Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father by Caroline Above Story

Chapter 349 

I crumple the note and throw it in my trashcan, taking a deep breath as I head to bed. 

Because if I go downstairs now, Kent will have all the information he needs: that I’m so pathetically desperate for him that I’ll come whenever he calls, no matter how much he treats. me like untrustworthy trash. 

It will be, in its essence, permission for him to keep doing it. Evidence that he can treat me like that, and I’ll still come when he calls. 

And as I lay down on the bed and flick off my light, I’m a little surprised by myself. Because I didn’t realize I had this much. pride. 

Learning a lot about myself these past few weeks, I think, closing my eyes. And then I do my very best to clear my mind and force myself to sleep, hoping desperately that I’ll feel better in the morning. That things will be clearer. 

And I almost make it to sleep – am in that half–daze pre–dream 

– 

state – when I jump to hear the intercom on my wall buzz, 

which it so rarely does. 

“Fay,” Kent’s voice comes through, stern. 

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I sit up in bed, surprised, staring at the intercom as if I can see him through it. But I don’t get up. 

“Damn it, Fay,” he growls. “Come downstairs. I want to talk to you.” 

And I consider it – I honestly do. Because all I want right now is to fly through the house, and through all the doors, and directly into his arms for him to tell me that it’s okay. That it’s all better. 

But I know that it’s not. And I sigh, desperately sad, because nothing has changed. It’s still just Kent snapping his fingers and me running to him, tongue lolling, tail wagging. 

And even though I know I’m precisely that desperate, heartsick puppy who wants to come back no matter how many times he kicks me…I shake my head. 

Because I just can’t do it. I sigh, looking down into my lap, and then I jump again when I hear the intercom buzz a third time. 

“Fay!” he almost shouts, clearly pissed now. And my eyes go wide as I hear him grumble a few frustrated curses, but then the intercom goes silent. 

I wait a few seconds for another noise, but when none comes I just sigh and stand up, knowing I’m too shaken to sleep now. So, I move to my wardrobe, and strip off my fluffy robe, and pull on the warmest, comfiest, least sexy pajamas I have – blue flannel, 

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button down, with little stars on them and crawl back into my bed. 

After looping my still–damp hair onto my head in a messy bun, I pick up a book from my nightstand, flick on my reading light, and start to read, trying to wipe thoughts of Kent from my mind. 

The book is a good one – I’m quickly engrossed in the romance of it, the quick twists and turns of the plot, the plight of the heroine which is, indeed, quite shocking. 

But nothing shocks me more than a sudden noise in my own 

room. 

And my jaw drops open as I hear the door in the back of my wardrobe pop. 

And then see the wardrobe’s door slowly press open.