CHAPTER 12: FAMILY REUNION

"What do you want to say this time around? Did you forget another word you were supposed to say to me?" Eva questioned, her voice cool and clipped.

"Not at all," Dante replied, eyes focused on her. "I’ve come to apologize."

Eva blinked, taken aback. She hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

"I shouldn’t have said you chickened out. I shouldn’t have yelled at you," he admitted, his voice low and heavy with guilt. After their fight the other day, Dante had been plagued with confusion. He hadn’t even fully understood why he’d reacted the way he did. It was only later, when the anger wore off, that the guilt began to settle in. He realized how much he’d hurt her. She’d been a victim, and he hadn’t even asked what had happened to her. Instead, he’d lashed out.

The way she’d glared at him had struck something in him. Her pain, her rage, it was more than just defiance. It was a wound reopened.

He had informed Rico, and the latter had suggested he apologize. "If you need her, fix it," Rico had said bluntly. Dante had never been the apologizing type. The word felt foreign in his mouth, almost uncomfortable. But this time, he’d made the effort—because it was Eva. And he needed her.

Eva was quiet for a moment, just staring at him, and that silence made Dante’s insides twist in panic. He couldn’t read her expression.

He subtly gestured to one of his men standing a short distance away. The man approached and handed Eva a large bouquet of blue roses—Rico’s idea. Dante didn’t know if it was the right move, but he hoped it would count for something.

Eva took the bouquet with a puzzled expression. Her eyes scanned the vivid blue petals, fingers brushing over the soft blooms. She didn’t say anything at first, just sat there, holding them.

She wasn’t just surprised—she was speechless.

Dante slowly took a seat on the bench nearby. The silence between them lingered, but it didn’t feel hostile—just uncertain. Awkward.

"You and Nathan were married," he started cautiously, unsure if this was the right thing to bring up now. "But now he’s married to Katherine. Did you two get a divorce? Or fight?"

Eva exhaled, her eyes trailing to the flowers in her hands. "We didn’t get a divorce. I never got the chance to divorce that bastard after he cheated on me with Katherine," she said, voice sharp but steady. The mention of Nathan brought a familiar heat to her chest. Anger, betrayal—still raw, still painful.

She leaned forward slightly, smelling the roses. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Blue roses had always been her favorite. Whether Dante knew or not, she wasn’t sure—but it softened something in her, even if just a little.

Dante, watching the smile bloom on her face, kept his expression neutral. But he noticed the dimple that appeared on her left cheek when she smiled. It caught him off guard.

"A year ago, I was pregnant," Eva said suddenly, her voice flat, eyes still on the flowers. "Katherine found out and hired some thugs to torture me. It wasn’t one of my best moments, but I’m glad I survived."

Dante’s heart clenched. Tortured didn’t even begin to describe what she’d been through. The word felt too small, too simple for the hell she must have endured. And yet, here she was—standing tall, fierce. Stronger than most. He remembered the fire in her eyes that day in the hospital when she broke the TV. She wasn’t a woman who would lie down and take pain quietly. She fought back.

He couldn’t help but admire her strength.

Eva looked out into the hospital garden, watching familiar patients stroll by. Many of them came here daily for fresh air, and despite what they had been through, they smiled. Maybe that was the secret to survival—smiling, even through the hurt. Pretending things were okay until maybe, someday, they actually were.

"I’m glad you survived too," Dante said softly.

Eva scoffed. "You’re only saying that because you need me to be your pretend wife. You know you could ask someone else, right?" she asked, raising a brow at him.

She wasn’t wrong. Dante had plenty of options. Dozens of women in his circle would throw themselves at him for the chance to be near him, let alone pretend to be his wife. He even knew someone who would’ve jumped at the offer. He shook his head at the thought.

"You’re the best candidate for this role," he said instead.

Eva laughed under her breath. Now that he was sitting so close, she noticed how thick his eyebrows were, how long his lashes were. His hair looked soft—like she could run her fingers through it and it’d slip right between. Dangerous thoughts.

"Yeah, right," she murmured.

But this time, they weren’t fighting. The tension between them wasn’t sharp-edged like before. Their conversation was smoother, more natural. No shouting. No venom. Just... understanding.

Eventually, they went back inside. With Ryan present as a witness, Eva signed the contract, officially sealing the deal.

Two months later,

Eva had made a full recovery. She’d been discharged from the hospital and was healthy again. After signing the papers, she and Dante didn’t immediately announce their relationship to the public. They lived separately, only meeting up for photoshoots or public appearances to keep up the illusion. It had to seem real—but not rushed.

During that time, Eva had also been working on building a fake identity. They couldn’t just introduce her out of the blue and expect the public to believe she was Dante’s wife. She needed a background, a story—fabricated, but believable.

Now, standing in front of the Montclair mansion, she felt a mix of nerves and excitement. She rang the bell.

Seconds later, the grand double doors opened, revealing a stunning woman in her early fifties. She was smiling brightly, her white teeth gleaming, her eyes sparkling like she was seeing the most precious thing in the world.

The woman was dressed elegantly, and jewelry adorned her ears and neck—she looked like she belonged in a fashion magazine.

"Mum," Eva said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Eva, my dear!" the woman cried out.

Without hesitation, they rushed into each other’s arms. Tears welled up instantly as they hugged tightly, neither willing to let go.

Dante stood awkwardly to the side, unsure what to do or say. Family reunions were unfamiliar territory for him.

"Monica, will you let her come in first before you start crying?" a man’s voice called from inside the house.

Dante looked toward the source. It was Mr. Montclair—Eva’s father. The former general. The man was built like a tank, his expression stern and commanding. Even in casual clothes, he gave off a sense of authority that was impossible to ignore.

But the moment he saw his daughter hugging his wife, that hardened look disappeared. His eyes softened, and a rare smile cracked through.

Eva turned and hugged her father just as tightly as she had her mother. It was a long, emotional embrace. Dante even thought he saw tears in the man’s eyes.

It was a scene Dante had never experienced in his life. Sure, his father had loved him in his own twisted way, but love in the De Rossi household had always been conditional—based on power, performance, and politics. His siblings competed against each other like rivals. His father admired cunning, not compassion.

This, what Eva had—was something entirely different.

When Mr. Montclair finally looked up at Dante, his expression shifted once more, returning to that composed, intimidating demeanor.

"Well, well," the older man said, stepping forward. "Will you look at who it is? Dante De Rossi."