No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 114

LAUREN’S POV

“How did you even have one of these?” I asked, my eyes narrowing slightly at the oversized chocolate bar in Aria’s small hands. She was nibbling at it with such delight that a thin trail of chocolate already marked the corner of her mouth. The thing was nearly bigger than her head.

Roman gave a little shrug, folding his arms across his chest, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. “Well, here’s a little secret you don’t know about me – I love chocolate. I’ve loved them since I was a kid and, honestly, the habit never left me. So I always carry one of these with me whenever I leave the house.”

1 blinked, studying his expression, searching for any hint of exaggeration. But he looked serious, almost proud, as though carrying around a bar of chocolate was as natural to him as carrying his wallet.

“Okay,” I said slowly, raising one brow, “so you also bring this to the office?”

“Yeah,” he replied without missing a beat, “You should see my house. I have a whole room full of chocolate bars.” His tone was casual, like he was talking about books in a library.

Aria’s eyes widened, amusement and disbelief sparkling in her gaze. “Really?” she asked, dragging out the word in that way only children could, as if she wanted to catch him in a joke.

That last part had definitely caught her attention.

Roman leaned forward slightly, his smile softening as he looked at her. “Yeah. And I can give you as many as you want if you like.”

My jaw tightened immediately. “No, no, no. Sir, she’s not allowed to take sweets. I’m just letting this one slide because she hasn’t had any in a while.” I turned my gaze down at Aria, making sure she knew the warning was directed at her too. Her little shoulders slouched the tiniest bit, but her hands never stopped clutching the bar.

Roman’s brow creased. “Does she have some kind of allergy or sickness that doesn’t allow her to take sweets?”

“No, sir.” My tone sharpened, almost defensive. “She loves sugar way too much. Her teeth are almost gone. because of sweets, and I don’t want her to continue.”

“I see,” he said thoughtfully, nodding as if weighing my words. “Well, she’ll stop eventually. There’s nothing for you to be worried about.” His voice was calm, too calm, as though he thought I was overreacting. Then, as if it were the most natural next step, he added, “Do you mind if I come in?”

I almost laughed. Didn’t he just hear me when and chat like this was some kind of social call?

Said I had a serious headache? Now he wanted to come inside

My lips parted to politely but firmly refuse, but before I could get the words out, a small voice cut through mine.

“Yes, Mommy, let Uncle Roman come in,” Aria said, her tone sweet and innocent, her big eyes already turning on me like a weapon she knew I couldn’t fight against.

“Uncle Roman, huh? She’s already calling me her uncle. How cute.” His voice dropped as though he was talking to himself, but the satisfied smile on his face was impossible to miss.

1/2

My daughter was doing it again using those eyes on me. The very same pleading eyes that could melt steel and undo every

ounce of firmness I tried to muster. And I knew the consequence. If I said no, she’d start crying, maybe even throw a tantrum, and my already fragile peace would shatter.

But why him? Why was she suddenly warming up to him after just a few minutes? Back in Italy, whenever colleagues visited, she barely even came downstairs, much less willingly spoke to strangers. Now, suddenly, she wanted him inside our home?

Then it hit me. The chocolate. Of course. This was her way of securing a pipeline to more sweets behind. Smart little girl, but not smarter than me.

my

back.

Still, with her big hopeful eyes glued to mine, I felt my resistance weaken. If I let him in just for a few minutes and showed him how “bad” my headache was, maybe he’d politely excuse himself.

‘Sure,” I said finally, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

I set Aria down, her small feet pattering against the driveway, and we all began walking toward the gate. Roman fell into step beside me, his stride casual, almost as though he belonged here already

or that’s

“The car that drove into your gate before you stepped out,” he said, breaking the silence, “I’m guessing yours?”

“Yes.” I nodded, quickly scrambling for a plausible explanation. “I, um, just got it today. And it was really stressful, honestly. I guess that’s where this headache started from.” My hand lifted to my temple, massaging as if I were in pain, hoping the performance was convincing enough to plant the idea that I wasn’t up for

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