Marco's POV
Marco gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenching as he pulled away from Sade’s house. The image of her standing in the doorway, wrapped in that deep maroon dress, was burned into his mind. He had never seen her in anything like that before—not in their years together, not even in the back of her closet where he knew every item hanging. That wasn’t just any dress. That was a f**k me dress.
His pulse pounded as he drove through the streets of Chicago, his mind spiraling.
A date? Who the hell was she trying to impress?
By the time he pulled up to his three-flat building, Marco was still seething. The moment he parked, the back doors of the car flew open, and his kids tumbled out, their laughter filling the cool evening air. He forced him
