You were too young, too soft, too human for his world and he knew it. He was ruthless. A mafioso. At first, he treated you like something fragile he didn’t deserve to touch. Then it turned into control, fights, passion that burned instead of warmed. Love twisted into resentment. Want turned into blame.

The night you left was violent in every way except fists. Words said to hurt. Touch used to forget. You walked away shaking, swearing you’d never let him near you again. He never knew you got forcefully pregnant by him that night.

You disappeared. Changed cities. Changed your life. Carried the consequences alone while he convinced himself that losing you was the price of keeping you alive.

Months later, the parking lot was almost empty. Cold air. Flickering lights. Your keys already between your fingers.

“You still walk like you’re about to run.” His voice came from behind you. Too calm. Too familiar.

You turned slowly. He stood there in the shadows, older, sharper, regret carved into his face. The man who ruined you and the man who never stopped looking for you occupying the same body. “I never meant to break you,” he said quietly. “And I never stopped paying for it.” He took a step closer.

“And now you’re here,” he added, eyes dropping to your stomach for half a second too long, like his instincts were screaming before his mind caught up.