Chapter 103 One Hundred And Three
The calmness in Kennedy's voice was more dangerous than anger.
Antonia swallowed.
“He was just leaving.”
Austin let out a faint breath through his nose. “I came to talk.”
“That’s clear,” Kennedy replied.
Their eyes locked.
Antonia felt the tension like pressure against her skin.
“This isn’t the time,” she said quickly, stepping slightly forward as if to physically separate the tension.
Austin gave a small nod. “You’re right.”
He looked at Kennedy again. Not hostile. But not submissive either.
“I won’t pretend I handled things well,” Austin said. “But I’m not your enemy.”
Kennedy’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“No,” he said calmly. “You’re just a man who inserted himself where he didn’t belong.”
The words were clean. Precise.
Austin flinched, but held his ground.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it takes two to tango.”
Antonia stiffened.
“That’s enough,” she said sharply.
Kennedy’s gaze flicked to her briefly, then back to Austin.
“You’re still here,” Kennedy said quietly.
Austin understood the dismissal.
He looked at Antonia one last time.
“I meant what I said.”
She didn’t respond.
He nodded once, then walked past Kennedy without another word.
The hallway felt smaller as he passed.
The sound of his retreating footsteps faded slowly.
Silence remained.
Thick.
Heavy.
Kennedy didn’t step inside immediately.
He looked at Antonia.
Not at her dress.
Not at her hair.
At her face.
“Were you expecting him?” he asked.
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
A beat passed.
“And if I hadn’t arrived?” he pressed.
Her brows knit slightly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, voice still level, “would he still be standing there?”
She held his gaze.
“He came unannounced.”
“What did he want?” Kennedy asked.
“To apologize,” she replied.
“For?”
“For everything.”
His expression hardened slightly.
“And?”
“And nothing,” she said firmly. “There is no ‘us’ between me and Austin.”
The deliberate echo of his own words did not go unnoticed.
Kennedy’s jaw flexed.
Silence followed.
The hallway suddenly felt too public for this conversation.
“Are you coming in?” she asked softly.
He hesitated only a second before stepping inside.
The door closed behind him with a muted click.
The apartment felt smaller with him in it.
More charged.
His presence filled the space in a way Austin’s never had.
Kennedy’s eyes scanned the room automatically, protective instinct kicking in, before settling back on her.
“Is he going to keep showing up?” he asked.
“I can’t control that.”
“But you can control whether you entertain it.”
The implication stung.
“I wasn’t entertaining anything,” she said sharply. “I was ending it.”
He studied her carefully.
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
That mattered.
He exhaled slowly.
From the crib, a small sound broke the tension.
Both of them turned instinctively.
Their son stirred.
And just like that, the sharp edges softened.
Kennedy walked toward the crib without being invited.
He looked down at the baby, his expression changing in a way Antonia would never get used to.
It was reverent.
Vulnerable.
“Hey,” he murmured quietly.
The baby shifted, tiny fingers flexing.
Antonia watched him.
Watched the way his shoulders lowered.
Watched the way his thumb gently brushed against the baby’s hand.
This was the man she loved.
Not the guarded businessman.
Not the wounded widower.
This one.
The father.
“He looks bigger,” Kennedy said softly.
“He is.”
A pause.
“You’ve been taking care of yourself?” he asked without looking at her.
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then—
“You love me?”
The question came so quietly she almost thought she imagined it.
Her heart stumbled violently.
He still hadn’t turned around.
He was still looking at their son.
But the question wasn’t about the baby.
It was about Thursday night.
About what she had confessed.
Antonia swallowed.
“Yes.”
The word trembled, but it didn’t waver.
Kennedy closed his eyes briefly.
His hand stilled on the crib.
Behind his calm exterior, something cracked open.
“And Austin?” he asked.
“No.”
That answer was firmer.
Immediate.
He finally turned to look at her.
“Did you ever?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly.
“I cared about him as a friend. Nothing more.”
Kennedy searched her face for doubt.
Found none.
The silence between them shifted again.
Less sharp.
More fragile.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked quietly.
“About loving you?” she replied.
“About being afraid,” he clarified.
Her throat tightened.
“Because every time I thought about telling you, I remembered how easily you ended things.”
The truth landed heavily.
He didn’t deny it.
“I was confused,” he said.
“So was I.”
Another pause.
“Are you still?” she asked.
He considered the question honestly.
“No,” he said at last. “No, I am not.”
“Then what?”
“Careful.”
The word lingered between them.
Antonia stepped closer.
“So am I.”
They stood only a few feet apart now.
No Austin.
No ghosts.
Just them.
And the weight of everything unsaid.
His eyes held hers.
“I need you and our son close by.”
Her heart pounded violently.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
The vulnerability in her voice stripped away every defense he had carefully built.
But fear still lingered beneath his ribs.
Trust.
That was the fracture line.
“I want you both to move to the city.” he answered.
“I have no place to live there.”
“I'll get you an apartment.”
"I'm sorry, I can't accept it."
A beat.
“I am not doing it for you,” he said honestly. "I am doing it for our son. I need him close by."
She nodded.
“Fine. When do we move?”
Silence.
Fragile.
Then—
A sharp cry from the crib shattered it.
The baby began to wail loudly, demanding attention with surprising force.
Both of them startled slightly.
Kennedy looked at the crying infant.
Then at her.
“I'll let you know...” he began.
But the baby’s cries grew louder, cutting him off.
Antonia stepped toward the crib, lifting their son into her arms.
Kennedy watched her closely.
The baby’s cries softened as Antonia cradled him.
She looked up at Kennedy over the child’s head.
Their eyes locked.
Hovering.
Waiting.
And neither of them dared to say anything.