It hit me like a gut punch.
Not the question. The relief.
It was sharp and terrifying, the kind of relief that makes your stomach drop on a rollercoaster. The walls I’d built around myself—the ones that had kept me safe, that I thought were made of steel—cracked at the seams. For the first time in weeks, I could take a full breath.
And it felt like knives in my chest.
Because now it was out there.
He knew something was off, and there was no stuffing this back into the shadows.
Dom stood like a storm in the doorway, broad, commanding, every inch of him vibrating with restrained power. I couldn’t look away, but I also couldn’t step closer. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the hum of the city outside.
His dark eyes pinned me in place, sharp and unrelenting, waiting for the verdict. He wasn’t giving me room to dance around it or push him out.
He was here, and he wasn’t leaving without the truth.
I was trembling, knuckles white as I clenched my fists at my sides. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be defiant. But all I felt was tired. So damn tired.
And the words slid from me in a voice that barely sounded like mine.
“They’re yours.”
Soft. Ragged. Irrevocable.
The second they left my lips, the air between us shifted. Tighter. Hotter. Like we were standing at the edge of a cliff and there was no going back.
For a moment, Dom didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as if the room itself held its breath.
Then, slow and deliberate, he stepped toward me. And I braced myself for anger, for doubt, for accusations. But instead, he exhaled. Not harshly. Not sharply. Just a slow, measured breath, as if the weight of the words had been heavy, but not unexpected.
My heart hammered in my throat, wild and unsteady. His scent—clean soap, faint coffee, and something distinctly him—wrapped around me. The sheer size of him, the quiet power in his frame, made me feel cornered in the most electric way.
His eyes never left mine, dark and unreadable.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was a low, rough vow that sent a shiver racing down my spine.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”
Something inside me flared hot. Defiance. Sharp and molten, like I was nineteen again, daring anyone to cage me.
I squared my shoulders, tilting my chin up. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Dom. Not now, not ever.”
His lips curved—not quite a smile, more like a shadow of one. Controlled. Calm. But there was something softer buried beneath the steel of his gaze. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then say what you mean,” I snapped.
He dragged a hand through his hair, then let it fall to his side, clenching briefly. “I mean…” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “I’m not walking away. I’m going to be in their lives. And if you let me… I want to be in yours, too.”
I froze.
I’d been ready for a fight. For custody threats or cold logic or some legal ultimatum. But this? The simple, honest vulnerability in his words knocked the breath from my lungs.
Me. He wanted me.
And I wasn’t ready for that.
My stomach twisted, the guilt gnawing like glass under my ribs. Leo. His son. The secret I’d buried so deep it felt like poison now.
I pressed my lips together, swallowing down the sob that clawed at my throat. He had no idea what he was really asking. No idea about the fracture already running through the ground beneath us. How could we be anything—anything real—if I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the whole truth?
I wanted to scream, You don’t know the half of it.
But fear slammed down like a lid, trapping the confession behind it. Fear of breaking him. Of breaking us before we even began. Of setting fire to every fragile thing holding this moment together.
Yet standing here, with Dom watching me like I was something precious he wasn’t ready to lose, I felt my resolve splintering. My daughters deserved better. They deserved their father.
I had never known mine, and I wouldn’t be the reason they went without.
I forced a breath past the knot in my chest and whispered, “Okay.”
One word. One promise. And it shook the ground beneath me.
He nodded. Relief, or maybe shock, rippled across his features. Then he exhaled hard, raking a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because—” My voice caught. “I was scared. I didn’t think you’d want to know.”
He stared at me, brows knitting together. “Why would you think that?”
Bitterness spiked in my chest. I remembered all the trash my ex—his son—had spewed, claiming Dom was a cold, distant father who’d always chosen work over family. But I couldn’t tell Dom that. Not without dropping the bigger bombshell that his son was my ex-boyfriend.
“I had…reasons,” I said finally, voice wavering.
Dom nodded slowly, like that was all he needed. “Can I see them?”
My heart stumbled. But I found myself nodding. “This way.”
The apartment shrank around us as I led him down the narrow hallway. Dom’s presence changed the air itself—made it denser, more charged. The faint scent of baby powder clung to everything, layered over warm laundry and the untouched biscuits cooling on the counter.
He didn’t comment on the clutter or chaos. He just observed, silent and steady, as if absorbing the life I’d built here.
When we reached the nursery, Dom hesitated on the threshold. His breath caught, audible even in the quiet.
The room was small but soft—muted pastels on the walls, two cribs side by side beneath the warm halo of the overhead light. The rocking chair in the corner, toys strewn like breadcrumbs on the floor, and the faint smell of lavender and newness made it feel like a safe harbor.
Dom stepped in, and the space felt even smaller. His height dwarfed the nursery, but the look in his eyes wasn’t domineering—it was awe.
“They’re…” His voice faltered. “They’re so small.”
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. “They’ve grown a lot since the hospital.”
He exhaled, shaky, like he’d been punched in the gut. Then he reached out, fingers grazing the crib rail with a care that didn’t match his rough edges. “Which one is which?”
I shifted closer, almost brushing his arm. “That’s Marissa.” I pointed to the left crib where a tiny tuft of dark hair poked out from the blanket. “And Summer’s the one who’s probably about to wake up and demand attention.”
He repeated their names quietly, like a prayer. Like he was committing them to memory and wouldn’t dare forget.
My heart clenched at the tenderness in his voice. Leo said he was cold, but look at him now. Guilt stabbed me again. Leo. Dom’s own son, my ex-boyfriend, the reason I’d almost convinced myself not to let Dom in.
The secret pressed like a heavy weight on my chest, but I couldn’t tell him now. Not when he looked at our daughters with such wonder.
“Marissa…Summer,” he murmured again, voice thick. He leaned closer to Marissa’s crib, eyes shining with unshed tears. My throat tightened at the sight.
Summer’s tiny fists flailed. Marissa stirred but stayed drowsy, eyelids fluttering. Dom’s jaw tension eased a fraction at the sight of them, as if just breathing the same air as his daughters grounded him.
I gently lifted Summer from her crib, cradling her to my chest. She let out another soft cry, then blinked up at me. Her dark eyes, so much like his, made my heart twist.
Dom inhaled sharply. He was silent for a long moment, just looking.
I watched as his chest rose and fell, as his hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. And then, with slow, careful movements, he crouched down, bringing himself eye-level with Marissa.
His daughter.
Something changed in his face. I had seen Dom in many different ways—cocky, commanding, teasing, distant. But I had never seen this.
This was pure, unguarded awe.
“They’re beautiful,” he murmured.
A lump formed in my throat. “Yeah. They are.”
Dom stood beside me, close enough that I felt his warmth. “Can I?” he asked, holding out his arms.
Wordlessly, I transferred Summer into his waiting grasp. Her cries ebbed, replaced by curious little whimpers as Dom rocked her gently, brushing a fingertip across her cheek. Marissa shifted in her crib but stayed mostly asleep.
The tension in the room shifted, from fraught to quietly intimate. I watched Dom with our daughter, my throat tight. He’d told me he wanted to be here for them, for us. Seeing him handle Summer with such tenderness affirmed that promise more than any words ever could.
“I have baby daughters,” he said softly, almost like he was saying it to himself.
A single tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away quickly, but I knew he saw.
We both stood like that, lulled by the hush of the nursery, until Summer’s eyelids began to droop. Dom smiled at her, that soft, almost disbelieving smile I loved, then carefully settled her back into the crib. She let out a tiny sigh and nestled into the blanket.
My heart felt too big for my chest, and at that moment, he turned to me, and neither of us spoke. I should have stepped away. I should have put distance between us. But I didn’t.
Instead, I let him reach for me. His fingers skimmed along my cheek, brushing away the stray strands of hair that had fallen from my haphazard bun. His touch was warm, steady. My name rolled off his tongue like it was something precious. “Ella.”
I knew what was coming. I saw it in his eyes before he even moved. I should have stopped him. But I didn’t.
His lips met mine, slow and sure, sending warmth spiraling through my exhausted body. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was something deeper, something deliberate. Something real.
I felt the tension in him, the restraint, the need coiled just beneath the surface. I stiffened for half a second—fear coiling in my stomach—then exhaled, letting the warmth of his kiss wash over me.
It was nothing like the frantic, impulsive heat we’d shared by the ocean months ago. This was sweeter, tinged with uncertainty and gratitude. For a few precious heartbeats, I let myself melt into it, savoring the comfort, the promise.
Then reality crashed back. I pulled away, pressing a hand to his chest. My breath came in shaky bursts, my mind swirling with guilt and longing. “I’m sorry,” I blurted, cheeks flushing. “I’m just…I’m kinda overwhelmed right now.”
He froze, concern darting across his face. “Right, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” I assured him quickly, feeling my emotions seesaw between wanting him closer and needing distance. “I just—I have so much in my head, Dom.” My gaze dropped. I’m lying to you about your son.
He nodded, though I saw the strain in his eyes. He wanted more—more closeness, more certainty. But he respected my boundary, stepping back. “I get it.”
My heart twisted at the sight of him controlling himself, that fervent desire banked in the lines of his jaw. I quickly smiled, trying not to cry or beg for more. Whatever was going on, I didn’t trust myself to speak. Smiling was far safer.
He took a slow step back, giving me space. But the look in his eyes told me everything. This wasn’t over. Not even close.
