My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(116)

“That’s the plan.” Dallas’s voice drifted into the hallway. “Keep coming here to get knocked up and run back to Georgia until I have three or four children. I’m sure he won’t miss me, either.”

My fingers shook, tightening around her book. Tense, labored breaths billowed in my throat.

I’d offered her a divorce—why didn’t she take it and leave?

But the reason flashed before me in neon lights. She’d be a ruined woman, just as I’d pointed out.

She would need to start from scratch, settle for the scraps Chapel Falls offered, and endure a terrible reputation for the rest of her life.

If she got pregnant with my child, she could come and go as she pleased. She would still be the wife of one of the wealthiest people in America.

No one would dare utter a negative word about her. Her family’s respect, dignity, and good reputation would remain intact.

“I hope you get knocked up soon.” Frankie giggled. “I miss you so much. I can’t wait for you to come home.”

“Me, too, Frankie. Trust me.”

It shouldn’t have felt half as bad as it did to find Morgan sprawled on my dining table, being eaten out by my father. Yet, it felt a thousand fucking times worse.

It felt as if Dallas had taken a knife, carved out my guts, then fed it to the wolves. The level of betrayal was incomprehensible.

How ironic that I thought her disloyalty would come in the shape of Madison Licht, when all along, Dallas did not crave someone else.

She simply didn’t want me.

Turning, I zipped through the hallway and down the stairs, dumping the stupid book in a random trash can on my way out the door.

If she wanted nothing to do with me, she did not have to say it twice.

I’d give her all the space she needed.

And then some.





Perhaps recognizing this as a genuine moment of crisis, Zach offered to let me crash at his place through the holiday.

Christmas Eve, I dragged my miserable self to my parents’, mainly because I knew my father itched to retire.

The CEO position had never seemed more within reach. Despite feeling like I’d been run over a million times by our failed Humvee, I decided to dutifully finish what I’d started and kill Costa Industries.

The anticlimactic event that was Christmas dinner consisted of Monica moaning over Dallas’s illness—apparently, she’d paid her a visit earlier in the day, reporting a tenacious fever—and Senior studying his food without an appetite.

Zach and his parents vacationed in Plitvice, which gave me the opportunity to stay at his place all by myself and dwell on the information my mother-in-law had texted when I returned from the mediocre meal.

Natasha Townsend



Hello, Romeo. I wanted to keep you posted, since your staff is away on vacation. Dallas’s fever is persistent. According to her doctor, she also developed pneumonia. He prescribed her antibiotics. Franklin and I will stay in your guest rooms. Have you plans to pay your wife a visit anytime soon?





The passive aggressiveness didn’t escape me.

I couldn’t blame her.

I was MIA when her daughter—my wife—suffered from pneumonia during the holidays. The epitome of a crappy husband.

Yet, I doubted she would appreciate the reply I kept on draft for her.

Romeo Costa



Hello, Mrs. Townsend. My apologies for being away. I am currently occupied with the grave task of alternating between drinking myself to death and picking bar fights to release my rage, as your daughter made it perfectly clear that what I thought was a true relationship was actually her desperate account to escape me. I shall be there as soon as I get over the fact that I am nothing more than a bag of money and dildo full of sperm to her.





As I sprawled on the minimalist leather couch in Zach’s living room, cradling expensive whisky, I knew one thing was for certain—I was in love with Dallas Costa.

In love with her, with the ground she walked upon, with her laugh, with her freckles, with her obsession with books, her messiness, her joy, her unapologetic personality.

Every bit and piece of her, I adored.

I had no idea at what point, exactly, Shortbread had bewitched me. I only knew that I was helplessly and inappropriately in love with her when I didn’t want to be.

In fact, one of her few appeals when I’d initially taken her as a wife was what I’d thought was the absolute certainty that I would never develop feelings for her.

Everything I’d once found awkward and unrefined about her ended up being my kryptonite.

The drink in my hand turned into three, which turned into five and then some.

With Jared on vacation, I ended up in an Uber, a Burberry scarf wrapped around my face three times to conceal my identity.

For a reason unbeknownst to me, I’d chosen Costa Industries as my destination.

Not a soul occupied the building beyond a graveyard security team, so I sprawled across the lobby marble, chugging down whisky straight from the bottle.

I released a humorless laugh.

You took a bullet for her.

You broke your no-heirs rule for her—or at least, you intended to.

I had spinelessly accepted her demands, her flaws, her passions, and her ways.

And still, she did not want me.

There was little point in trying to convince her otherwise.