All Chapters of THE WRONG MAN'S BABY: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

TWO WEEKS LATER Damian’s POVThe night feels wrong before I even open my eyes.Quiet, too quiet, like the world’s holding its breath.A soft rustle from the baby monitor, then silence again.Beside me, Ariana sleeps, her face pale against the moonlight slipping through the curtains.For a second, I let myself believe that the calm is real.Then I hear it, metal clattering somewhere outside.I’m on my feet before I think.Old instincts.They never really die.I pull on a T-shirt, grab the baseball bat leaning against the wall.Not paranoia, habit.A house this quiet shouldn’t echo like that.Downstairs, the air smells off.Oil. Paint. Smoke.When I reach the front door, the cold hits first.Then the sight.The windows, smashed.The car, two tires slashed, glass glittering on the driveway.And on the hood, a note pinned under a rock, edges flapping in the wind.The words bleed red across the paper:“You can’t protect them forever.”My throat tightens.For a second, I can’t breathe.The

Ariana's Pov Inside, I can still hear Elio’s faint cries and Damian’s trying to soothe him. I needed a moment to breathe. It’s been weeks since the last incident, but I feel scared. I wrap my sweater tighter and step into the garden. The air smells like salt and rain. For a moment, I close my eyes, letting the wind brush against my face. I tell myself it’s over. That he’s gone. That the world has stopped spinning out of control. But when I open my eyes, I see him. Adrian. Standing by the edge of the driveway like a ghost that refused to stay buried. His clothes are dark, hair disheveled, eyes sunken and too bright all at once. For a second, I think I’m imagining him. Then he speaks. “You look happy.” My stomach drops. “Adrian…” He takes a slow step forward. “You say my name like it’s poison.” “Because it is.” He tilts his head, smiling faintly. “That’s not how to talk to someone.” I back up a step, heart pounding. “You shouldn’t be here.” “I couldn’t stay away.

FEW MONTHS LATER Ariana’s POVPeace feels strange in public places. After months of hiding behind walls and guards, stepping into a room full of people feels like walking into sunlight after too long in the dark. Elio was with a trusted babysitter, so I was free tonight.The hotel ballroom glows with gold light and laughter. Music hums softly through the speakers. Glasses clink, cameras flash, and for the first time in weeks, I can breathe without feeling watched.Almost.Damian’s hand rests at the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd.He’s in his element here — tall, confident, unreadable. The world bends subtly around him.And beside him, I try to remember how to exist without fear.“You sure you’re ready for this?” he murmurs.“I need to be,” I say.He studies my face, then nods. “You look beautiful, by the way.”I smile faintly. “You always say that.”“Because it’s always true.”We move through the crowd together giving polite smiles, shallow conversations, the rhythm

Ariana’s POVThe silence in the house feels unnatural, and it's suffocating me. I sit on the couch with Elio asleep in my arms. His cheek is pressed to my shoulder, his tiny hand curled in the fabric of my shirt. Every time he sighs, I feel it through my chest — that soft, innocent sound that shouldn’t have to live in a world like ours.The faint scent of smoke still lingers, mixed with gunpowder and coffee. I can’t unhear the echoes. The crash of the door. The gunfire. Damian shouting my name.Every sound from outside, a car engine, a seagull cry feels like a warning.Hale and his men are still moving through the house, replacing glass, checking cameras. Their voices are low, controlled, military.I want to scream. Or cry. Or both. But I can’t. Not now.Because Damian hasn’t said a word to me since the sirens stopped.He’s standing by the window, talking to Hale. His tone is flat, cold, the same tone he used the night I first met him, the one that hides too much of pain.“Three men

Damian’s POVHale tried to follow. I told him no. This had to be me. Just me and Adrian. No witnesses. No soldiers. No excuses.The car’s engine fades behind me, leaving only the ocean and the creak of rusted metal.I step inside.The warehouse smells of oil and decay. Moonlight slices through the holes in the roof, spilling across the concrete floor in uneven patches. Every echo feels amplified, every shadow alive.My heartbeat pounds steady, cold.He’s here. I can feel it.“Adrian!” My voice rips through the emptiness. “Come out!”Nothing.Then a laugh — low, sharp, familiar.It comes from the far end, behind the old shipping crates.“You always were dramatic,” Adrian says, stepping into the light.He looks exactly like me, same build, same face but where mine carries scars, his carries arrogance. His hair’s slicked back, his smile that same practiced smirk that once fooled half the world.“You shouldn’t have come alone,” he says.“I wasn’t planning to leave you a chance to talk,” I