Falling For My Ex-husband's Older Brother

Anastasia's POV: My husband brought a bloody child home. And he's not mine. But that isn't the thing that freaks me out. What rattles me is the fact that he sort of looks like… Me. The same jet black hair, same slightly-tanned skin… even our nose looks alike. Only difference is our eyes. While mine are a jaded, startling green, his are an innocent, warm brown. A feature that reminds me of someone I'd rather forget even as I stand in our doorway suddenly feeling naked in my lingerie. So much for a fresh start. “Dante,” I ask. “Who's this?” My husband shifts on his feet once, twice. He's drunk again. I can tell. “No one you need to worry your pretty little head about, zucca(pumpkin),” he replies, pushing past me into our living room with the little one in tow. “Now be a darling and welcome me home properly.” “Right after you answer my question babe. Whose child is this?” Dante groans like I'm an insufferable toad beneath his shoe. “Sweetheart, could you not?” “Not what?” I step forward, stunned. “Ask my husband why he's coming home few minutes to midnight with a child?” “No, I meant act like a b***h,” he says and I wince as the boy’s head snaps up. “Papà?” My breath catches. Pap—Papà?! “What’s happening here, Dante?” I squeak. “Why's he calling you Dad?” Dante sighs, running a hand over his face. “Dante!” “Fine, you wanna know so bad?” he snaps, roughly pulling the lad next to him by the shoulders. “This is my son. Stephan. The one thing you couldn't give me.” The boy, no more than three, starts crying. I, on the other hand, am choking. “S..Son?” “Yes.” “You've been…You've been cheating on me this whole time?” “I just admitted to having a son, didn't I?” Looking between them now, I can see the resemblance. It isn’t striking, but it's there, slightly embedded in the curve of their jaws and the birthmarks on their necks; Dante's own at the left, Stephan's at the right. The tears well in my eyes, but I force them back. Simultaneously resisting the urge to feel for my own stomach. I was overjoyed—scratch that—downright ecstatic when I got the news this morning. “Congratulations,” Dr. Paula had said. “You're pregnant. Six weeks gone.” My period hadn't been seen in a month, so I decided to get some tests done. Finding out I was pregnant today of all days… it just made everything worth it. The seven years of trial and error, miscarriage after miscarriage.. watching the love in Dante's eyes bleed into irritation as the months breezed past..and eventually seeing the kindness in his actions turn to cold, blind rage when he started coming home drunk to beat me on some nights. God. How could I have f*****g missed it? I'd known how much he wanted a child, an heir to take over his company one day, and I strived to give him just that. But seeing it now, I realize he never really cared who it came from. So far as he got what he wanted. Of course. I am distracted by Dante's voice calling for Greta, our head maid. “Get my son to his room and ensure he stays there,” he tells her, and she nods, leading Stephan away. Then he turns to me, barely sparing me a glance. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Palms fisted tight at my sides, I watch Dante stumble towards the staircase, only to crash down at the first step. I roll my eyes and force my legs to move, scrunching my nose at the sharp stench of alcohol as I help him to his feet. “Try not to barf all over me,” I say, slipping a hand round his torso and draping his left arm over my neck—when I smell it. Cologne. A fruity, flowery blend. Unmistakably feminine. Unmistakably hers. I hold my tongue the whole way up the stairs, warring between the urge to drop my husband and let him fall to his death while trying to stop my mind from jumping into conclusions. The second we enter the room though, I dump him in our bed. “Stephan’s mother, who is she?” My husband only mumbles in response, and my rage doubles-over. “Dante, if you don't start speaking right now, I swear to f*****g god I'll—” The air leaves my lungs as he suddenly slams me against the wall, his right hand gripping my throat. I hadn't even seen him move. “You'll what?” he asks. “Kick me out of my own damn house? Toss my child out the trash? What? What will you do, Anastasia?” he mocks, “Because from where I'm standing, you can't do shit.” “Dante–” I gasp, clawing at his fingers. “D-Dante—” “Your mother on the other hand,” he continues, “She's a frigging beast in bed.” He chuckles darkly. “You'd be surprised if you knew how many holes she could make.” I go still, the blood leeching from my face, but Dante isn't done tearing me apart yet. “You wanted to know where I was tonight?” he whispers against my ear. “I was with your mother, specifically between her legs. I f****d her to the moon and back, pumped her full of my cum.” He trails a hand between my thighs. “It's where I’ve been going the past four years. When you couldn't give me a child. So yeah, she's Stephan's mother, and Stephan is my son.” Processing his words, I do the math. I think I'm gonna be sick. Noticing I've stopped struggling, Dante lets me go, plopping back down on the covers while I break into a coughing fit. “Are you… high?” My voice cracks. “Of all women in the world, you went for my own mother?” My throat tightens. “Do you even know what today is?” No response. “Our anniversary,” I say. “Our seventh-year anniversary.” He still doesn't say anything, but I notice the way his shoulders tense at my words. Good. Let his f****d up mind stew in regret. Because I—we won't be here tomorrow. I turn and leave the room without another word, making sure to slam the door behind me before rushing downstairs, grabbing my car keys on the way. Hurrying past the two glasses of wine I'd prepared earlier, the now-cold risotto dish on our coffee table, and past our wedding frames mocking me from above, I step out into the cold night air. If this is the kind of man my child would have to deal with as a father, then I'd rather not have him in our lives. *** “What method of payment would you be using ma’am?” the brunette at the hotel desk asks. “Transfer,” I reply, handing her my black card. After leaving Dante, I pretty much drove for a while with no destination in mind. All I knew was I had to get away before I would do something I regret. And now here I am, anxiously waiting in the luxurious 5-star lobby of Villa d’Oro in nothing but my racy nightwear. I know I'm a mess, but that's to be expected when you find out the man you've loved your whole life not only went at it with your sham of a mother, he also gained a child who's now practically your stepsibling. The receptionist returns my card along with that of my room’s with a smile I'm sure is just her way of being polite. “Payment confirmed, Mrs. Keys.” I shove down a grimace and thank her instead. One of the downsides of being a CEO’s wife? You can never truly hide. Settling into my suite, I run a hot bath in the restroom, reemerging moments later in a bathrobe and hair towel. I collapse on the bed afterwards, staring at the high ceiling, barely seeing. My fingers find their way to the slight bruise around my neck and it is only now—in the stillness of this room—that I let myself mourn. Grieve over what could have been. And then, I retrieve my phone and dial. He picks up on the sixth ring, his voice groggy from sleep. “Tristan?” “Stasia?” Tristan, my former work colleague says. “Hold on, I must be hearing things.” There's some shuffling in the background before he speaks again. “Is that really you on the line?” “Yeah, I uh...” I hesitate. “I need a favor.”