I wake up to the emptiness beside me.
The sheets are cold.
My heart immediately pounds.
Fuck.
I sit up, my hand already groping the empty space where Jennifer was, my breath caught in my throat.
Did she leave?
Did I lose her again?
Panic surges through me, and I'm about to shout her name when my eyes finally catch her silhouette in the dim morning light.
She's sitting on my couch, wrapped in nothing but her own thoughts.
I exhale, long and deep, relief washing over me.
She's still here.
But she's completely naked, sitting motionless, staring into nothing.
The room is cold as hell. The heater in this place hasn't been on in months, and though it's August, the morning air still carries enough chill to prickle skin.
I grab the white sheet from the bed before silently approaching her.
She still doesn't move, lost in her thoughts, her expression unreadable.
I gently drape the sheet around her, wrapping it over her bare shoulders.
"What are you doing sitting here without any clothes?" I murmur, pulling it snugly around her.
She blinks, as if just now noticing me, before offering a soft, almost tired smile.
"I'm okay," she says, tightening the fabric around her body.
I settle beside her, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. "Why did you wake up so early?"
Her fingers absentmindedly grip the edge of the sheet. "Oh… I was woken up by a sudden contraction."
I freeze.
The color drains from my face.
"What?!"
She turns to me in surprise, but I'm already halfway off the couch.
"Oh my God, Jen—why didn't you wake me up?! Are you okay?! We should go to the hospital—"
Her hands land firmly on my shoulders, pushing me back down.
"Relax," she says, calm, steady. "I'm okay."
I don't believe her. "Are you sure?"
She nods, her thumbs brushing over my skin in a soothing motion. "It was just quick. Nothing serious. I think… it was just too excited over last night."
A deep blush rises to her cheeks.
I chuckle, though I'm still watching her like a hawk.
Last night...
Fuck.
I kept my promise—well, technically.
I only pulled out of her after my fifth… or maybe sixth orgasm.
She was too good.
Too fucking irresistible.
Every time I thought I was done, my body ignored me—my cock hardening inside her almost instantly, desperate for more.
I duck under the sheet, pressing a tender kiss to her stomach. "I'm sorry, Little One. Daddy got carried away with Mommy again."
I kiss her belly again, slow, reverent. "But I'm so happy to meet you, Little One. Don't worry, Daddy's not going anywhere."
Just as I'm about to place another kiss against her warm skin, her hand suddenly stops me.
What the—?
I immediately pull back, frowning.
"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice laced with confusion.
Instead of answering, she lifts her hand to my face, cupping my cheek gently.
That's when I see it.
Her eyes.
They're glassy, filled with unshed tears.
My stomach twists.
"Babe…?" My fingers wrap around hers, concern swallowing my previous amusement. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"
She exhales slowly, heavily—like she's carrying a weight she doesn't know how to drop.
Then she finally speaks.
"We need to have a serious conversation."
And just like that, my entire body locks up.
"Okay," I reply, though my voice barely carries past the tightness in my throat.
Jennifer exhales deeply, her chest rising and falling as if the weight of her next words is suffocating her.
"Last night… there's a reason why I was reluctant to tell you about my pregnancy… even less about the father," she finally confesses.
Her fingers tremble against my cheek, and then—her tears fall.
I don't interrupt. I don't push. I just reach up, wiping her tears away with my thumb.
Her lips quiver. "I think… I believe… it's best to not include you in our life."
The words hit like a bullet straight to my chest.
"What?!" My voice cracks as I jerk away from her touch. "What the hell are you talking about?! I want to be in your life! I want to be the baby's father! I want to—"
"I know," she whispers, cutting me off with a pained expression. "I know you want it, babe."
Her voice is raw, fragile—but unwavering. "But it's not about what you want. It's not even about what I want anymore. It's about the baby. It's about its safety."
My jaw clenches. "You know I can protect both of you."
She nods, slowly, repeatedly—but the look in her eyes tells me she doesn't believe that's enough.
Not yet.
There's a pause. A suffocating silence stretching between us.
And then, out of nowhere, she changes the subject. "When did you move?"
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. I know exactly what she's doing—deflecting.
"A week or two after you moved out," I answer, brushing my fingers through her tangled hair.
Her brows knit together. "Why so sudden? I thought you loved this place?"
"I had to. If you remember, Radwansky said he was helped by someone. I think that someone knew about me and where I lived, so I had to move to avoid—"
"That's exactly one of the reasons you shouldn't be in the baby's life!"
She snaps before I even finish, her voice breaking.
My stomach twists into knots.
Shit.
She played me into her trap—and I walked right into it.
"Can you imagine what kind of life our child would have?" she demands, eyes flashing. "Being in the shadows all the time because of his father's job? Always hiding? Living in fear? And what if one day you suddenly die?"
My breath catches.
She doesn't stop. "No—worse. What if you get caught? And even if you never do—are you going to tell him the truth? That you're an assassin? If not, then you'll lie to him for his entire life. And if you do tell him…"
She presses her lips together, eyes swimming with unspoken pain.
"God… I can't even imagine how that would shape him. He'd grow up thinking that murder is justified—as long as the people are bad enough. He'd believe that killing is just another job."
A tear escapes down her cheek.
"I don't want our child to grow up into a monster, Bennet."
The final blow lands.
I feel it rip through my chest, tear me apart from the inside out.
I don't even try to speak.
Because what the fuck can I even say?
She's right.
She's so goddamn right.
My entire life, I've never once questioned who I am. I never cared that I was a monster. I never regretted it.
Until now.
Until she said it out loud.
Until she painted the exact nightmare of our child growing up—just like me.
"What should I do?" I murmur, more to myself than her.
She cups my face, her hands warm and trembling.
"I don't want to force you to be something you're not," she whispers. "You are who you are. Maybe you were born an assassin. Maybe you were made into one. Either way, I can't change that.
"But our child doesn't have to live in that world. Our baby deserves something better.**"
My throat burns. My vision blurs.
I won't cry.
I refuse to cry.
But Jennifer already is.
"I'm sorry, babe," she chokes out, her sobs muffled as she buries her face into my shoulder.
I hold her.
I hold her so tight—because if I let go, I might shatter into a million fucking pieces.
We stay like that, lost in silence, lost in our pain.
Then, an alarm beeps.
Jennifer pulls back, sniffing, wiping her tears quickly.
"I… I have to go home and get ready for work," she murmurs.
I let my arms fall away from her. I watch her rise—her naked body disappearing into the bedroom, re-emerging fully clothed.
My chest is aching.
My brain is screaming at me to stop her.
She turns toward the door. "I'm leaving."
I try to speak—but my voice doesn't come.
She reaches for the doorknob.
And suddenly, I'm on my feet. "Can… Can I see you?" I blurt out. "Once in a while?"
Like a child asking for something he already knows is forbidden.
Jennifer turns, offering me a thin, fragile smile.
And then, she shakes her head.
"Better not."
The words stab straight through my chest.
She steps through the door, her fingers gripping the handle one last time.
"Goodbye, Bennet."
Then she's gone.