He Begged Me to be His Wife again

Toby went still for a heartbeat — just one — before forcing out a soft laugh. The same kind of easy, practiced laugh he used to win me over back in college.

He reached out, brushing his hand over my hair the way someone might comfort a restless child after a bad dream.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmured, his voice smooth, rehearsed, too steady to be real. “You need rest, Aria. How could I possibly be Toby? Drink your milk, calm down, and try to sleep, alright?”

He took a slow step backward, pretending to give me space, though every word he’d just said hit like shrapnel.

“That baby you’re carrying,” he added softly, “he’s the last living proof of Toby Mercer’s bloodline. I’ll make sure he comes into this world safe. That’s a promise I’ll keep.”

I said nothing.

My eyes stayed low.

If I looked at his face, I might break. That face — that lie wearing the skin I once kissed without hesitation.

“You should leave,” I whispered, the words nearly catching in my throat. “I just want to lie down. I’m tired.”

That’s when I heard her.

“Babe?”

The sound came from across the hall. I turned just in time to see her — Marcelline — standing at the door, draped in my ivory silk robe. The one Toby gave me on our anniversary. The one with the tiny embroidered D stitched near the hem.

She didn’t even bother to pretend.

“My head’s pounding,” she said, her voice frail, deliberate. “Will you come to bed? I need one of your massages… the kind that makes me forget I’m dying.”

The hallway went silent.

Toby froze between us — torn between two women, both carrying his ghosts. He turned, looking from her to me, something unreadable flickering behind those familiar gray eyes.

Finally, he exhaled and gave me a small nod.

“Get some rest,” he said gently, before walking to her and slipping an arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him, naturally, like that space was always meant for her. And together, they disappeared into the dim hallway, leaving me alone in the doorway — staring after them long after the light faded.

Not because I was shocked.

But because I wasn’t.

---

I first met Toby Mercer seven years ago in Milan, at a private art auction hosted by one of Italy’s oldest crime families. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I didn’t belong in that room — not among men who dealt in blood and beauty.

But then he looked at me.

One glance — sharp, assessing, coldly amused — and everything in me shifted.

He didn’t ask for my name.

He asked who owned me.

When I told him no one did, his lips curled into that dangerous half-smile — the kind that said he’d just found something worth stealing.

From that night, he pursued me like an unsolved crime. Relentless. Possessive. Mercilessly precise.

And God help me, I let him in.

Every piece of him. Every sin.

Two years later, he proposed on the rooftop of the Museo Mercer. It was midnight. The city stretched below us, alive but silent. No audience, no cameras — just him, the stars, and the ghost of something sacred.

He pulled out a velvet box and revealed a ring — an heirloom of the Mercer bloodline, glinting with the weight of generations.

“Aria,” he’d said quietly, “if the world burns, I want to burn beside you.”

And I said yes.

Later, with his hand on my stomach and his mouth against my temple, he told me, “This baby came at the right time. He’s proof of us. Our beginning. I’ve never been happier, amore mio.”

Now that same man had vanished from my wedding in a storm of fire and metal — only to reappear in another woman’s arms, under another name.

For a woman with only months left to live.

I didn’t even know when he started slipping away from me. All I know is that the man who once swore I was his home now feeds me warm milk and calls it kindness.

---

The next morning, a knock came at my door.

“Aria,” his voice called softly. “It’s time for your check-up. You ready?”

I was bent over, tying my shoes, when the sound of footsteps paused outside.

Then came her voice — thin, trembling, fragile.

“Leon…”

Marcelline.

She sounded like a dying actress delivering her last line. I froze. Her steps echoed faintly, unsteady, until a soft thud made my heart lurch.

“I—I don’t feel good…” she breathed. “Something’s… wrong…”

Then her knees buckled.

“Marcelline!”

Toby — no, Leon — rushed to her, catching her before she hit the ground. “Damn it,” he muttered, his tone filled with panic, “you didn’t take your meds again, did you? You can’t just wander around like this.”

He gathered her into his arms with delicate care, lowering her onto the couch as if she were something holy. His hands trembled slightly as he brushed the hair from her face.

“You can’t scare me like that again, babe,” he whispered, voice breaking at the edges.

From behind the cracked door, I watched — silent, invisible.

Then his head turned sharply. He saw me. For a second, something flashed in his eyes — guilt, maybe. Then he straightened and masked it with calm efficiency.

“Sorry, Aria,” he said, his tone professional now. “Marcelline’s not doing well. I can’t leave her alone today.”

He pulled out his phone. “Claudio and Renzo will take you to your appointment. The car’s ready outside, and your doctor’s expecting you.”

His every move was measured. Perfect. Untouchable.

Behind him, Marcelline tilted her head slightly and smiled — a faint, smug curve of the lips that told me she knew exactly what she’d won.

My hand instinctively went to my belly. My chest burned. But the tears came anyway — soundless, hot, relentless.

---

Later, I sat alone on a metal bench in the corner of the Mercer private hospital, the cold biting through my coat. The ultrasound photo trembled between my fingers — a small blur of life glowing faintly on black and white paper.

The doctor had smiled earlier, pointing at it proudly. “That’s your baby,” he’d said.

I had smiled back, barely. Then wiped my tears away hard enough to hurt. Because I couldn’t fall apart here — not in this place where the Mercers saw and heard everything.

This was their ground. Their walls. Their cameras. Their power.

I stood, exhaling slowly, and made a decision.

Pulling out my phone, I called the two men assigned to guard me. “I feel a bit dizzy,” I lied. “I want to walk a little before heading back. You can go on ahead.”

They hesitated, but obedience was carved into their bones. They left.

As the sleek black car rolled out of the gate, I stepped out from behind the marble column and flagged down a passing taxi.

“Another hospital,” I told the driver quietly. “A private one. Away from here.”

Somewhere the Mercers couldn’t reach. Somewhere I could finally disappear — if I chose to.