Chasing His Divorced Wife And His Child

Chapter 8

NADIA’S POV

My heart skips, and for a second I forget how to breathe.

The words he just said don’t fade, they stay there, heavy and wrong, pressing into me like I can’t escape them, and I hate how much they matter when they shouldn’t.

Dum…dum… my heartbeat picks up too fast, loud and uneven, and I swallow hard, trying to steady myself before it shows on my face.

Something stings in my chest, sharp and deep, like I’m being dragged back to a place I fought hard to leave behind.

I shake my head, forcing my voice out before I lose control. “Don’t,” I say quietly, but it still comes out strained. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, and there’s something different in his tone now, less confused, more focused, like he’s starting to see something.

My throat tightens as I force the words out. “Like it means something. You don’t remember anything, so don’t stand there and act like you do.”

“I’m not acting,” he says, his gaze steady on me, searching, pulling at something I don’t want him to find. “I’m telling you how it feels.”

My stomach twists, uneasy and tight, like something is about to go very wrong. “That doesn’t make it real,” I reply quickly, even though my voice isn’t as strong as I want it to be.

“It feels real,” he says, quieter now.

My fingers curl into my palm, nails pressing into my skin, grounding me just enough to stay upright. “Feelings don’t mean anything,” I say, but it sounds weak, even to me.

“They mean something to you,” he says, watching me too closely now. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be reacting like this.”

Heat rushes up my chest, sharp and sudden. “I’m reacting because you walked in here and started making assumptions,” I snap, even though my breath is already uneven. “Not everything is about you.”

“Then tell me what it is about,” he says, taking a slow step closer.

Panic spikes instantly, fast and suffocating. “Don’t,” I say, moving back before I even think about it, my body reacting on its own.

He stops, but his eyes don’t leave me, and my chest tightens like he’s seeing more than I want him to.

My chest tightens again, heavier this time, like something is already slipping out of my control.

“You’re not scared of me,” he says slowly, his voice quieter now, but sharper. “You’re scared of something else.”

My breath stutters.

“No,” I say quickly, too quickly, shaking my head. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I don’t think I am,” he replies, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes my stomach drop.

Dum…dum… my heartbeat picks up again, louder now, harder to ignore.

“You didn’t even see me,” I say suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them, raw and wrong and too honest. “I was right there, and you didn’t notice anything.”

He stills.

“I don’t remember that,” he says.

“I know,” I reply, my voice quieter now, but it still hurts. “That doesn’t make it better.”

Something tightens behind my ribs, slow and painful, like it’s been sitting there for years waiting to come back.

“You’re angry,” he says, watching me carefully.

I let out a short breath, but it doesn’t feel like relief. “Of course I am,” I say, my voice sharper now. “You don’t get to come back and suddenly care.”

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” he admits, and that should make it easier, but it doesn’t.

It makes it worse.

Because it sounds real.

My chest aches, dull and steady now, like it’s wearing me down. “Then stop trying to figure it out,” I say. “Some things don’t need answers.”

“That’s not how this works,” he says, his voice tightening slightly. “Not when it feels like this.”

My fingers tremble slightly, and I clench them into a fist so he won’t see. “You don’t get to decide that now,” I say.

“Then who does?” he asks.

I don’t answer because I don’t have one that won’t break everything.

Silence stretches between us again, but this time it feels different, heavier in a way that makes my chest feel tight.

I can hear my own breathing now, uneven, too loud in the quiet.

His gaze doesn’t leave me, it’s not on Noah anymore, it’s on me, and my chest tightens like he’s starting to see too much.

“What are you not telling me?” he asks finally, his voice low.

My stomach drops.

“I’m not hiding anything,” I say, but it doesn’t sound right.

“You are,” he says, not harsh, just certain. “I can see it all over you.”

Something sharp twists in my chest, and I hate how close he is, not physically, but like this, like he’s getting too close to something I’ve kept buried for too long.

“Even if I was,” I say, my voice quieter now, tighter, “you don’t have the right to ask.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“Maybe not,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.”

My breath catches.

Before I can respond, my phone rings, the sound cutting through everything, and I freeze, staring at the unknown number as something cold settles in my chest, not fear, something worse that feels like instinct kicking in.

My fingers hover for a second before I answer. “Hello?”

There’s a pause, then a voice comes through, low, calm, controlled, and I go still as something cold crawls up my spine and my grip tightens around the phone.

“What the hell…” I whisper under my breath, barely realizing I said it.

Colin is watching me, and I can feel it without even looking at him.

The voice continues, steady, like they already know something they shouldn’t.

My throat feels dry as I stare ahead, my voice dropping without meaning to.

“They know,” fear settles deep in my chest.