Chapter 71: Estella

Chapter 71: Estella

Leo

She was smart.

Way smarter than I had given her credit for in the beginning. I had to be honest about that, even if the admission sat bitter on my tongue.

If I hadn’t been watching the hallway camera feed like a fucking hawk, I never would have known she had called Poppy and asked for pills.

Emergency contraceptives. Morning-after shit. The kind that was supposed to erase what we had done, what I had put inside her, what I fully intended to keep there.

Smart girl. Very calculating. But still not smarter than me.

She was desperate not to carry my child? Fine. I would be twice as desperate to make sure she did.

If she wanted pills, I would give them to her myself. Just not the kind she was hoping for. I already had a plan forming. Something that would keep her body working exactly the way I needed it to.

The bathroom door opened.

Steam rolled out first, warm and scented with whatever floral soap she used. Then she stepped into the bedroom with a towel wrapped tightly around her chest and another twisted around her damp hair.

Water still clung to the ends of the strands that had escaped. Her skin was flushed from the heat of the shower, a soft pink that made my mouth go dry.

The first thing her eyes went to was the bed.

Specifically, the bloodstain. The one I was massively, unapologetically proud of.

It sat in the middle of the white sheets like a declaration. Evidence that she had been mine in the most irreversible way. That I had taken something no one else ever would. That her body had marked the moment the same way I had.

“You didn’t change the sheets?” she asked, cheeks already turning redder.

“No.” I glanced at the stain and shrugged, deliberately casual. “Why would I? I like it.”

She looked like she might throw up. Her throat worked once, twice. “That’s disgusting.”

And then she was off—listing every clinical, logical, sanitary reason why a grown man should not be staring at dried blood on white sheets like it was art.

All the while my mind was somewhere else entirely.

On the way the towel clung to the curve of her hips. On the water droplet sliding down the side of her neck. On the fact that under that thin cotton was the body I had been inside less than twelve hours ago.

“Drop the towel.”

The words left my mouth before I could soften them. My breath had already quickened.

She froze. “What?” Her fingers tightened around the knot at her chest. “I’m trying to get dressed—”

“I know.” I kept my voice even, almost lazy. “And I’m trying to watch you do that. So… strip.”

She shook her head hard enough that the towel on her hair threatened to slip. “No…”

A real chuckle slipped past my lips. It surprised even me. “What’s there to hide, Ivy? Forgotten what we did already? I’ve seen it all.”

“I know.” She bit her lower lip. “But I’m not comfortable.”

The quiet way she said it hit differently.

I had started to recognize that particular voice. The one she used when she was scared of me—scared of what she thought I might do if she pushed too hard or said the wrong thing.

Her being scared of me was one of the few things I genuinely hated.

I exhaled slowly and forced my shoulders to loosen. “I’m sorry. I think I got a little ahead of myself.” I paused, searching for the right words. “I didn’t realize you weren’t… Would you be more comfortable if I turned around?”

Her fingers flexed at her sides. It took her a long second to nod. “Yes. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” That lie sounded like the truth.

I turned anyway, facing the wall, giving her the privacy she needed even though every possessive instinct in me screamed against it.

Behind me I heard the soft rustle of the towel hitting the floor, the quiet sound of fabric being pulled from a drawer, the whisper of cotton sliding over skin.

I stood there with my hands clenched into fists at my sides, jaw locked so tight it ached, and tried not to picture every inch of her.

I hated that after everything she still needed a wall between us. That she still treated her body like something I hadn’t already claimed.

“Are you mad?” she asked quietly.

“No. Why would I be?” I flexed my fingers, forcing them open. “I just want you to be comfortable with me. Be free, Ivy. It still feels like we’re strangers.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Then her voice, softer now. “We can’t be more than strangers if I know nothing about you, Leo. You won’t answer any of my questions.”

I ground my teeth hard enough that pain flared along my jaw.

She was right. As much as I hated admitting it, she was completely fucking right.

She knew almost nothing about me beyond the carefully curated pieces I had allowed her to see. The boxer. The man who had taken her virginity. The man who had already decided she wasn’t leaving. Everything else stayed locked down for a reason.

I spat the words out like they tasted foul. “What would you like to know?”

I was certain I knew what was coming. The same heavy questions she had tried earlier. I was wrong.

“How do you like your coffee?”

I almost turned around out of pure surprise. “Huh?”

She laughed—a small, genuine sound that did something dangerous to the tension in my chest. “You can turn around now.”

I did.

She was dressed in soft black shorts and one old T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. Her hair was still damp, the towel discarded somewhere behind her. She looked smaller like this.

“How do you like your coffee?” she repeated, tilting her head. “That’s something your girlfriend should know, right?”

Girlfriend. That was what she was to me.

“Black,” I answered, eyes already trailing down her frame the way they always did.

Looking away from her had become nearly impossible. There was this constant, low-grade pull, like gravity had decided she was the only direction that mattered.

“Okay.” She brushed her bangs out of her face with her fingers. “Favourite parent?”

“My dad.” The answer came without thought. Who else would it be? He had never walked away. Never would.

Something almost like disappointment flickered across her face, but she didn’t push. “Favourite movie?”

“American Psycho.” I couldn’t help the small chuckle that followed.

Her eyes went wide. “What? That? How can you like that?”

I folded my arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall, watching her. “Don’t shame a man for his tastes, baby. Next question.”

This was… actually fun. Unexpectedly so. She wasn’t digging for the ugly things yet. She was circling, testing the water, keeping it light. For now.

“How did it feel to grow up as an only child?”

The question wiped the smirk clean off my face. I spoke too soon.

“Leo?” She took a small step closer when I didn’t answer. “You’re an only child, right?”

No.

I wasn’t.

As if she could read the sudden shift in me, she closed the remaining distance until she was standing right in front of me.

“Don’t shut me out,” she said quietly. “We were just having a good time, weren’t we?”

I stared down at her.

Should I tell her? Should I keep the lie going the way I always did? What if she kept digging after this? What if the truth made her look at me differently?

Her face was open. Encouraging. Soft in a way that made the decision feel less like a risk and more like something inevitable.

Fuck it.

“No,” I said. The word scraped on the way out. “I didn’t grow up alone. I had an older sister.”

It was harder than I expected. I had never said those words to anyone outside the people who already knew.

We never spoke about her. Not really. Not after what happened. Somehow we were the ones who had lost everything and still the ones expected to stay quiet so the other people wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

Ivy didn’t flinch.

She didn’t pull away or fill the silence with empty pity. She simply reached for my hand, her fingers warm and gentle as they wrapped around mine.

Her thumb stroked slowly over the back of my palm. Her eyes stayed locked on mine the entire time.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” she said. The words were careful, chosen like she had thought about each one. “I can’t imagine losing a sibling.”

Her voice was soft enough that it somehow made the room feel quieter.

“I can’t pretend that I know how you feel or that I understand your pain.” She shook her head once. “I don’t. I just… hope you’re okay.”

Something in my chest softened.

She was perfect in that moment. Sweet and kind and steady in a way I didn’t deserve. The more reason I needed to keep her. To get her pregnant. To make sure she could never walk away from me the way other people had.

I didn’t answer with words. I leaned down and kissed her instead.

When I pulled back, she was smiling. Small. Soft. She lifted both hands and cupped my face like I was something fragile.

“I’m sure she was just as beautiful as you,” she whispered.

I struggled with the next decision for a second longer than I should have.

Do I show her a picture? A video? Or was that too much, too fast? In the end I followed her lead the way I was starting to do more often than I liked to admit.

“She was,” I said. An image of my sister's face flashed behind my eyes.

Her big brown eyes, deep dimples, the kind of smile that had always looked like sunlight even on the worst days. “She was very beautiful.”

Ivy’s thumbs stroked once along my jaw. “Can I ask what her name was?”

The answer came easier this time.

“Estella.”