Page 51 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

I take a step back instinctively, the door still behind me, my hand brushing against it like I need to confirm it’s still there.

That I can leave.

That this isn’t… Real.

But it is. Because he’s still sitting there, looking at me like he expected this. Like I was always going to walk into this room.

“I'll be outside.” The security guard bows briskly, then steps away, brushing past me.

The door clicks softly behind me.

I don’t turn to watch him leave, but I feel the shift with the space sealing.

Robert pushes away from where he’s been sitting, unhurried, like time bends around him instead of the other way around.

His gaze never leaves me, not once, not even as he crosses the space between us just enough to make his presence felt without closing it completely.

And then, he smiles, his lips curving enough to say he’s exactly where he wants to be.

Something in my chest stutters. Because I know that smile. I remember what it does.

And I hate that my body remembers it too.

My breath comes in unevenly for a second before I stabilize it, forcing my shoulders back, forcing poise back on as emotions sprint through my mind.

Shock hits first, lingering longer than it should. Because he looks the same. He hasn't been touched by time in any way that feels fair.

And for a second, it disorients me.

Because I changed. Everything about me did.

But him, he's exactly as I left him.

Disbelief follows. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.

Not when I’ve spent years making sure there was distance. Making sure there was no way back. No overlap or chance of this kind of collision.

And yet, here he is.

Then anger rises before I can soften it, before I can package it into something easier to carry.

My hands move before I realize it, one dragging through my hair, the other falling to my side as I take a step forward, then another, then stop, pacing once like I need to burn it out of my system.

“What is this?” I snap, turning to face him fully now, my voice howling through the room. “What the hell is this?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn't move to interrupt or even lose that expression.

If anything, it deepens. That same calm. That same poise. That same… Smile.

And it makes it worse.

Because I’m here… Trying to process. Trying to make sense of something that shouldn’t exist. And he looks like this is exactly how it was supposed to go.

“How dare you?” I continue, my voice rising despite myself, my pacing picking up again, heels striking against the floor in harsh, erratic rhythm. “You can't just… What? Call for me? Like I’m still…”

I cut myself off.

Because I’m not finishing that sentence.