Chapter 135 135

Chapter 135 135
\[Selena's POV\]

Alessandro  returns from the symposium carrying tension like a physical weight.

I see it in the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his jaw is clenched so tight the muscles jump beneath his skin. The air in the apartment seems to shift when he enters, growing heavier, charged with something that makes the hair on my arms stand up. He sets down his bag by the door with mechanical precision and stands there for a moment, not moving, not speaking, just breathing. Each inhale seems labored, each exhale a controlled release of something he's barely containing.

"Alessandro ?" I push myself up from the couch, my body protesting the movement. The pregnancy makes everything harder now—standing, sitting, existing—but the look on his face overrides every physical complaint. My heart begins to race, fear and anticipation tangling in my chest. "What happened?"

He looks at me, and there's something in his eyes—a mixture of triumph and trauma that doesn't quite make sense. The combination is disorienting, like watching someone smile while tears stream down their face. Whatever happened at that symposium has Marcus ed him, left fingerprints on his soul that I can see even from across the room.

"She approached me. At lunch. Said exactly what we expected her to say, and then some."

The words land in my gut like stones dropped into deep water, sending ripples of dread through my entire body. We knew this would happen. We planned for this. But knowing and experiencing are two entirely different species of reality.

Caden emerges from the kitchen, drawn by our voices. He takes one look at Alessandro 's face and moves to his side, his hand finding Alessandro 's shoulder in silent support. The gesture is automatic now, instinctive—these two men who started as rivals have become each other's anchors in ways none of us anticipated. Something in my chest loosens at the sight of them together, even as fear continues to coil in my stomach.

"Tell us everything," Caden says quietly. His voice is steady, grounding, the calm center we all need right now.

We settle in the living room, Alessandro  in the armchair with Caden and me on the couch across from him. The afternoon light is fading, casting long shadows across the floor that seem to reach toward us like grasping fingers. I turn on a lamp to push back the darkness that feels too appropriate for this conversation. The warm glow does little to dispel the chill that's settled over the room—the sense that something fundamental has shifted, that we've crossed a threshold we can't uncross.

Alessandro  recounts the encounter in detail—Lisette's approach, her veiled threats, her pointed comments about our family and the pregnancy. His voice is steady, clinical almost, as if he's reading from a script rather than describing something that happened to him mere hours ago. But I can see the cost of maintaining that control in the whiteness of his knuckles where he grips the armrest, in the tiny muscle that jumps in his jaw, in the way his eyes go distant when he quotes her words. Each sentence he speaks paints a picture of calculated cruelty that makes my blood run cold.

"She knew about Maggie," I say when he finishes, the violation of it making my skin crawl. The thought of Lisette's eyes on my belly, her mind calculating how to use my daughter as a weapon—it makes something primal and protective surge through me. My hand moves instinctively to my stomach, as if I could shield Meghanfrom a threat she doesn't even know exists. "She's been watching us. Gathering information."

"She always does. It's part of her pattern." Alessandro 's jaw tightens, the muscle working beneath his skin like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to release. "But she got overconfident. Said too much. Admitted that this isn't over, that there are 'consequences' still playing out. That's closer to an explicit threat than anything else we have."

"It's still deniable," Caden points out, ever the analyst, but I can hear the frustration beneath his measured tone. "A good lawyer could spin it as dramatic rhetoric, not actionable harassment."

"Maybe. But combined with everything else—the Stanford evidence, the pattern Marcus documented, her comments about wanting me to suffer—it builds a picture." Alessandro  leans forward, something fierce kindling in his expression. The exhaustion is still there, the trauma lurking at the edges, but now there's fire too. Purpose. The look of a man who's finally ready to stop running and start fighting. "I think we have enough to talk to a lawyer. A real one, someone who specializes in harassment cases."

The suggestion lands with the weight of inevitability. We've been building toward this moment for months, gathering evidence, documenting behavior, preparing for a fight we hoped we might not have to wage. Now the fight has arrived, whether we're ready or not. The realization settles over me like a heavy blanket, suffocating and comforting in equal measure. At least we're finally doing something.

"Do you have someone in mind?" I ask, my voice steadier than I expected.

"Chantelle   does. A woman named Diana Castellanos. She's handled cases like this before—academic harassment, professional sabotage. Chantelle   says she's brilliant and ruthless in equal measure."

"When can we meet with her?"

"I'll call tomorrow. Set up an appointment as soon as possible." Alessandro 's eyes find mine, and beneath the determination, I see the fear he's trying to hide. It's the same fear I've carried since the moment I collapsed on my apartment floor—the terror of losing something precious before you've fully claimed it. "This is going to get ugly, Selena. Once we involve lawyers, Lisette will escalate. She'll fight back with everything she has."

"I know." I reach across the space between us, taking his hand. His fingers are cold, trembling slightly, and I wrap both my hands around his to share whatever warmth I have. "But we can't keep living under her shadow. We can't raise our daughter wondering when the next attack will come. If going ugly is the only way to make this stop, then we go ugly."

Caden nods his agreement, his expression hardening with resolve. "Selena's right. We've been playing defense for too long. It's time to go on offense."

Alessandro  looks between us—his partners, his family, the people who've stood by him through revelations and crises and attacks that would have destroyed lesser bonds. Something in his expression softens, the warrior yielding to the man beneath. His eyes glisten in the lamplight, and I watch him swallow hard against emotions he's barely holding back. The vulnerability in his face is breathtaking—this man who spent so long protecting himself, finally allowing himself to be seen.

"I love you," he says quietly. "Both of you. I don't know how I got lucky enough to have you in my corner."

The words crack something open in my chest, warmth flooding through the fear that's been my constant companion. I feel tears prick at my eyes, hormones and emotion combining into something overwhelming. Beside me, Cassian's hand finds my knee, completing our circuit of connection.

"It's not luck," I reply, my voice thick with feeling. "It's choice. We chose each other. We keep choosing each other. And we're going to keep choosing each other through whatever comes next."