Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen
Kane's pov
Three more months. That’s all that stood between us and our new beginning. Nina was nearing her eighth month, glowing with that soft, maternal warmth that made my chest ache every time I looked at her. The nursery was already filled with tiny shoes, pastel onesies, and plush animals. We were both buzzing with excitement.
But I had something else planned.
That morning, I kissed her forehead, murmured something about “checking in on work,” and slipped out before she could ask questions. What she didn’t know was that I wasn’t heading to any usual job site.
No, this one was special.
The construction workers greeted me with nods and respect as I walked into the half-finished building. I ran my hand along the polished edge of the soon-to-be front counter. I could already imagine Nina standing there, welcoming guests with her soft smile. Her restaurant. Her name would be etched into the sign above the entrance.
She had mentioned it once. Just once. A quiet moment during a date when her eyes had gone dreamy and distant. “I’ve always wanted my own restaurant. Just a cozy place. Nothing fancy.”
And I remembered. Because when you’re in love, you catch every whispered wish like it’s scripture.
I walked through the double doors, boots kicking up dust across the unfinished floor. The other workers paused to nod at me before returning to their tasks—installing light fixtures, measuring counter space, smoothing out the floor tiles I’d insisted be imported from Italy. Nina deserved the best.
I moved through the site slowly, checking every detail. The kitchen layout was perfect. I could already see her in here—apron dusted with flour, hair tied back, that soft hum she always did when she cooked. I could smell her dishes even in the sharp tang of sawdust and fresh paint.
I stayed longer than I meant to, caught up in adjustments and plans. But as the sun started to set, something gnawed at me. Restlessness. That uneasy pull in my gut that I’d learned not to ignore.
I got in the car and drove home fast. Too fast. The second I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong.
The air was too still.
“Nina?” I called out, my voice echoing down the hallway. “Baby?”
Silence.
My heart stuttered. I dropped my keys on the table and strode toward the living room. Nothing. Kitchen? Empty.
Maybe she was napping. Or in the bath. I told myself that even as my steps quickened. Even as that cold weight settled in my chest.
I took the stairs two at a time, checking every room—bedroom, nursery, bathroom. No sign of her. No note. No sound.
“Nina!” My voice cracked. This time, it was panic. Sharp and sudden.
Then I saw it.
The glass jug. Shattered on the kitchen floor. Water pooled beneath the shards like blood.
I froze.
My mind raced. Did she fall? Was she in pain? Did someone—no. No, no, no. I grabbed my phone and dialed her number, pacing like a wild animal. Straight to voicemail. Again. And again.
My throat tightened as I leaned over the broken glass, my heart pounding so loud it roared in my ears. She wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling me. Not this far along. Something was wrong.
Terribly Wrong.
I felt the shift inside me—something scary and cold rising beneath the fear.
Whoever touched her... whoever dared take her... they had no idea the kind of hell they just unleashed. They took her. And now? Now they’d see what kind of monster they woke up.
NINA
I stood in the doorway, one hand on my swollen belly, the other tracing the edge of the doorframe.
Our son kicked, and I smiled, pressing my palm against the movement.
“We’re almost there, baby boy,” I whispered.
It still felt like a dream—this home, this peace. Kane had done everything to make sure I felt safe. Loved. Worshipped. He kissed my stretch marks like they were sacred, massaged my back on the nights I couldn’t sleep, and built the crib with his own hands. Every inch of this place held pieces of him. Pieces of us.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t just surviving—I was living.
I waddled into the kitchen, humming as I filled a glass jug with cold water. The baby was pressing on my bladder again, but I didn’t mind. I was about to grab a lemon from the counter when I felt it—
A shift.
A draft where there shouldn't be one.
I turned slowly. The kitchen window was cracked open. I hadn’t opened it. I was sure.
“Nina,” a voice murmured.
I dropped the jug.
It shattered instantly, glass flying, water splashing across my bare feet. I didn’t scream—I was too stunned to make a sound.
Because standing in front of me, just inside the back door, was an all too familiar man—the man who'd always buy roses while tipping me off handsomely.
Slick black hair, tailored suit, and that smile. That cold, unreadable smile I remembered from before. How did he break into my home? What do he want?
“What are you doing here?” I rasped, backing away, hand instinctively protectively over my stomach.
He tilted his head like he was observing something curious. “You look good pregnant. Glowing. Soft. Just like she said.”
“Get out.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but you’re on the schedule today.”
He moved faster than I expected. One second, he was across the room. The next, I was slammed into the wall, the breath knocked out of me. Not hard enough to hurt the baby—but hard enough to terrify me.
I fought.
Kicked. Scratched. Bit his hand when he tried to cover my mouth.
He cursed, shaking it out. “You’re feistier than she thought. Kane really did a number on you.”
He pulled out a syringe then—silver glint, thin and cruel.
I froze.
“No—no, please—”
“Relax. It’s just a nap.” His voice was silk-wrapped poison. “Miss Carie just wants to talk. She’s… sentimental, you know? Still very attached to our golden boy. And she thinks you’re a distraction.”
I screamed.
Or tried to.
The last thing I saw was the nursery door down the hall, slightly ajar. A tiny red shoe on the carpet.
Then everything went black.