Page 112 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“It’s not about money. If I just wanted to make as much money as possible, I would’ve gone to school to become the CEO of an evil corporation. I want more than that. I want security, yes. But my dream is to be a fashion designer. I still want to go to school. Even if I never have to make a dime, that’s what I want. For myself.”

“We’ll see,” he says.

And I recognize that I’m not going to get anywhere with him right now. But I’ve said it. I’m not afraid to have a fight with him. But the reality is, both of us are in entirely new territory at the moment.

There will be a time when it will be worth trying to advocate for myself, but it’s not now.

I stand there, and rest my hand on my baby bump, looking out at the city below.

This is the kind of house our child will grow up in. And I can set everything else aside knowing that. The stability…

The beauty of it is incredible.

I start thinking ahead, to what sorts of schools they might go to. All of the lovely things we can buy for them. The holidays that we’ll have.

Everything we never have.

Yes, I have a dream of pursuing a career in fashion. But I also have a dream now of making a life for our child that we could never have.

Something filled with stability and warmth. Happiness. Good memories.

Memories that aren’t sitting in front of the TV eating cereal while the rest of the family blissfully leaves them alone.

He moves up behind me, his large, imposing presence making me shiver. I feel his heat. His strength, even though he isn’t touching me. He sweeps my hair to the side, and leans in, kissing my neck as he moves his hands to my hips. “This is yours. And you are mine.”

The note of steel possessiveness in his voice shocks me. Until that moment I really thought it was all about the baby. All about giving our child the nuclear family that neither of us had. But the way he says that—that I’m his, that I’m his like I’m a possession, something that he wants—makes me freeze.

Maybe I should be upset about it. Maybe I should even be offended. But nobody’s ever really wanted me. My parents certainly didn’t. They did the bare minimum to stay out of prison. To keep CPS from taking me away, though, I often wonder why they ever bothered. I was only ever an afterthought.

And when I left home at fifteen, I doubt they ever thought of me again.

But he wants me. This way. And I’m overcome by how much I want that. By how much I need it.

He wraps his arm around my waist, puts a protective palm on my stomach and bites my neck gently. “Look at the city below you. All of this is yours. You’ve made it. You don’t have to fight anymore. You don’t have to work anymore. Whatever you do from here on out, that’s all your decision, Lindsay, but you don’t have to worry about money anymore.”

I wish it didn’t make me want to cry, but it does. I wish that I could say money doesn’t mean much to me, but money has been the primary driver for all of my life. Yes, it’s complicated by the fact that I decided to pursue a dream job rather than a job job, but I’ve been scrapping and saving for so long, working my ass off just to live. To hear that that part of my life is over…

But it pales in comparison to the possessive hold he has on me. I don’t want him to know that. I don’t want to admit that the thing I like the most right in this moment is that I’m his.

That he wants me. That I’m someone that matters, and that he desires me.

He takes hold of the zipper on the back of my dress, draws it down, and the dress falls down to my waist. I’m sure that the windows up here are highly mirrored, but still, my heart begins to beat faster. The idea that we are right there exposed like this, even if it isn’t quite true, is thrilling.

Everyone looking at me. Up here in this beautiful tower. Everyone looking at this beautiful man, desiring me, holding me.

He’s dangerous. He’s as messed up as I am in so many ways, and yet, that’s really the only way it would ever work.

I can’t imagine falling for some man who grew up on a normal street, in a normal house. Some man who can’t understand where my sharp edges come from, and will find them shocking.

Ciro isn’t that man. He’s even harder than I am. And that’s what makes him safe. Secure to lean against. To lean into. Because when he says that he wants me, I know that he means it.

When he first took me, he told me that he wasn’t going to hurt me. That his word was like iron. I understand that now.

His word is singularly important.

And I have it.

He undoes my bra, lets it fall to the floor. Then he cups my breasts, those strong calloused hands glorious against my skin.