Tobias's POV
My palm still stings from the slap, the sound echoing in my memory like a gunshot. I've never struck one of my children before—never even came close.
But watching Tyler tear Ava apart with calculated cruelty, seeing her crumble under the weight of his venom, something primal in me snapped.
"Come on." My hand finds her lower back, steadying her trembling form. "Let's get you out of here."
She doesn't resist as I guide her away from the parking lot, away from the scene of Tyler's character assassination.
Two blocks down, I spot a small café—one of those quiet places with mismatched chairs and local art on the walls. Somewhere we can disappear for a few minutes.
The owner nods at us as we enter, taking in Ava's tear-streaked face with the practiced discretion of someone who's seen plenty of personal crises unfold over coffee.
I order two waters and steer Ava toward the back where a small hallway leads to the restrooms.
How did I fail so spectacularly? Twenty-two years of trying to raise a decent human being, and this is what I created—a monster who weaponizes a woman's vulnerability, who twists her choices into justifications for his own failures.
"I need water on my face," Ava mumbles, voice thick with tears. "I need to wash this off."
"Of course." I watch her stumble toward the single-occupancy bathroom, and before I can think better of it, I'm following her inside, turning the lock behind us with a decisive click.
She doesn't question my presence, just grips the porcelain sink edge like it's the only thing keeping her upright. Cold water splashes across her face, washing away tears and Tyler's poison in equal measure.
My chest burns with a combination of protective rage and self-loathing. This is my fault. I created the man who just destroyed her with words, who stripped away her dignity and left her raw and bleeding.
In the harsh fluorescent light, I can see every tremor that runs through her body. The way her shoulders shake. The red marks on her wrists from where Tyler grabbed her earlier in the week.
The exhaustion that pregnancy has already carved into her features.
Our eyes meet in the mirror above the sink, and I can't hide what I'm feeling anymore. The rage at Tyler, yes, but something deeper, more dangerous. This woman carrying my child, this woman my son just tried to obliterate with cruelty, means everything to me.
The realization should terrify me. Instead, it feels like coming home.
"Tyler was wrong." The words come out rougher than intended. "About everything. You're not broken, Ava. You're not frigid or pathetic or any of the poison he just spewed."
She turns to face me, water droplets still clinging to her cheeks, and I can't stop myself from reaching out. My hands cup her face, thumbs brushing away the moisture and the tears underneath.
"Your choices were never the problem," I continue, needing her to understand this. "His inability to respect them was. His entitlement was. His complete failure as a decent human being was. But not you. Never you."
"He said anyone would’ve dumped me already." Her voice breaks on the words. "That no man will tolerate my 'issues' forever."
"Then every other man is an idiot." The vehemence in my voice surprises us both. "Any man worthy of you would consider himself lucky just to hold your hand. Would never, ever make you feel ashamed for having boundaries."
"Tobias." My name on her lips is soft, wondering.
"I mean it. Tyler's failures aren't yours to carry. His insecurities aren't your responsibility to fix. You are not…"
She stretches up and kisses me, cutting off my words with soft lips that taste like tears and something sweeter. For a heartbeat I stay frozen, knowing this is wrong, knowing she's vulnerable and I'm taking advantage.
Then she makes a small sound against my mouth, and my careful control shatters completely.
The kiss transforms from comfort to something desperate, consuming. I back her against the tiled wall, my body caging hers, one hand tangling in her hair while the other grips her waist.
"This is insane," I breathe against her mouth, even as I kiss her deeper, harder. "Anyone could try the door."
"I don't care." Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. "I need this. I need you."
My hand slides down to grip her thigh, lifting her leg to hook around my hip. She gasps at the contact, head falling back against the wall, and I take advantage, mouth finding the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur against her skin, my palm sliding under her skirt to cup the curve of her ass. "So perfect. Tyler's an idiot for not worshipping every inch of you."
"Don't talk about him." Her voice is breathless, desperate. "Please. Just... this. Just us."
My other hand moves to her chest, squeezing through her blouse, feeling her nipple harden under my palm. She arches into the touch with a soft moan that goes straight to my groin.
"So obedient," I growl, grinding against her hip. "Do you feel what you do to me? How much I need you?"
The sound of someone trying the door handle jolts us apart like we've been electrocuted. We freeze, breathing hard, staring at each other in the harsh fluorescent light.
Christ. We're making out in a public bathroom like teenagers. I'm pressed against the woman carrying my child twenty feet from a dining room full of people, my hands under her clothes, completely out of control.
"Occupied!" I call out, voice strained.
Footsteps retreat down the hallway. We stay frozen for several more seconds before reality crashes back in.
"Jesus." I run a hand through my hair, stepping back to give her space. "This has to stop. All of it. I'm taking advantage of you when you're vulnerable, acting like I can't control myself around you."
"No." The word comes immediately, firmly. "Don't you dare make this about you taking advantage. I kissed you, remember?"
"You're emotional, you just went through hell with Tyler…"
"I'm emotional because I want this. Not because of the trauma or gratitude or some daddy complex."
She straightens her clothes with shaking hands. "I like you exactly as you are, Tobias. The controlled you and the desperate you. The politician and the man who just defended my honor in a parking lot."
Something in my chest loosens at her words, a knot of guilt and self-doubt I didn't realize I was carrying.
"This is impossible," I say quietly. "You know that, right? The campaign, Chloe, Veronica circling like a shark..."
"I know." She meets my eyes in the mirror as she finger-combs her hair back into place. "But I can't walk away from this. From you. From whatever this is between us."
"Secret meetings," I hear myself saying. "Private moments when we can steal them. We build something real but careful. No one can know—especially not Chloe or Veronica."
"I can keep secrets." Her smile is soft, sad. "I've been keeping this one for five years."
"Just until… we’ll figure something else out," I promise, though we both know how hollow that sounds. "Secret meeting until that."
We both know we're lying to ourselves, that there may never be a right time, a safe time. But neither of us has the strength to walk away.
Not when she's become more essential to me than my next breath—a truth I'm nowhere near ready to speak aloud.
“That works for me.” She finally says.
And I’m not so sure how exactly it’s supposed to work out between us.