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THIRTEEN
Last Updated:
2025-05-24 23:17:59
Latest chapter
His Heartbroken Surrogate TWENTY - FIVE
CARA's POVThe coffee had gone cold in my hands.Wesley’s words from the morning still echoed in my head, louder than the silence around them.He’s no longer a problem.That sentence had weight. Finality. And no hint of regret.I told myself I didn’t care. That Henry had earned it—whatever “it” was. But when I reached for my phone and tried to call him, the line went dead before it even rang.Disconnected.Blocked.Or worse.I tried again. Same thing.The knot in my stomach tightened.I paced for fifteen minutes before I decided I couldn’t sit still anymore. I grabbed my bag, threw on a coat, and made for the front entrance. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t care. I just knew I had to see him with my own eyes. Had to know Wesley’s wrath hadn’t gone further than I could live with.But when I reached the front doors, Haller was already there.Of course he was.Tall, stiff, sharp as a knife in a tailored jacket, hands behind his back like some silent butler of doom.“I need to leave,” I sai
His Heartbroken Surrogate TWENTY - FOUR
CARA's POV“You fucking bitch!”My pen slipped from my hand.The blood in my face drained so fast I felt it leave me.Henry.Striding through the front entrance like a storm with legs, hair a mess, eyes wild, fury bleeding off him in waves. People froze. Visitors. Staff. Everyone in the gallery went silent, eyes swiveling toward the sudden, furious spectacle.“Are you insane?” I hissed, stepping forward, trying to intercept him before he could get any closer. “What are you doing here?”“You lied to me!” he shouted, arms flailing. “You lied to everyone!”“Henry, lower your voice—”“Whose kid is it, huh? Your billionaire boyfriend’s?”My breath hitched. How did he—Mia, standing behind the front desk, picked up the phone with trembling fingers. I saw her mouth the word security. "Oh yeah. I know you've been awfully chummy with Wesley Morano these few weeks, haven't you?" Henry continued. "Hell, half the city fucking knows!" “Get out,” I said sharply. “Now.”He laughed. It was bitter,
His Heartbroken Surrogate TWENTY - THREE
CARA's POV“You know this is insane, right?” I said, pulling my coat tighter as Juan pulled the car away from the estate gates.His eyes stayed fixed on the road.I gestured to the schedule folded in my lap. “Two hours to get to work. One stop for coffee that you won’t let me drink unless you inspect it first. Three route changes. You think Rizzo’s hiding in the bakery line?”“No,” Juan said calmly. “But I know how patient men like that can be.”I slumped in the seat, exhaling hard. “Right. No such thing as overkill when you’re already living in a fortress.”He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. That was Juan—always composed, always two steps ahead. Sometimes I wondered if he ever slept. Or laughed. Or... did anything besides work and guard and bleed silently in back alleys.The silence stretched, but not uncomfortably. The car purred beneath us, tinted windows muting the early morning glare. My mind wandered, trying not to think about Italy next week, or how Wesley hadn’t said a word
His Heartbroken Surrogate TWENTY -TWO
CARA's POVI don’t remember walking into his bedroom.But there I was—barefoot on the polished floors, the air warm and thick with steam.“Wesley?” I called softly, the name catching on my tongue like I wasn’t supposed to say it.The lights were dim, golden, flickering gently like candles though I couldn’t see a single flame. The scent of cedar and spice hung in the air—his scent. It wrapped around me, familiar and maddening.A sound came from the left. Water dripping.Then movement.And Wesley stepped into view.Naked.Fresh from the bath, water clinging to every line of muscle like it had been sculpted there. His chest rose and fell slowly, rivulets of water trailing down the ridges of his abdomen, sliding past the sharp cut of his hips. His skin glowed in the soft light, bronzed and wet, like he belonged in marble and sin.I couldn’t move.I couldn’t even blink.He saw me. Smirked.“Are you going to speak,” he murmured, voice low and molten, “or just stand there pretending you’re n
His Heartbroken Surrogate TWENTY-ONE
CARA's POVI found him in his study the next morning.Same slate-grey suit. Same glass of something expensive in hand. He didn’t even look surprised to see me—just glanced up like he’d been expecting this conversation.“Do you plan on keeping me locked up forever?” I asked, arms folded tightly across my chest.He took a sip. “I plan on keeping you alive.”“Funny,” I snapped. “It’s starting to feel like the same thing.”He didn’t rise to the bait. Of course he didn’t. Wesley never reacted like normal people. He moved like a chessboard—always six steps ahead, never blinking.Without a word, he opened the drawer beside him and pulled out a crisp white sheet of paper.He handed it to me.I unfolded it.It was a schedule.Neat columns. Times. Routes. Security check-ins. Alternate exits. Approved locations. A note at the bottom: Gallery hours limited to three per day. Juan to resume escort next week. Until then: Haller.I stared at it. “Are you serious?”“It’s safer this way.”“I’m not a ch
His Heartbroken Surrogate TWENTY
CARA'S POVJuan was still out of commission.He’d been stitched up and cleared by Wesley’s private medic, but that didn’t mean he was ready to go back to shadowing my every step. He hadn’t left his room in two days. Not that I blamed him—getting a knife to the ribs would sideline anyone.So today, I planned to go to the doctor’s appointment with Jenny.Simple.I pulled my coat on, tied it at the waist, and checked my bag for the folder of labs we needed to review. I was halfway down the hall, already rehearsing what I’d tell the OB about the nausea flaring up again, when I turned the corner—and stopped.Wesley was waiting near the front door.Black sweater, dark slacks, coat already in hand. Calm, still, composed as ever.My stomach dropped.He looked up. “Ready?”I blinked. “Ready for what?”He motioned toward the door. “Your appointment.”I frowned. “I’m going with Jenny.”“No, you’re not.”There was no malice in his tone. No raised voice or anger. Just certainty. Like the decision
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