Rebirth: In the arms of my Ex's Uncle

Chapter 12

The next morning, I woke to the sound of someone in the apartment. I froze, panic surging through me until I heard Marcus's voice calling out.

"Ms. Caldwell? It's Marcus. I've brought your things from the hotel."

I relaxed, wrapping a robe around myself before emerging from the bedroom. "You could have called first."

"My apologies," he said, looking genuinely contrite. "Mr. Moretti suggested I come early so you'd have everything before work."

Several bags sat by the front door—all my belongings from the hotel, plus some shopping bags I didn't recognize.

"What are those?" I asked, pointing to the unfamiliar bags.

"Mr. Moretti took the liberty of having some professional attire sent over. He thought you might need more options for your new position."

I bristled at the presumption, then reminded myself that I had, in fact, been lamenting my limited wardrobe just yesterday. Still, it was unsettling how Dante seemed to anticipate my needs before I voiced them.

"Tell Mr. Moretti thank you, but in the future, I'd prefer to shop for myself."

Marcus nodded. "Of course. Will you be needing a car to take you to work today?"

I thought about refusing on principle, then decided it was foolish to turn down practical help out of pride. "Yes, thank you. Around 8:30, if that's possible."

"It will be waiting for you downstairs." He handed me a small envelope. "Also, Mr. Moretti asked me to give you this."

Inside was a credit card in my name, along with a note: For expenses until your accounts are unfrozen. Consider it an advance on our future business partnership. —D

I shook my head, a mix of frustration and reluctant gratitude washing over me. "Does he always move this fast in business too?"

Marcus's lips twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. "Mr. Moretti believes in seizing opportunities when they present themselves."

After he left, I examined the clothes Dante had sent. They were high quality and surprisingly good taste—simple, elegant pieces in my size that could be mixed and matched for a professional wardrobe. Nothing flashy or revealing, nothing that suggested he saw me as anything other than a business associate.

I chose a charcoal gray pencil skirt and cream blouse for the day, finding they fit perfectly. How did he know my size? I decided not to dwell on that particular mystery.

The car was waiting as promised, and I arrived at Tom's warehouse feeling more put-together than I had in days. The confidence boost helped as I dove back into the mess of his inventory system, creating order out of chaos.

Around midday, I took a break to eat the lunch I'd packed (refusing to use Dante's credit card felt like a small rebellion). As I sat in the small break room, my work phone rang—the old one, not the new one Dante had given me.

Luca.

I stared at the screen, debating whether to answer. Curiosity won out.

"What do you want, Luca?"

"Where the f**k have you been?" His voice was tight with anger. "I've been trying to reach you for days."

"I've been busy. Building a life that doesn't include you."

He laughed, the sound harsh and dismissive. "Is that what you call f*****g my uncle? Building a life?"

My blood ran cold. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play innocent. You were all over him at the gala. What, did you think I wouldn't find out? That people wouldn't talk?"

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "My personal life is no longer your concern."

"The hell it isn't! You're still my wife legally. And now you're what, Dante's w***e? How long have you been screwing him behind my back?"

Rage surged through me, hot and clarifying. "Listen carefully, Luca. I am not your wife in any way that matters. I am not your property. And who I spend time with is none of your goddamn business."

"You think this is a game?" His voice dropped, becoming dangerous. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. Dante's using you to get to me."

"Maybe," I conceded. "Or maybe he just sees what you never did—that I'm worth more than you ever gave me credit for."

"You ungrateful b***h—"

"Goodbye, Luca." I hung up, my hand shaking slightly.

I sat for a moment, processing the conversation. Luca was spiraling, just as he always did when he couldn't control a situation. But this time, I wasn't going to be the one who calmed him down, who soothed his ego, who made excuses for his behavior.

This time, I was the one who walked away.

I returned to work with renewed determination, losing myself in the task of creating a new inventory tracking system for Tom. Hours passed in a productive blur, and it was nearly 7 PM when I finally looked up from my computer.

The warehouse had grown quiet, most of the workers having gone home for the day. I saved my work and gathered my things, feeling satisfied with my progress. As I walked toward the exit, I noticed something on the floor near my small office—a folded piece of paper that hadn't been there earlier.

I picked it up, unfolding it cautiously. Inside was a crude drawing of a woman falling, with the words "JUST LIKE BEFORE" scrawled beneath it.

A chill ran down my spine. It made no sense—no one knew about my death in the future timeline, about falling from the balcony. It was impossible.

Unless...

Was this a threat? A warning? A sick coincidence?

I looked around, suddenly aware of how alone I was in the large, echoing warehouse. Shadows stretched from the tall shelving units, and every small noise seemed amplified in the silence.

I pulled out my phone—the new one Dante had given me—and called Marcus.

"Ms. Caldwell," he answered immediately. "How can I help you?"

"Is the car still outside?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Yes, of course. Is everything alright?"

"I'm leaving now. Tell the driver to be ready." I hung up before he could ask more questions, shoving the note into my pocket and hurrying toward the exit.

Outside, the sun had set, leaving the parking lot dimly lit by scattered security lights. The car was waiting as promised, and I practically dove into the back seat.

"Back to the apartment, please," I told the driver, locking the door beside me.

As we pulled away, I glanced back at the warehouse, a sense of unease settling over me. Something wasn't right. The note, the timing, Luca's angry call... it felt coordinated, planned.

Maybe Dante was right to be concerned about my safety. Maybe I'd been too quick to dismiss his protective measures as controlling.

When I reached the apartment, I locked the door behind me and sank onto the couch, pulling the crumpled note from my pocket. I stared at the crude drawing, trying to make sense of it. It had to be a coincidence. No one could know about my death in another timeline. No one.

My phone buzzed with a text from Dante: How was your day?

I hesitated, then made a decision. I took a photo of the note and sent it to him with the message: Found this at work today. Any ideas?

His response was immediate: Where are you now?

At the apartment.

Stay there. I'm on my way.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I checked the peephole before opening it to find Dante standing there, his expression grim.

"Show me the note," he said without preamble.

I handed it to him, watching as he examined it carefully. "It doesn't make any sense," I said. "No one knows about... what it seems to be referencing."

Dante looked up sharply. "And what is that, exactly?"

I hesitated. How could I explain that in another timeline, Luca had pushed me to my death? That I'd somehow been reborn in the past with a chance to change everything? He'd think I was insane.

"It's just... it feels threatening," I said instead. "Like someone's watching me."

Dante's jaw tightened. "Did anything else happen today? Any unexpected visitors? Phone calls?"

"Luca called," I admitted. "He was angry about seeing us together at the gala. Said some nasty things."

"What kind of nasty things?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "The usual ex-husband stuff. Called me names, accused me of cheating on him with you."

Dante's eyes darkened. "Did he threaten you?"

"Not directly. But he said I had no idea what I was dealing with."

He nodded, as if this confirmed something he already suspected. "I think you should stop working at Branson's warehouse."

"What? No. I need that job."

"I can find you something safer, more appropriate for your skills."

I crossed my arms. "I'm not quitting. I won't let Luca intimidate me."

Dante studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "I admire your courage, Vivian. But courage without caution is just recklessness."

"So what do you suggest? That I hide away in this apartment forever?"

"Of course not. But perhaps we should reconsider those security measures you were so opposed to yesterday."

I bit my lip, remembering the unease I'd felt alone in the warehouse. "Maybe... a compromise. I'll accept some security, but I want to know about it. No more secret bodyguards or surveillance."

Dante nodded. "Agreed. I'll have someone accompany you to and from work, visibly. They'll keep their distance during the day unless you signal them."

"And I keep working at the warehouse."

"For now," he conceded. "But if there are any more incidents, we revisit this conversation."

I sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "Why is he doing this? We were together for ten years. I put up with so much, gave him everything. Why can't he just let me go?"

Dante sat beside me, careful to maintain some distance between us. "Men like Luca don't see relationships as partnerships. They see them as possessions. And no one likes having their possessions taken away—especially when they still see some use for them."

The words sent a shiver through me, partly because they rang so true. Luca had never truly loved me—he'd owned me, used me, discarded me when convenient, reclaimed me when necessary.

"I'm not his possession," I said quietly. "Not anymore."

"No," Dante agreed, his voice soft but firm. "You're not. And together, we're going to make sure he understands that—permanently."

I looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes I couldn't quite read—determination, certainly, but also something warmer, more personal.

"Why do you care so much?" I asked. "Really. Beyond the business angle, beyond getting back at Luca. Why me?"

Dante was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he stood, walking to the window that overlooked the city.

"Some questions require longer answers than others," he said finally. "And some answers aren't ready to be heard."

It was cryptic, frustrating, and yet oddly compelling—much like the man himself.

"Get some rest, Vivian," he said, turning back to me. "Tomorrow, we'll make sure you're better protected. And then, when you're ready, we can discuss the next steps in dealing with my nephew more permanently."

As he left, I found myself standing at the window, looking out at the city lights. Somewhere out there, Luca was plotting his next move against me. And here I was, aligning myself with a man I barely knew, a man with his own mysterious agenda.

I fingered the strange note in my pocket, the crude drawing of a falling woman. "JUST LIKE BEFORE," it said.

But this time would be different. This time, I wouldn't be the one who fell.