All Chapters of THE DON'S MISSING PIECE : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Cassandra woke to the taste of bile in her throat.Her eyes flew open. The room spun—the ceiling, the walls, the curtains all blurring together in a whirl of gray morning light. She barely had time to throw the covers back before she was running, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor, her hand clamped over her mouth.She made it to the bathroom just in time.She collapsed onto her knees in front of the toilet, her body convulsing, her stomach emptying itself in violent waves. Her hands gripped the porcelain bowl, her knuckles white. Tears streamed down her cheeks from the force of it.When it finally stopped, she slumped against the wall, her chest heaving, her body trembling.Dante was there in an instant.He knelt beside her, his hands cupping her face, his eyes wide with panic. "Cassandra. What's wrong? What happened?"She shook her head. She couldn't speak. Her throat was raw. Her head was pounding."Please," she whispered. "Just—just give me a minute."He didn't leave. He

Cassandra woke from the dream with tears on her face.The image lingered—her mother, young and beautiful, holding her as a baby. Grace was smiling. She was whispering something, but Cassandra couldn't hear the words. She reached for them, grasping at air, but they slipped through her fingers like water.She lay still, Dante's arm draped across her waist, his breath warm against her neck. The room was quiet. The morning light was soft, filtering through the curtains. She could feel the baby inside her—a tiny life, growing, real.She thought about her mother.Grace had carried her under the same circumstances. Terrified. Hunted. Alone. And still, she fought. Still, she tried to protect her daughter. Still, she loved.Cassandra pressed her hand to her stomach. "I'll do better," she whispered. "I'll keep you safe."---Dante woke to find her already up.She was sitting by the window, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the garden below. He crossed the room slowly, his footsteps soft

Cassandra woke in Dante's arms.The morning light was soft, filtering through the curtains in golden streams. She lay still for a moment, her body heavy with sleep, her mind quiet. The events of yesterday felt like a distant storm—the tears, the breakdown, the overwhelming weight of everything she'd been carrying.She felt lighter now. Not healed. Not whole. But lighter.Dante was still asleep beside her. His arm was draped across her waist, his hand resting on her stomach. His breath was warm against her neck. She watched him for a long moment—the way his chest rose and fell, the way his lips curved into a small, peaceful smile.She reached up, her fingers tracing his jaw. He stirred."Good morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep."Good morning."He opened his eyes slowly. They were soft, warm. Full of love."How are you feeling?" he asked."Better." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "Much better."---They lay there for a while, tangled together.Dante's hand moved in slow

The interview aired on a Tuesday night.Cassandra watched it from the sofa, Dante beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She saw herself on the screen—the navy dress, the careful makeup, the steady voice. She saw the interviewer's sympathetic nods. She saw the photographs of her mother, young and smiling, flash across the screen.When it was over, she felt hollow. Empty. Like she'd poured everything she had onto that stage and had nothing left.Dante kissed her forehead. "You were incredible."She didn't answer. She just leaned into him and closed her eyes.---The days that followed were a blur.Her phone wouldn't stop ringing. Messages from journalists, from strangers, from people she hadn't spoken to in years. Some offered support. Some asked questions. Some just wanted to be part of the story.Samantha came over and helped her sort through it all. She read the messages, deleted the cruel ones, saved the kind ones. She made tea and ordered food and sat with Cassandra thr

Cassandra woke with Dante's hand still resting on her stomach.The baby had been active all night—tiny flutters, gentle kicks, a constant reminder of the life growing inside her. She'd barely slept, but she didn't mind. Every movement was a miracle. Every kick was a promise.She lay still, watching Dante sleep. His face was peaceful, relaxed. The lines around his eyes had softened. His lips were curved into a small smile, like he was dreaming of something good.She thought about how far they'd come.From enemies to reluctant allies. From allies to lovers. From lovers to... this. Parents. Partners. Two people building a life together.She reached out, her fingers tracing his jaw. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open."Good morning," she whispered."Good morning." His voice was rough with sleep. He pulled her closer, his hand finding her stomach. "Did the baby keep you up?""All night."He smiled. "Good. That means he's strong.""She."He laughed. "Or she."---At breakfast, Dante watch