Page 67 of Hunter

My heart aches, not only for his war with himself but also the uncertainty that this isn’t already what he believes. After everything, I’m still here and he still doesn’t truly believe I’ll stay. Deep down, my husband doesn’t believe he’s worthy of love; tonight has proven that.

“Then take it,” I whisper. “Take everything. I’m yours.”

He groans, harder now, thrusting deep, possessive.

“I want you pregnant, Bella,” he breathes. “I want you carrying my child. No one touches what’s mine…ever again. You’re my family, and we will create our own.”

I gasp, the words hitting something deep inside me. Something primal. Something that says yes. Up until now, I’ve gone along with his moments of wanting me pregnant, enjoyed the idea of us having a family, me being a mom. But now, tonight, I know this is what we both need, some sort of normality amongst the chaos that is our lives.

“Yes,” I moan. “Yes. Give me everything.”

He falters, hips stuttering, and I feel him start to unravel. His eyes close as they do each time he is close to his peak. His strong body holds me against the cool tiles as his hips find their rhythm once again, slamming harder with each thrust, chasing his own high.

“Let go,” I tell him. “Let go with me. Give me our baby.”

He does.

He comes with a deep, strangled moan, hips jerking, mouth crushed against mine. My back slams hard against the wall as I follow seconds later, trembling around him, heart pounding against my ribs.

For a long time, we don’t move. The water runs over us, rinsing off the sweat and the sin, but not the weight of the night. Eventually, he sets me down gently and rests his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard, eyes closed. Our bare skin moving together is rhythm as we catch our breath.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

I run my fingers down his chest, loving his skin slick with water beneath the tips.

“Next time,” I say softly, “don’t come home covered in blood.”

He chuckles. A quiet sound. A broken one.

But it’s still laughter. And for tonight, that’s enough.

“Home,” he whispers. “From your lips, that is the best sound a man can hear. Wherever you are Bella, I am home.”

Chapter thirty-one

Hunter's Residence, London

Hunter

I wake, the quiet hum of morning a stark contrast to the chaos I lived only hours ago. Isabella sleeps peacefully beside me, her breasts rising and falling beneath the sheet. Dark curls fall over the white satin; she looks every inch the Hollywood film star, though her red lips are long gone and returned to her natural blush pink.

My phone buzzes on the bedside cabinet, an unwelcome reminder of the events the day has to offer. As I lift it from its resting place, the date catches me by surprise even though it shouldn’t. The first of January stares back, the start of a new year. A new three hundred-sixty-five-day book waiting to be written, but will anything really change for me? Life is so different to what it was three months ago, and the transition all started when those damn divorce papers hit my desk.

In less than one hundred and twenty days, I’ve gone from wanting to rule London and manage the men around me with an iron fist to questioning everything I stand for. Although I’ve told myself in the past that I am a good man and every action I take is grounded in logic, it’s not something I’ve always believed. With Isabella back in my life, I see so much more hope for a life more fulfilling. The hopes and dreams I buried twenty years ago when my marriage fell apart have resurfaced strong.

I close my eyes again. Greyson’s bloodied face immediately appearing with pinpoint focus. I replay the moment I cut into his chest with my knife, carving the wordTRAITORacross his taught skin like it was a daily task. The memory makes my skin crawl. I’m disgusted with myself for acting so barbarically towards a man I consider an ally. And for what? Because he fell for a girl that he wasn’t supposed to? He protected her when her supposed fiancé wouldn’t? As her uncle, is that not what I should want? A man who would lay his life down for her?

The relationships my friends have all created should be evidence enough that love doesn’t always appear from the places you expect it to. Sometimes it takes a leap of faith to find what you truly need in life. Last night’s events have me questioning my whole existence, and I am not sure I’m ready to face myself.

After forcing open my eyes, I try to push away the memories. Yet the more I try, the harder my pulse hammers, and the guilt refuses to loosen its grip.

Glancing at Isabella again, I carefully brush a curl from her cheek, my fingertips lingering against her soft skin. She murmurs something in her sleep, nestling deeper into the pillow, blissfully unaware of the war raging inside my mind.

Isabella trusts me. She sees good in me, even when I can’t. Her unwavering faith makes my actions feel heavier, my mistakes sharper. But she deserves honesty. If we’re truly going to build something lasting, something real, I need to give her the truth of who I am, not just the pieces I’ve allowed her to see. I need to be transparent, even if it hurts.

My phone vibrates again, insistent this time. The name flashing across the screen is Damon’s—a reminder that the world won’t wait for me to pull myself together. After taking a steadying breath, I swipe open the message:

Greyson’s stable. He’ll survive. We need to talk. There is news on the ships.

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