Evangeline

There’s something about Alexander’s father. Antonio Creed. On the outside, he looks cold and calculating. His narrowed eyes are too sharp as they rake my frame as though dissecting my entire existence by my physical appearance.

His eyes stop at my stomach for a second, two. He scoffs, averting his gaze to his son.

“Your wife,” he repeats, voice crisp. “That is a generous term.”

Xander stiffens beside me, his voice warning. “Dad.”

“What?” his father lifts a ...