Maya's POV
I woke up on my kitchen floor with a stranger's face above mine.
Green eyes. Concerned. Beautiful in a way that made my confused brain wonder if I'd died and this was some kind of angel.
"Don't move," the stranger said, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "You fainted. I'm calling 911."
"No!" I jerked up too fast. The room spun. Strong hands steadied me. "No hospitals. I'm fine. I just—" What happened? Rebecca's call. The custody threat. Lily. "Where's Lily?"
"I'm here, Mommy!" My daughter's tear-stained face appeared next to the stranger's. "He broke down the door! Like a superhero!"
Reality crashed back. This man—this stranger—was in my house. Had broken into my house. Was touching me.
I scrambled backward, my heart pounding. "Who are you? Get away from my daughter!"
He immediately raised his hands and stepped back, giving me space. "I'm sorry. I heard your daughter scream. Your door was locked. I thought there was an emergency."
"You broke into my house!" My voice was shrill, panic making it hard to think straight.
"I heard a child screaming for help." His voice was calm, steady. "What would you have done?"
He had a point. I hated that he had a point.
I forced myself to breathe, to look at him clearly. Tall. Dark wavy hair. Tattoos covering both arms in intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer in the light. Green eyes that held genuine concern, not threat.
"I'm Dante Rossi. I just moved in next door." He gestured toward the broken door. "I'm so sorry about that. I'll fix it immediately. I just—when I heard screaming—"
"I wasn't screaming!" Lily protested. "I was calling for help! Mommy fell and wouldn't wake up!"
"How long was I out?" I touched my head, checking for bumps.
"Maybe thirty seconds." Dante crouched down to my level, keeping his distance. "Do you remember what happened?"
Rebecca's warning flooded back. Marcus. Custody. Two days.
"I need you to leave." I stood up on shaky legs. "Thank you for your concern, but we're fine now."
"You're not fine. You fainted. That's not normal." His eyes searched mine. "Has this happened before?"
"That's none of your business."
"Mommy hasn't eaten since yesterday," Lily announced helpfully. "She was too worried about Daddy's phone call."
"Lily!" Heat flooded my cheeks.
Dante's expression shifted—understanding mixing with something that looked like anger. Not at me. For me. "When's the last time you had water?"
I couldn't remember.
"That's what I thought." He stood, moving toward my sink. "May I?"
I should say no. Should throw him out despite the broken door. But my legs were still shaking, and Lily was looking at him like he'd rescued a kitten from a tree.
"Fine," I muttered.
He filled a glass with water and brought it to me, careful not to get too close. "Drink this. All of it. Then I'm making you food."
"You don't need to—"
"Yes, I do. You fainted in your kitchen with your daughter watching. That traumatized her. The least I can do is make sure you eat something so it doesn't happen again." His voice was firm but kind. "Please. Let me help."
Something in my chest cracked. When was the last time someone had offered to help me without wanting something in return?
"Okay," I whispered.
Lily clapped her hands. "Can you make pancakes? Mommy burned them this morning!"
"Lily!" I groaned.
Dante's lips twitched into a smile. "Pancakes it is. Chocolate chips?"
"You're my favorite neighbor ever!" Lily declared.
Twenty minutes later, I sat at my table watching a stranger—Dante—flip perfect pancakes in my kitchen while my daughter chattered at him like they were old friends. He'd found everything he needed without asking, moved around my space like he belonged there.
It should have felt invasive. Instead, it felt... safe.
"Your mom's an artist," Dante said to Lily, nodding at my sketches scattered on the counter. "These are incredible."
"She's the best artist in the world!" Lily said proudly. "She's painting a big wall for Valentine's Day!"
"The festival mural?" Dante slid pancakes onto plates. "I heard about that. That's a huge honor."
"How do you know about the festival?" I asked. "You just moved here."
"I did my research before relocating." He set a plate in front of me—perfect golden pancakes with chocolate chips arranged in a smiley face. Something Marcus would have called childish. Something that made my throat tight. "I'm opening a tattoo shop downtown. Needed to know the community."
"You're a tattoo artist?" That explained the ink covering his arms.
"Among other things." He sat across from me with his own plate. "Eat. Please."
I took a bite. Delicious. Of course they were delicious.
"These are amazing," I admitted.
"My mom taught me." Something sad flickered across his face. "A long time ago."
We ate in comfortable silence. Well, Lily talked enough for all three of us, asking Dante about his tattoos, his motorcycle, whether he liked cats or dogs better.
He answered every question with patience and humor, never talking down to her, treating her like her opinions mattered.
Nothing like Marcus, who barely looked at Lily unless she was being "useful" for his image.
"I should fix your door," Dante said after we finished. "I really am sorry about that."
"It's okay. You were trying to help." I stood, gathering plates. "I'll call a locksmith tomorrow."
"I can fix it today. I have tools in my truck."
"You don't have to—"
"I broke it. I fix it." His tone left no room for argument. "Besides, you shouldn't have a broken door with your ex-husband coming to town."
I froze. "How did you know about that?"
"Your daughter mentioned a phone call from 'Daddy' that upset you. And you said 'that's none of your business' when I asked about your health, which tells me there's a complicated situation you don't want to discuss." He met my eyes. "I'm not trying to pry. I just want to make sure you and your daughter are safe."
God, why did he have to be so... decent?
"He's coming Sunday," I heard myself say. "My ex. He wants to visit Lily."
"And you're worried about it."
"I'm terrified of it." The words escaped before I could stop them. "He's going to—" I glanced at Lily, who was drawing at the table. I lowered my voice. "It's complicated."
"Then let me fix your door properly. With a better lock." Dante's green eyes were intense. "You deserve to feel safe in your own home."
My phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number. Again.
I grabbed it, my hands shaking.
A text message. From a number I didn't recognize.
But I knew who it was from the first words:
"You can't hide what happened, Maya. I have proof you're an unfit mother. The judge will see everything. You have 48 hours before I destroy you. - Marcus"
Attached was a photo.
Of me, unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Someone had been watching. Someone had photographed me at my lowest moment.
And Marcus had it.
The phone slipped from my hand.
Dante caught it before it hit the ground, his reflexes impossibly fast. He glanced at the screen, and his entire body went rigid.
When he looked up at me, his green eyes blazed with protective fury that should have scared me.
Instead, for the first time in two years, I felt like someone was on my side.
"He's not taking your daughter," Dante said quietly. "I promise you that."
"You don't even know me." My voice broke. "Why would you help me?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Something complicated crossed his face.
"Because," he finally said, "someone should have helped you before. And no one did."
My phone buzzed again.
Another message from Marcus:
"Tell your new boyfriend he can't save you. No one can."
Dante's jaw clenched.
"He's watching the house," I whispered. "Right now. He's watching us."
And we both turned toward the window, where a black car sat parked across the street.
Watching.
Waiting.