His Merciless Redemption novel Chapter 150

Chapter 150

Dominic’s POV

Hospitals had begun to smell like endings to me, even when someone had survived.

When I walked into Alessia’s room the next afternoon to discharge her, she was sitting upright, hands folded in her lap like a child waiting to be told what to do.

The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up, not with excitement but something akin to relief.

“You came,” she whispered.

“I said I would.”

She held out her hand immediately.

I took it.

Her grip tightened instantly, fingers lacing with mine like I might vanish.

Her parents stood near the window, both exhausted but hopeful.

“I’ve arranged somewhere new,” I said gently. “We won’t be going back to the villa.”

Alessia frowned slightly. “Why?”

“It’s too full of memories,” I answered. “Of the fall. Of the hospital trips. It won’t help you heal.”

Her mother nodded quickly. “He’s right. A fresh start will be good.”

Her father agreed quietly. “Yes. New space. New routine.”

Alessia’s

eyes returned to mine. “Where?”

“My penthouse in the city. It’s secure. Quiet.”

“You’ll stay with me?” she asked immediately.

The question wasn’t casual. It was urgent.

“Yes,” I said.

Her fingers tightened almost painfully around mine. “Okay,” she breathed, like that was the only part that

mattered.

When we reached the penthouse, the city skyline which usually calmed me, looked cold and distant today, indifferent to human suffering. Or maybe it was just how I was feeling. Leaving Isa in the morning had been one of the most difficult and heart breaking things I’d done. I almost hadn’t wanted to leave, because I didn’t know when I’d get the chance to do that again.

He only thing that had forced me to

The penthouse had floor-to-ceiling glass, minimalist design, neutral tones. I had it fully secured before we arrived with guards in the lobby, two stationed on the floor, cameras reactivated. But the moment we stepped inside. Alessia didn’t look at the view.

She looked at me.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“It’s where you are,” she said.

Her parents exchanged a glance.

That line unsettled me more than it should have.

But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I gently guided her to her room and onto her bed which also offered a beautiful view of the city skyline.

“Do you need to go for work?” She asked, her eyes not leaving me.

I shook my head, no. “I took the day off for you. Eduardo will call me if something important comes up. But I do need to make a few calls. You should rest. I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

She nodded, and I expected her to lie down. But she didn’t.

Instead, she followed me from room to room.

If I was on a call, she waited inches away. If I stood near the window, she stood beside me. If I stepped into the hallway to speak with security, she appeared seconds later.

“Where are you going?” she asked every time.

“Nowhere.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

She smiled then, a fragile, relieved smile.

And it hit me that she wasn’t healing. She was attaching.

Later that evening we sat on the couch with a mindless show on the TV. Her parents had retired to the guest rooms. She leaned against me, her head resting against my chest.

“I was thinking,” she said softly.

“About?”

Chapter 9

“The baby.”

My muscles tightened.

“Our next one,” she continued. The words came too easily to her, too confidently.

“We could do it differently,” she said. “No stress. No stairs.”

I stared at the skyline. “Let’s focus on you recovering first.”

She nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

But she smiled like the decision was already made. I felt the trap tightening around me. Not maliciously. Not intentionally. But tightening all the same.

And when it was time for dinner, she refused to eat.

Until I grabbed the bowl and sat beside her.

“Just a little,” I said, holding the spoon near her mouth.

She stared at it. Then at me. “Will you stay if I eat?” she asked softly.

I exhaled slowly. Honestly, I wanted nothing more than to go back to Isa even if she wouldn’t let me near her the way I wanted to. But even being in the same room as her was more peaceful than being here. Instead, I nodded at Alessia. “I’m not leaving.”

She opened her mouth. One bite. Then another. Her mother watched from the doorway, visibly relieved.

“She only eats when you feed her,” she murmured later.

I nodded stiffly, while inside, something tightened. This wasn’t normal grief. This was something darker, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. She didn’t let me leave her room at night either. I sat in my chair near her bed while she slept.

And I kept thinking how this was just the first day and I already wanted it to be over.

I didn’t sleep much that night.

The next afternoon, Dr. Ferraro came for an in-home session.

Afterwards, he asked to speak with me privately in the study.

“How is she?” I asked immediately.

“Emotionally volatile but stabilized for now,” he replied.

“That’s not reassuring.”

He folded his hands calmly. “She is exhibiting trauma-bond reinforcement.”

Chapter 150

I frowned. “Explain.”

“After acute loss and suicidal ideation, some patients attach intensely to a perceived emotional anchor. In her case, that’s you.”

“I noticed.”

“She’s regressing,” he continued. “Emotionally. You’ll see childlike dependency behaviors. Feeding, proximity seeking, reassurance loops.”

“That’s not healthy.”

“No,” he agreed. “But abruptly removing that anchor could trigger another spiral.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

He met my eyes directly. “For now? Structured presence.”

The phrase sounded clinical.

“Which means?”

“You remain involved. But gradually introduce other stability points. Routine. Therapy. Parental engagement.”

“And if the dependency increases?”

“It likely will before it decreases.”

That didn’t sit well with me.

“There’s a concept called transitional attachment,” he continued. “Sometimes, the anchor must remain until the patient rebuilds internal coping mechanisms.”

“So I stay.”

“For now.”

“And the talk about another child?” I asked tightly.

His expression didn’t change. “That’s grief displacement. She’s replacing loss with fantasy restoration.”

“And if that fantasy involves me?”

He held my gaze. “Then you tread carefully.”

Meaning there was no clean exit.

“If you withdraw too sharply, she may interpret it as abandonment.”

Abandonment.

Chapter 150

The word felt heavy.

“She already feels empty,” he added. “We do not want to compound that.”

“And what about long-term consequences?” I pressed.

“That depends on how boundaries are managed.”

Boundaries. That word felt ironic. Because every day, the lines felt blurrier.

When we came out, her mother was waiting for me in the living room.

“You’re saving her,” her mother whispered, tears in her eyes.

Her gratitude made me feel worse. Because I wasn’t saving her. I was sustaining something. And I wasn’t sure it was healthy.

That night again, Alessia wouldn’t sleep unless I stayed in the room.

Again, I sat in the armchair beside her bed, watching her breathing even out.

Without meaning to, my mind drifted to Isabella again like it did every time I was free. I thought about her. About the villa. About the kiss that still burned on my mouth.

I had chosen responsibility.

But responsibility was beginning to look like entanglement.

And the worst part? I couldn’t walk away.

Because if Alessia broke again, I would never forgive myself.

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