Chapter 6

River’s POV

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice trembling despite how hard I tried to steady it. He didn’t answer me. Instead, his eyes dragged over me slowly, deliberately.

“Nice dress,” he said, voice smooth like silk soaked in venom. “Too bad you’re wearing it for the wrong man.” Before I could stop him, he pushed the door open wider and stepped inside like he belonged.

“Hey” I stumbled back, caught between fear and confusion. “You can’t just walk in here.” My breath hitched as I backed up, one hand clutching the soft fabric of my nightwear close to my chest.

There was something unhinged about him, the way he moved without blinking, the way he looked at me like he had a right to. I didn’t know what version of Rowan I was dealing with.

One minute he acted like I was nothing. The next, he stared at me like I belonged to him. What was wrong with him? Where was my phone? I glanced around quickly, trying to remember where I’d left it.

Killian wasn’t home. Thank God. It would have been a war between two brothers. “You have to leave now,” I said, louder this time.

"If my husband comes back and sees you here..." I let the warning hang between us, hoping he didn't see the tremor behind it. He gave me a sharp look, his smile thin and mocking.

“Oh, I’d love to meet your husband. Tell him all about the kind of woman he married.” I tilted my head slightly, watching him, waiting for the insult I knew was coming. But it didn’t.

He didn’t say anything else, just stood there like a bitter ghost clinging to a life that had already left him behind. “Celebrating your wins tonight, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone suddenly darker.

“I bet he’s looking forward to it. I bet you are too.”

“That’s none of your business, Rowan,” I snapped, backing away another step as he looked around, taking in the apartment like he was judging it—or maybe memorising it. “Just leave. Now.”

He chuckled, running his fingers along the table's edge. “You have a beautiful home,” he said before turning his eyes back to me, and this time they held something different. Something colder.

He moved toward me, not quickly, but with purpose. I stepped back instantly, every instinct in my body telling me something was wrong. His stare was too direct, his body too tense, like he wasn’t here just to talk.

Suddenly a cry rang out from upstairs.

Sharp. Loud. My baby.

My heart leapt into my throat, and for a second, I froze. Rowan’s head turned slowly toward the sound. His eyes narrowed, his whole body going still.

“Is that a baby?” he asked, voice low. I didn’t answer. I stepped slightly in front of him, as if my body could block his questions. My fingers tightened around the fabric of my robe, the sound of my baby crying tearing into me.

He tilted his head, watching me closely. “That’s the same baby I saw you with at my wedding, isn’t it?” he said, his voice sharper now. “Oh… the bastard child you almost pinned on me.”

His words cut through me like a blade. I felt my chest burn, my mouth open, but I held the scream inside. He gave a small, cruel smile. “Is he raising her like she’s his? Poor guy.”

I didn’t flinch. Not this time. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’m glad she’s not your child, Rowan.” Something shifted in his face then.

The smirk faded, just for a second, replaced by something colder. My baby cried again, louder now, and I stepped back. “You need to leave,” I said quietly.

“If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police,” I warned, my voice low but serious. “You’re not welcome here. This is my home.”

He paused then, his eyes narrowing as he looked around once more like he was searching for something—Killian, maybe, or a reason to stay longer.

“Fine,” he said at last, straightening his suit like this had all been part of some business meeting. I walked quickly to the door, opened it, and held it wide, not saying a word.

He walked past me without a second glance, but just before he crossed the threshold, he turned his head and gave me a look I couldn’t quite name—something between warning and regret.

Then he was gone.

I locked the door and leaned against it, letting the cool surface press into my back as I tried to calm my racing heart. My hands were still shaking, and my breathing came in uneven waves, like my body hadn’t yet realised the danger was over.

Rowan was gone, and the silence he left behind was louder than his voice had ever been. I stayed there for a long moment, eyes closed, listening to the stillness, needing it to feel real.

When I finally pushed away from the door, my legs felt heavy, almost numb. I walked slowly to the couch and lowered myself onto it, sinking into the cushions like they could hold all the fear still wrapped around me.

The room felt colder somehow, even with all the lights on, like his presence had stolen the warmth and left behind something sharp and uncomfortable.

How had he found me? What did he want this time? He already ruined what we had, destroying the pieces I tried so hard to hold together. Was it not enough for him? Did he want more?

Those questions swirled in my mind, circling one another without answers. I rubbed my arms slowly, trying to warm myself, trying to stop the shiver that kept running up my spine.

The sound of the front door opening made me jump. My head snapped up, heart thudding again as I turned toward the sound.

But it was Killian.

He stepped inside with a bottle of wine in his hand and a soft smile playing at his lips, the kind he gave me after a long day. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his hair a little messy like he’d been running his fingers through it.

“Hey,” he said gently as he closed the door behind him. “You okay?”

His voice was warm, low, and filled with concern. I opened my mouth to answer, to lie, to tell him it was nothing, that I was fine now, that he didn’t need to worry. 

He looked like comfort. Like home. The sight of him cracked something in my chest—but the bruises on his knuckles sealed it shut again. His knuckles were bruised, red and scraped like they’d met skin or bone. 

I stared at them, the breath catching in my throat before I could speak. Then he glanced at the door—quickly, too quickly, like his eyes moved before he could stop them.

That’s when it hit me.

He already knew.

He knew Rowan had been here.