Page 102 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
Too alive.
The mug slips from my hand. Shatters against the floor.
He takes a half-step forward, like he’s going to catch me.
No.
I surge into him.
My fist slams into his chest—hard.
He grunts but doesn’t move.
I hit him again.
He doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t raise a hand.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I shout, my voice cracking.
His breath stutters, but he doesn’t answer.
“Where were you? Where thefuckwere you, Kalev?!”
The third punch lands with the full weight of two years’ worth of aching silence. The ones after that are sloppier. Messier. My open palm connects with his shoulder, then his jaw. I’m not aiming anymore—I’m justmoving, trying to shake him out of being real.
He takes all of it.
Silent.
Present.
“Iburiedyou!” I scream, throat ragged. “I mourned you! Ilet you go! You don’t just—show up! You don’t get to come back and act like it didn’thappen!”
He still doesn’t raise a hand. Doesn’t flinch.
Just stands there, like he’s absorbing every blow like penance.
His mouth opens, barely.
“I’m sor?—”
“Don’t.”
I don’t want to hear it. Not yet.
I wrap my arms around myself because suddenly I’m shaking and cold and too hot all at once.
Tears sting my eyes. I don’t let them fall.
He watches me. Quietly. Like he knows anything louder will break what little still holds me together.
“I thought you were dead,” I whisper.
“I was supposed to be,” he says.
His voice is low. Empty. Like he left most of himself behind wherever he came from.
I look at him then—reallylook.
