Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 298: I Don’t Want Him Distracted

"Fine! Fine! Let’s just hope we sort everything out before that one pops out," Evans finished, throwing his hands up. He stalked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where his own daughter sat cross-legged on the rug, eyes glued to the television, enthusiastically chanting along to baby shark doo doo doo doo doo doo.

Evans collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic groan, staring at the ceiling.

Back in the kitchen, Irene reached for Ivy’s hands. "Ignore him," Irene said gently. "He panics first and thinks later. Are you going to tell Winn?"

Ivy inhaled slowly, her thoughts immediately drifting to Winn. "I should, shouldn’t I?" she murmured. Her fingers tightened around Irene’s. "But with all that’s going on, I don’t want him distracted. He’s already balancing too much."

Irene studied her carefully. "It’s your choice," she said softly.

Ivy nodded, emotion swelling in her chest. She pressed her palm flat against her stomach again, still half-expecting this to be a dream. "Besides," she added, a small smile forming, "I’d like this one to be a happy announcement. Special. Just... joy."

Irene smiled. "You both will be fine," she said, squeezing Ivy’s hands. "I feel it. Everything is going to work out. You and Winn—whatever storms are coming—you’re stronger together than you think."

Before Ivy could respond, Evans stalked back into the kitchen. He grabbed a bowl and dumped popcorn into it with unnecessary aggression. "I’m gonna go crazy," he sighed, shoveling kernels into his mouth. "I’m going to go crazy in my own house!"

He turned, pointing dramatically toward the living room. "You hear that?!" he barked at Ivy. "You’re gonna have a double dose of that when Elizabeth gets back here and that one pops out!" He jabbed the air again for emphasis. "Y’all keep fucking and popping babies out like it’s a competitive sport."

"Evans!" Irene snapped again.

Ivy snorted.

Evans grumbled, stuffing more popcorn into his mouth. "I’m just saying."

"I’ll make you babysit," Ivy said lightly.

"Not on your fucking life!" Evans shot back without missing a beat. He clutched the popcorn bowl to his chest, retreating to the living room once more.

Irene watched him go with an indulgent smile, then turned back to Ivy. "He’s happy," she said simply, the certainty in her voice coming from years of knowing Evans better than he knew himself. He postured, he barked, he complained—but when it mattered, his heart was always wide open.

"I know," Ivy replied, smiling softly. Her world felt fragile and luminous all at once. Fear lingered at the edges—about timing, about Winn, about the messiness of their lives.

"Winn is going to be very happy," Irene added, her eyes warm.

This time Ivy laughed. "I know. We missed everything with Elizabeth," she said. "This feels like a second chance."

"Can I be there when you tell him, please?" Irene asked. "I want to see his face."

Ivy grinned. "We’ll make it a party," she chuckled, picking up the popcorn bowl as they headed toward the living room.

Evans was in the middle of a tense negotiation with Theresa, crouched down to her level.

Ivy laughed as she watched them, warmth blooming in her chest. Chaos, noise, love—it all felt overwhelming and perfect.

*****

Reese drove behind Sam’s car, headlights slicing through the darkness as the city lights faded into nothing but towering trees and winding dirt roads. The woods pressed in on all sides. When they finally reached the cabin, it looked almost abandoned.

Winn stepped out of the car, jacket collar turned up against the cold.

He approached Sam’s car and reached instinctively to help him out, fingers brushing the door frame.

Sam smacked his hand away sharply.

"Sorry," Winn said immediately. "I keep forgetting."

Sam snorted, shifting carefully as he got out on his own terms. "Maybe when I use my cane on you, it’ll be etched into your memory," he muttered. "You kids see grey hair and assume we’re handicaps."

Winn laughed.

"To be fair," Winn said dryly, gesturing at Sam’s cane with his chin, "you are handicapped."

Sam shot him a glare. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?" he snapped back, shifting his weight until he found his balance. "Give it five more years and you’ll lose count of the grey in your hair."

Winn snorted but unconsciously, ran a hand through his hair. He let his hand fall, his expression tightening as his gaze lifted to the cabin. It squatted there—wood darkened by age, windows black and blind, surrounded by trees that felt far too willing to keep what happened inside to themselves.

"So," Winn said quietly, humor slipping away, "she’s in there?"

"Yes," Sam replied. "Been there all this time."

Winn exhaled through his nose. "I’d like to do this alone."

"You sure about this?" he asked carefully. "You don’t have to worry about me, son. If she has something tangible to say—something that actually matters—"

"I will give her the opportunity to spill her guts," Winn interrupted. Then, after a beat, quieter, heavier: "But Sam... Sharona is not leaving here. I know I sound like a monster."

Sam simply nodded once. "No," he said. "You sound like a father."

Winn nodded back, jaw tight, then turned and walked toward the cabin without another word. The men on guard straightened as he approached. No one spoke. One of them opened the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and the smell of damp wood and cold earth greeted him.

They led him down.

The basement was lit by a single bulb.

Sharona lay on the ground, chained, her body slack with exhaustion. Bruised, filthy, unmoving except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her once-perfect hair was matted, her clothes torn, the sharp, dangerous beauty she’d weaponized for years dulled by reality and restraint.

A strange sense of satisfaction curled low in his gut—dark, undeniable. The sight of her like this, powerless, suffering, stripped of control, made something in him ease. It scared him how much it did. It made him strangely happy to see her paying, finally, for the wreckage she’d left behind.