Once the call ended, I looked down at myself. I was wearing a bathrobe, my hair was a disheveled mess as I’d just gotten out of the shower before Adele insisted I tell her another bedtime story, so I hadn’t had the time to comb it. I was in slippers.
In short, I was in no state to receive a visitor.
I rushed into my room, pulled on the first dress in my drawer, and twisted my hair into a bun—messy, but better than nothing—and came out just as the doorbell rang.
I opened the door, and my heart skipped a beat. I hated when it did that.
Dimitri stood with his hands thrust into his pockets. Gone was the tailored suit he’d worn earlier that afternoon. In its place was a long-sleeved thermal shirt and jeans. He had sneakers on his feet. His hair was damp, the ends curling slightly at his neck like he’d just showered, and he smelled faintly of lavender and soap, a clean, heady scent my wolf immediately leaned into. Seeing Dimitri like this—casual—was rare. And apparently, not good for my nervous system.
His gaze swept over me. Slow. Deliberate. It wasn’t a glance—it was an inspection, a silent tease. Only now did I realize that the dress I’d worn, despite how long it was, was thin. Thin enough that my nipples poked through, leaving his gaze lingering too long on my chest. Great.
I crossed my arms over my chest, forcing my expression into something that resembled indifference. “What are you doing here, Dimitri?”
“At least you’ve stopped with that goddamn formality that stabs my brain every time you say my name.” His tone was quiet, but rough at the edges. “May I come in?”
I hesitated, then turned away, leaving the door open. “Adele’s sleeping,” I said. “So, let’s talk outside.”
I glanced over my shoulder as he walked in, taking in the simple living room. It wasn’t anything spectacular. I’d only rented the place two weeks ago, so it was furnished in a basic, neutral way. I’d added a portrait of Adele and me to make it feel a bit like home. Still, it wasn’t permanent, because I didn’t know how long we’d bein Virginia.
The cool night air brushed against my skin as we stepped onto the balcony. Dimitri’s eyes moved over the city skyline—lights stretching endlessly into the horizon, the movement of cars in the bustling city below us—before finally settling on me.
“It’s a beautiful view,” he said.
The way he said it made me unsure whether he was talking about the city…or something else.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” I said, shifting my weight. “Why are you here?”
He didn’t respond right away. He just stared, eyes burning into mine as though trying to peel back every layer of me he’d lost. My chest tightened under that gaze.
“Look, Dimitri, I’m really tired, and—”
“What did you tell her?” he interrupted.
My brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“When she asked about her father,” he said, voice low but sharp. “What did you tell her?”
The question hit me like a punch to the gut. For a moment, I couldn’t find my voice.
“I told her that her father wasn’t around,” I finally said. “That he might not be around for a long time.”
Something flickered in his eyes—anger, yes, but underneath it…pain.
“So, you were just going to let our child grow up thinking her father abandoned her?” His tone wasn’t raised, but it was heavy, trembling at the edges. “That I abandoned her?”
“Dimitri—”
“Do you know what it’s like to grow up thinking your father didn’t care enough to stay?” He took a step toward me, his eyes distant, as though he was lost in a memory. “We went hunting every Friday, my father and I. It was the only time I ever saw him smile. I planned every route, every track, just to make sure we’d catch something. And then one week, he just left. Tuesday, gone. Wednesday, gone. I told myself he’d never miss a Friday. But by Friday, I waited in the woods, thinking he’d come, hoping he cared enough to come. He never did.”
His eyes glistened. His voice softened into something that sounded broken.
“Do you know what that feels like, Isabella?”
I swallowed.
Yes, I did. I grew up without a father, too. My mother had tried to fill the void, and then Uncle Asher came along and made it better—for a while. But even then, the ache never really went away. But I knew it wasn’t the same as knowing a father who walked away from you.
“I swore I would never let my child feel that kind of pain,” he said, his jaw tightening. “But you…you took that from me.”
