She cried harder than Aria, worried more than I did, and held herself together for my daughter while falling apart inside.
Calista never cried like that for Aria, never blamed herself for a single scraped knee, bruised elbow, tear, or nightmare. Hell, she blamed me for everything and took credit for the rest.
But Ella? She carried the weight like she was the one who gave birth to my daughter.
And that did something to me.
Watching her hold my girl in her arms, trembling with guilt even after the doctor said Aria was fine, insisting she should’ve been better, faster, smarter—it carved something deep and permanent into me.
Ella loves my daughter. Not halfway, politely, or the way you’re supposed to love someone else’s kid. She loves her with her whole damn chest. And that tells me more about the kind of woman she is, the kind of mother she will be, more than anything else she’s ever done.
That’s when I knew. When it really, truly settled in my bones: I will never find anything better than this woman. I will never want anything else.
She’s not replacing Calista; she’s giving my daughter something her own mother never did: a mother who actually cares, protects, and loves without condition.
And I’ll be damned if I ever let Ella doubt that again.
But her family has no idea about us—not about the way her mouth fits perfectly against mine in the dark corners of the barn, or how she sneaks out of the house at night and into my bed, whispering things that make my pulse trip over itself. They don’t know how she presses her forehead to mine before she leaves at dawn, like she’s giving me a piece of herself to carry through the day.
They don’t know that I’ve stopped pretending she isn’t the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.
We’re sneaking around my cabin, stealing moments we shouldn’t have, touching each other like we’re afraid the universe will take it back if we let go for even a second.
And I’ve never been happier.
I finish reviewing the foundation measurements with my crew, wiping sweat from my neck, when I see her. Ella. Standing a little away from the construction chaos, her hips leaning against the fence, eyes trained on me in a way that makes the rest of the world go quiet.
Every time she looks at me like that, it hits me low and hard—the kind of punch you want to take again and again.
She waves, and I walk toward her.
We don’t touch. Not here. Not out in the open where her brothers roam like security cameras with muscles.
But when she smiles up at me, I swear my fucking knees almost give out.
“You need anything?” I ask, voice lower than I intend. “Water? Break? Another excuse to get me alone?”
She laughs, that soft, warm sound that gets under my skin in the best way. “I came to see how it’s going. Looks like you’re off to a good start.”
“Better than good,” I murmur, leaning closer as if proximity alone is a confession. “Everything’s going right for once.”
Her cheeks flush, that light pink I’d die to taste. “Good.”
The moment stretches between us, quiet and charged, until Beck’s truck rolls into view and I take one respectful step back.
Ella’s eyes flick in the direction of the road, and for a second, I assume she’s reacting to her brother, but the moment her face freezes, I know that’s not it. Because the car rolling up the driveway isn’t Beck’s. It’s glossy, black, expensive, and painfully familiar.
My stomach drops. No. No fucking way.
Calista.
She steps out of the car like she’s walking onto a stage, sunglasses pushed into her hair, perfectly tailored dress hugging a body I don’t give a shit about anymore, her smile bright and rehearsed. She looks like everything that nearly cost me my sanity—polished lies, expensive betrayal, and the kind of manipulation that comes wrapped in silk.
For a split second, I think maybe she’s here to drop off paperwork, brag about getting another construction job, or start a fight, but the moment she locks eyes with me, everything goes sour.
She looks… soft, contrite, and strategic.
“Cole,” she calls, her voice warm in a way that makes my skin crawl. “We need to talk.”
