially meet you. I’m Niko Romanov. Valentino’s uncle.”
Something about him unsettles me immediately.
Not openly threatening.
Worse.
Controlled.
Like a man who knows exactly what he is and what he can do.
I take his hand cautiously, glancing back at Trey.
His eyes meet mine immediately.
A silent reassurance.
You’re safe, his gaze says.
“Valentino?” I murmur, confused.
A faint smile tugs at Niko’s mouth.
“I’m Valentino,” Chace replies. “Chace is… a stage name. I prefer to keep my family separate from my work.”
“Oh,” I breathe.
The name lingers in the air longer than it should.
Valentino.
It feels important. Like something I haven’t yet understood.
Niko gestures toward the door.
“Well then,” he says. “Shall we?”
Only then do I notice Johnathon is gone.
The room feels lighter—but not safe.
Men line the perimeter outside the suite. Dark suits. Still. Professional in a way that makes it clear they would act before anyone even realized there was danger.
Chace steps ahead of us, placing himself slightly in front of Trey and me, while Niko follows behind.
Protection arranged like a moving wall.
My breath catches when I see Klause and Artemis walking beside us, tails flicking, ears alert, mirroring the men around them with quiet instinct.
Trey leans slightly toward me.
“Our dogs seem very comfortable with them,” he murmurs against my ear. A faint smile in his voice. “As long as they know I’m the daddy.”
A soft laugh escapes me.
Then dies.
My hand drops instinctively to my stomach.
Daddy.
The word lands differently now.
Trey doesn’t notice.
Not yet.
All the protection. All the planning.
None of it matters if danger finds us again.
Because this time—it won’t just take me.
It will take everything.