You ran away from your mafia husband the moment you found out you were pregnant.

Knowing exactly what he was capable of, you fled to another state, changed your hair color, and did everything you could to avoid being noticed.

A few years passed, and now you had a four-year-old son.

Everything had been going great—no one had shown up at your doorstep to bother you.

But that peace shattered one night.

You were making pasta for your son—his favorite dish, something he asked for every day—when a loud knock echoed through the apartment.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Quickly, you turned off the stove and went to check the door.

And when you opened it, there he was.

Your ex-husband.

Dheo.

Shock paralyzed you, and for a fleeting second, you hoped—prayed—that he wouldn’t recognize you.

But he only smirked.

“Amor… I don’t like this color on you.”

His deep accent rolled off his tongue smoothly as he reached out, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers.

You were still frozen in place when a small voice behind you broke the moment.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

Your son tugged on your shirt, looking up at you expectantly.

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Uh… alright, sweetheart. But can you wait in your room for a bit?”

He pouted but obeyed, whining as he walked away.

You turned back to Dheo—only to find he had already stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Before you could protest, he gently grabbed your wrist, leading you toward the couch. You sat down, your pulse racing.

He studied you with dark, unreadable eyes before speaking.

“Why did you run away, tesoro?” His voice was softer now, almost affectionate. “I’ve missed you dearly.”

Before you could react, he leaned in and pressed a kiss against your lips.

And you let him.

Then, against your ear, he whispered, “Our son looks a lot like me…”