“She kissed me first,” my husband claimed when I caught him with his mistress on our fifth anniversary, but I left his penthouse without looking back—and the shocking discovery I made that night would turn his betrayal into a secret neither of us could have imagined.

The helicopter wasn't a Coast Guard bird.

It was sleek, painted matte black, bearing the silver trident emblem of Moretti Global Logistics on the tail rotor. It circled low over the treeline, banking sharply toward the harbor's private helipad less than half a mile from my cottage.

"Julian," I whispered, the color draining from my face. "He found me."

Julian stood up immediately, his easygoing demeanor vanishing, replaced by sharp, protective alertness. "Are you sure that’s his?"

"I know his helicopters," I said, my voice trembling as I clutched my belly. A sharp Braxton-Hicks contraction tightened across my abdomen, making me gasp. "He tracked my Social Security filing for the cottage lease. Or someone at the clinic sold the ultrasound records for that fifty-million-dollar reward."

"We need to move," Julian said, grabbing my arm and supporting my weight. "My boat is docked at the south slip. No radar, manual engine. I can get you to Vancouver Island before they even clear the harbor master’s office."

"Julian, I can't run forever!" I cried out, another contraction seizing my lower back. "Look at me! I'm seven months pregnant with twins! If I go into labor on a fishing boat in the middle of the Strait—"

Tires crunched violently against the gravel road at the foot of my driveway.

Two black Cadillac Escalades tore around the bend, their engines roaring as they kicked up clouds of dust and pine needles. They didn't wait for permission; they slammed to a halt directly in front of the porch, effectively blocking the only exit.

The doors of the lead vehicle flew open.

Two private security guards in dark suits stepped out, followed by a tall, imposing figure.

Dante.

He stepped onto the gravel, and for a long, agonizing moment, neither of us breathed.

He looked even worse in person than in the newspaper. His tailored black suit hung loosely on his broad frame, as if he hadn't eaten a solid meal in months. His dark eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with purple bruises of sheer exhaustion.

Then, his gaze dropped from my face down to my body.

Dante froze.

His eyes widened, dilating until they were almost entirely black. He stared at the massive, unmistakable curve of my stomach, his lips parting in utter, dumbfounded shock.

"Elena..." he breathed, his voice barely louder than the wind through the pines.

He took a step forward, his boots crunching on the stones.

Julian immediately stepped in front of me, planting his feet firmly on the porch steps. "That's close enough, Moretti."

Dante didn't even look at Julian. His entire universe had narrowed to the woman on the porch—and the two new heartbeats she carried under her dress.

"Step aside," Dante growled, a flicker of his old, lethal authority bleeding through his exhaustion. "Before I have my men remove you."

"Dante, stop!" I screamed, stepping past Julian, leaning heavily against the wooden porch railing. "Leave him out of this! He has nothing to do with this!"