CHAPTER 7

Zack’s hand shook as he hit the ‘end call’ button. The high, jagged laugh of Madeline Winters still echoed in the silent bedroom, a sharp contrast to the low, rumbling hum of Nathan’s voice in the background.

"Bella, would you behave for once?" Nathan’s voice, rough and familiar, had sliced through the speaker.

"Only if you make me," she’d purred. Then, the wet, unmistakable sound of a kiss.

Zack doubled over, his stomach rolling. It was their three-year anniversary. He was supposed to be celebrating. He was supposed to tell Nathan about the heartbeat he’d seen on the ultrasound. Instead, he was listening to his husband trade spit with the woman he was "supposed" to marry before the Durand family needed Zack’s bloodline to solidify a treaty.

The rejection was coming in ten days. Zack knew the contract. He knew Nathan had sacrificed three years of his life playing bodyguard and husband to a broken ghost from a basement.

He doesn't owe you anything, Zack reminded himself, his fingers digging into the silk duvet. You were a job. A debt Julian Wright owed your mother.

But the weight of the secret in his gut made the air in the room feel thin. If he told Nathan about the baby, the man would stay. Nathan was a Durand; he didn't abandon his blood. But Zack wouldn't be a golden cage. He wouldn't chain Nathan to a life he clearly wanted to flee.

His phone buzzed again an hour later. It wasn't Nathan. It was Lucas, Nathan’s top enforcer.

"Zack? We’ve got a problem," Lucas shouted over a wall of distorted bass and shattering glass. "Nathan’s at The Iron Lung. He’s halfway through a bottle of bourbon and looking for a fight he can’t win. He won't listen to me. Get down here."

"I'm on my way." Zack didn't hesitate. Fear of crowds was a luxury he couldn't afford when Nathan was spiraling.

The neon sign of The Iron Lung flickered in the rain, casting long, bleeding shadows across the pavement. Zack stepped inside, the smell of stale beer and expensive tobacco hitting him like a physical blow. The club was a mosh pit of Cocolink soldiers and high-tier hitters.

He spotted them at the back bar. Nathan was a tower of simmering violence, his knuckles white around a tumbler. Madeline was draped over his arm like a silk scarf, her blonde hair stark against his black suit.

Nathan’s head snapped up as Zack approached. The mercury in his eyes flared, silver and dangerous. He looked through Zack, a raw, jagged despair bleeding through his usual mask of granite.

"What are you doing here?" Nathan prowled forward, his massive frame cutting through the crowd. He didn't wait for an answer. He wrapped a heavy, possessive arm around Zack’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. The heat of him was staggering.

"I’m taking you home, Nathan," Zack said, keeping his voice level despite the way his heart hammered against his ribs.

Nathan’s grip tightened, his fingers bruising Zack’s hip. "You could have called. I would’ve met you out front."

He sounded irritated, but he didn't let go. He escorted Zack out, ignoring Madeline’s sharp, indignant call.

By the time they reached the penthouse, Nathan was stumbling. Zack hauled him into the bedroom, the weight of the man nearly dragging them both to the floor.

"Come on, big guy," Zack huffed, steering him toward the bed. "Let’s get you down."

Nathan’s eyes ignited. He grabbed Zack’s wrists, spinning him until Zack hit the mattress. "Is that an invitation?"

The pain in Zack’s chest was sharp. He wanted this. One last time before the world ended. "If you can get yourself into this house, you can do whatever you want with me."

Nathan didn't hesitate. He stripped his jacket, his movements predatory despite the alcohol. He pinned Zack’s hands above his head, his mouth crashing down on Zack’s with a desperation that tasted like bourbon and regret.

Zack opened for him, his body turning to liquid under Nathan’s touch. He arched his back, his skin screaming for the friction of Nathan’s suit against his bare chest. He wanted to brand this memory into his marrow. Every grunt, every heavy press of Nathan’s thighs, every ragged breath.

Nathan moved lower, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of Zack’s neck. He was a beast in the dark, his hands roaming Zack’s body with a feverish intensity.

"We were supposed to be the end," Nathan growled against Zack’s skin, his voice a broken rasp. "We were the deal... but we never got to be real."

Zack froze. The air left his lungs. Madeline. Nathan was talking about Madeline. He was mourning the life he’d lost to marry Zack.

Zack pushed at Nathan’s shoulders, his face burning. "I’m sorry."

He scrambled off the bed before Nathan could grab him. Nathan was already drifting, the booze finally winning. Zack fled to the guest room, curling into a ball as the first wave of morning sickness hit him—a cruel reminder that while Nathan was dreaming of his past, Zack was carrying his future.

9 Days Until the Rejection Ceremony

Zack sat across from Madeline at the Full Moon Cafe. She was perfect—voluptuous, confident, the kind of man-eater who belonged at a mob boss’s side.

"I wanted to be sure you knew," Madeline said, her voice high and reedy. She sipped her espresso, her eyes tracking the way Zack flinched at the smell. "Nothing happened last night. Nathan is a man of honor. He won't touch me until the papers are signed."

Zack felt a prickle of unease. "I know."

"Good. Because I’ve waited three years for this," she leaned in, her smile turning razor-thin. "I stayed away because Julian Wright threatened to put a bullet in my father’s head if I interfered with the treaty. But now? The treaty is over. Nathan is mine again."

Zack’s blood turned to ice. "Julian threatened you?"

"Oh, honey." Madeline laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "You think Nathan married you because he wanted to? Julian forced his hand. He told Nathan that if he didn't marry the Volana heir and secure the bloodline, he’d dismantle the Winters family piece by piece."

The truth hit Zack harder than any of Logan’s fists. Nathan didn't just sacrifice his happiness; he was blackmailed into it. He’d spent three years in a prison of Julian’s making, and Zack was the warden.

"You really didn't know?" Madeline’s eyes went comically wide. "Nathan hates being a pawn. He’s been counting the seconds until he could throw you back to the gutter."

Zack stood up, his legs shaking. He didn't say goodbye. He walked out into the rain, his hand instinctively covering his stomach.

He had nine days. Nine days to leave before Nathan found out Julian’s plan worked—that the bloodline was secured. He wouldn't let his child be another pawn in the Durand empire.

As he reached his car, a black SUV pulled up, blocking his path. The window rolled down to reveal the cold, scarred face of Ethan Cole.

"Heard you’re back on the market soon, little ghost," Ethan purred. "I’ve got a much better cage waiting for you."