Letters to Sayor

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

A Truth With Teeth

Ace didn't look away first. He just stood there, his hands still buried in the pocket of his hoodie, his stance loose but his eyes locked on hers like he was weighing the cost of what he was about to say. And then—without breaking that line between them—he said it in a tone that was low, steady, and almost too calm to belong in a fight.

"She's not pregnant anymore."

The words hit like a door slamming in her chest. No warning, no lead-in, just dropped in the middle of the room like they were supposed to solve everything.

Sayor blinked once, twice, the air in her lungs hitching before she even realized she'd been holding it. "What?"

Ace shifted his weight, pulling one hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck, his gaze dropping for the first time that morning. "She lost it. Couple weeks ago." He let the words hang there like that was the end of the explanation, like that alone was supposed to wash the slate clean.

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, but it wasn't relief that came with the news—it was a sour, twisting mix of shock, anger, and the sick awareness that even now, even with something this heavy, she didn't know how much was truth and how much was convenience.

"And you waited until now to tell me?" she said, each word slow and precise, like she was laying them down for him to step on and cut himself.

"I wasn't about to throw it in your face when you've been dealing with the baby, with..." He nodded toward the bassinet without actually looking at Zaire. "With all this. And honestly?" His eyes came back to hers, sharper now. "I didn't want to give you another reason to look at me like I'm the worst thing that ever happened to you."

Sayor's mouth twitched—not a smile, not a frown, just the physical effort of holding back the first thing she wanted to say. "You think the timing changes the fact that you were still sleeping with her while you were telling me it was over?"

He didn't flinch. "I told you before—I was wrong for that. I don't have an excuse. But I'm standing here now, and I'm telling you it's done. She's out of the picture. Completely."

Her stomach tightened—not from the postpartum soreness, not even from the remnants of the contraction-like aches she'd been having—but from the sharp edge of mistrust cutting right through his words.

"You've said that before," she reminded him, her voice quiet but steady, the weight of it heavier than if she'd screamed.

Ace took a step closer, closing the distance between them until the faint scent of his cologne drifted between their breaths. "Yeah, but I'm not letting you walk away from me again, Sayor. Not now. Not after everything we've been through. Not with him—" He jerked his chin toward Zaire. "—sleeping ten feet away."

The air between them thickened, charged with something that wasn't quite rage and wasn't quite surrender. And in that moment, she realized—whatever direction this went next, it wasn't going to be soft.

Sayor didn't move when he stepped closer.
She just stood there, arms folded tight across her chest, her weight shifted to one hip like she was bracing herself for the impact of the next thing out of his mouth. Her heartbeat was steady, but the temperature in the room felt like it had climbed a few degrees.

"You don't believe me," Ace said finally, tilting his head slightly as if studying her like she was the one making this difficult.

"I don't," she answered flatly, not bothering to dress the truth up or soften the edge.

He gave a short, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face. "You want me to prove it? Fine. I can get rid of her for good. Block her, change my number, make sure she can't ever pop up again—"