Christmas Eve I Found His Second Life

Back from the hospital, the air was ice-cold, but Nico's hands were burning.

The second the door clicked shut, he pinned me against it.

His kiss crashed down on me, tasting like blood and whiskey.

"Stop being mad, cara," he panted, his voice rough as hell.

His rough hands gripped my lower back, yanking me hard against his arousal.

Even through the thin fabric, I could feel how aggressively hard he was.

He was claiming me, pure and primal, breaking down my walls.

My resistance melted into shivers under his assault. His scorching lips trailed down my neck, every bite dripping with a crazy, consuming kind of love.

In that intense clash of pleasure, I gave in.

Riding the high, I cried, trembling as I kissed the fresh bandage on his forehead.

"Promise me, Nico. No more bleeding for people who don't matter."

He buried himself deep inside me, kissing my tears away. "Only you, Seraphina. I'm only yours."

I slept soundly.

The next morning, the smell of food woke me up.

Nico was actually standing at the stove. Wearing a black dress shirt, awkwardly stirring risotto.

Sunlight hit his broad back. It felt like home. A feeling I hadn't had in a long time.

I walked over, wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades.

"In a good mood?" I smiled, turning to open the fridge.

Last night, I put the Christmas cake I made in there.

Deep inside that cake was the ring I was going to propose with.

But the shelf where I left it was completely empty.

I froze. "Nico, where's my cake?"

"Oh, that." Nico casually sprinkled black pepper into the pan. "Elena and the kid had nothing. No one to spend Christmas with. I just grabbed the cake for them. To make the kid happy."

My blood turned to ice.

"You gave them my cake?"

"It's just a cake." He turned around, trying to grab my waist. "Don't be so petty. We can go buy a better one anytime—"

"I want that cake. Now." I dodged his touch, my voice shaking with cold rage.

The smirk vanished from Nico's face.

A flash of irritation crossed his eyes. He ground his jaw and pulled out his phone.

"Elena." The line connected, and his voice shifted into that gentle, protective tone. "Yeah, about that cake... What? Misha already ate it?"

I could hear Elena's weak, pitiful sobbing through the speaker.

"I'm sorry, Nico... Misha was so hungry. Is your girlfriend mad? Can I send her money? I'll pay whatever it costs, please don't fight..."

"She can't afford it!" I snapped, ripping through Nico's fake peace. "That cake meant something! Nico, do you not get it?!"

"Enough!"

Nico exploded.

Like a provoked beast, he swung his arm, violently sweeping the kitchen counter.

A glass shattered on the floor. Pieces flew everywhere.

A sharp shard bounced up and sliced my forearm.

Blood instantly welled up, dripping onto the pristine white tiles. It was glaring.

But Nico didn't even glance at my wound.

"It's a fucking cake! Do you really have to be this petty?! Seraphina, are you really that obsessed with targeting a miserable woman who can barely survive?!"

He yanked out his wallet, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and hurled them at my face.

A few crumpled ticket stubs fluttered out with the money, landing near the blood.

Chicago Kids Carnival. Family Pass.

Then, a heavy Amex card hit my chest.

"Go buy a new one!" he roared, his voice shaking the windows. "I'm covering it!"

I clutched my bleeding arm. My chest hurt so much I could barely breathe.

Six years. This was the first time he ever got physical with me.

Over another woman.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone. I wanted to find the text from five years ago where he swore to give me a stable home.

I wanted to ask him where that promise went.

But before I could unlock the screen, Nico grabbed his car keys.

"You need to take a good look at your pathetic, vicious jealousy!"

Slam!

He walked out.

The massive house fell dead silent.

A wave of intense nausea hit me. I rushed to the sink, dry heaving violently, tears uncontrollably smashing into the basin.

When I had no tears left, I dragged my numb body into the bedroom and pulled out my suitcase.

My phone lit up with a notification.

Elena updated her socials.

Caption: [The two most important men in my life.]

In the photo, Nico was holding Misha, sitting in a high-end Italian restaurant. He was looking down, gently cutting the kid's steak.

The comments were flooding with praises.

[What a beautiful family.]

[Elena, your new man is way better than your ex. Be happy!]

I stared at the leftover food in the background of the photo.

Then, I turned my head and looked at the steaming pot of "breakfast made with love" on the stove.

He wasn't cooking for me.

He literally just reheated the leftover risotto his little family of three didn't finish last night and served it to me.

And floating in that pot were huge chunks of mushrooms.

I have a deadly allergy to mushrooms.

One bite, and I go into anaphylactic shock.

Six years. I took a bullet for him. I emptied my trust fund for him.

And he couldn't even be bothered to remember what could kill me.

My tears suddenly stopped.

I felt a wave of absurd sorrow.

I mechanically stuffed my clothes into the suitcase.

At the very bottom, tucked in a slit, a slightly yellowed piece of paper peeked out.

I pulled it out.

Six years ago. Miami to Chicago.

A one-way first-class ticket.

But my six years were never taken seriously by Nico.