You Weren’t Invited to My Wedding, Ex! - Chapter 64: Chapter 64

Triplets.
Three. Three goddamn heirs.
My drink slipped from my fingers.
Shattered on the floor like my fucking soul.
“What the—” I snatched the sonogram, eyes locked on those tiny forms. “No. No. No, no, no—”
And then I saw it.
Her wedding ring. Bent. Scratched. Still warm from her ghost.
My hand shook. Not from fear. From something worse.
Loss.
“She was pregnant?” My voice came out raw. Disbelieving. “She—she was carrying my sons?”
My chest heaved. Air wouldn't come.
My sons. My fucking legacy.
Gone. Burned. Dead.
Dead with her.
Something in me cracked. Snapped. Fractured deep where no one could see.
My fist slammed into the desk, blood spraying across the wood as I screamed, “FUCK!”
--
Flashbacks hit like bullets to the gut. Sharp. Unforgiving. And fuck, I wasn’t wearing a vest.
Danica.
Laughing while pouring me tea. “You always act tough, but you burn your tongue every time. Here. Blow on it, big bad wolf.”
She wore that stupid oversized hoodie, hair in a knot, feet bare—and still looked like royalty. My queen, draped in soft cotton and stubborn love.
I could almost feel the warmth of her fingers brushing mine. Almost.
Another memory slammed into me—
She was at the door. Midnight. Cold. I'd just come back from Dulcie’s place.
Danica stood there like she didn’t care. Like she didn’t know.
“Welcome home,” she said. “There’s food on the stove.”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t deserve to.
She never asked where I was. She knew. Everyone knew.
But she waited anyway. Every night. Her silhouette behind the curtains, hoping I’d show up. Like some loyal mutt waiting for the master who kicked it.
Too good for me. Too goddamn good.
Another punch to the chest: Her voice over the phone. Weeks ago.
“Reagan, I have a surprise,” she’d said, voice giddy like a schoolgirl. “I’ll wait till you get home. I can’t wait to tell you in person.”
I never came home that night. I was with Dulcie—snorting lines and drowning in filth.
I growled, slammed a drawer shut. “Fuck those memories.”
She was soft. Weak. Emotional. She cried too much. Questioned too much. She believed in love like it was bulletproof.
She was a liability. A crack in the empire. She had to go.
Didn’t she?
Then why the fuck couldn’t I look away from the sonogram?
Why did those three little blurs feel like iron wrapped around my lungs?
In the dark, I dreamed of her.
Her holding the babies.
Her standing in the smoke, barefoot, dress torn, hair wild—eyes full of goddamn fire.
“You murdered us,” she whispered. “And now I’ll haunt you.”
I woke up drenched in sweat. My sheets soaked. My hand still bleeding from earlier.
Dulcie lay beside me, snoring like a used-up whore who got too comfortable in a dead queen’s bed. I stared at her and felt nothing. Just… emptiness.
“Fuck this,” I muttered.
I grabbed the encrypted phone. Dialed the one line no one dared touch.
“Bring in Unit X,” I growled. “Quiet. Deep sweep. I want her death verified. Everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Start at the site. Pay off the coroner. Bribe the guard. If there’s a shadow, find it. I want DNA, footage, soul if possible. Hell, dig up hell if you have to.”
I leaned back, staring at the sonogram again. The edges were crinkled now. Smudged with blood and whiskey.
“You don’t fake this,” I whispered.
But something in my gut burned. Acid sharp.
Danica wasn’t just smart. She was lethal. She learned from me. From the best.
And if she was alive—
If she faked this—
Then she wasn’t just running.
She was hunting.
I lit a cigar, let the smoke fill the room like a storm cloud, and stared out the window.
Danica De Santis was fire wrapped in silk. A storm that smiled.
And I—Reagan fucking De Santis—killed her softness. Drowned her in betrayal. Left her in ashes.
If she rose from them… She wouldn’t be my wife anymore. She’d be my executioner.
I smirked through the smoke. “Let’s see how far the rabbit hole goes, little queen.”
I blew out a long drag and let the ashes fall on the floor like old sins.
“But know this—when I find you, you’ll wish you stayed dead.”q
Dulcie slid into my lap like a snake made of silk. Her perfume hit first—expensive, floral, fake as her fucking concern.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, her lips brushing my jaw. “Baby,” she purred. “Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t stop staring at that sonogram.
Three little shadows.
Three fucking heirs.
Gone.
Dulcie’s hand drifted lower. “Forget her, Reagan,” she whispered, biting my ear. “She’s dead. You won. You always win.”
I grabbed her throat, hard. Not enough to hurt—yet—but just enough to remind her who the hell I was.
“I don’t forget,” I growled, “I bury.”
She moaned, eyes wide, turned on by the violence like the sick little freak she was. “Then bury her inside me, daddy.”
And I did.
I dragged her onto the desk—the same desk Danica left that damn sonogram on—and fucked her like I was erasing ghosts. My fingers dug into her hips, my rage pouring into every thrust.
But even with Dulcie moaning my name like a siren on coke, I saw her. Danica.
In my mind, she was standing right there in the corner of the room, arms folded, eyes cold.
“You killed us.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, not sure if I said it out loud.
Dulcie gasped, mistaking it for dominance. “Yes, baby. Use me. I’m yours.”
When it was over, I lit a cigar, shirt still open, chest heaving. I stared at the ceiling like it owed me answers.
Dulcie curled against me, naked and smug. “You don’t need her,” she said. “I’ll give you everything she couldn’t.”
I didn’t speak.
“I’m ovulating soon,” she added, kissing my chest. “By next month? I’ll be carrying your heir. Hell, I’ll give you triplets too, baby.”
I chuckled darkly. “Triplets, huh? Just like that?”
She nodded, eyes gleaming like a cat with blood on its tongue. “You’ll see. I’ll build your empire the right way. No betrayal. No drama. Just us, ruling the underworld.”
I inhaled slow, watching the smoke curl. “You’re not her.”
She stiffened for a second—but hid it with another fake smile. “Exactly. I’m better.”
I turned my gaze to the fireplace, watching the flames crackle like they were laughing.
Danica had been my golden key. My ticket into Titanis. The daughter of the man who held the codes, the doors, the world. I’d seduced her. Married her. Controlled her. And when the time was right…
I crushed her. I killed her father. I burned her body.
I took Titanis for myself. And yet…
Something in my chest felt off. Unfinished.
But I shoved that feeling down.
Danica was dead. And I? I was the king.
“Titanis belongs to me now,” I said, dragging Dulcie’s head to my chest. “And every motherfucker who ever doubted me will bow or bleed.”
She laughed softly. “You’re unstoppable.”
I grinned. “Damn right I am. I killed the king. Took his daughter. Took his empire. Now I rule the shadows. And with you on my side?” I kissed her forehead. “We’ll be fucking gods.”
But the sonogram sat inside my drawer like a curse. And even as Dulcie fell asleep in my arms, whispering plans of power and babies and war—
I couldn’t stop seeing Danica. Her voice. Her fire.
That look in her eyes when she said, “One day, you’ll choke on your own empire.”
And fuck if that didn’t make me light another cigar and whisper, “If you’re alive, sweetheart…
You better run faster than fate.”