“Mrs. Ferrara?” a staff member said softly. “Mr. Ferrara asked me to inform you that you’ll be traveling to São Paulo early tomorrow. He asked that your bags—and the child’s—be prepared.”
My throat tightened.
The audacity of that man stole the air from my lungs.
“Thank you,” I murmured with effort, holding back the tears threatening to spill.
The door closed, leaving me alone with my memories—and my bitter new reality.
I walked to the window and stared out into the night.
The mansion. The luxury. The Ferrara name.
None of it mattered.
Because the most important things were missing.
Love. Respect. The life I had once dreamed of.
Now all that remained was the suffocating pain of knowing I was trapped in a sham marriage with the man I had once loved more than anything.
A man who now seemed determined to grind down every piece of my pride, day by day.
Tomorrow, once again, I would follow his orders.
Tomorrow, once again, I would pretend to be happy—
—even though that happiness had died years ago.
THIRTY-FIVE
ENRICO FERRARA
Valentina settled Clara into one of the jet’s wide leather seats, her delicate hands tucking the blanket carefully around our daughter’s small body. Clara had fallen asleep just minutes after takeoff, utterly exhausted, and the sight pierced me with an unexpected stab of guilt.
I watched Valentina from a distance.
She hadn’t looked at me once since we boarded the aircraft, her entire focus locked on Clara, as if I didn’t exist. Every movement felt deliberate. Measured. Designed to exclude me.
And I understood exactly what she was doing.
She was punishing me. Quietly. In her own way.
The first days at the mansion had unfolded exactly as I’d expected. Every ordinary, domestic moment carried an undercurrent of hostility. Every exchange between Valentina and me was a silent confrontation.
She had closed herself off completely.
The tension only softened when Clara was involved. Watching Valentina with our daughter was the only time I saw anything genuine or gentle in her—and somehow, inexplicably, that bothered me more than her coldness.
I didn’t want to feel like an outsider in my own daughter’s life.
But I also had no idea how to approach Clara without igniting yet another war with Valentina.
I looked away, irritated by the bitter knot forming in my chest, and forced my focus back to the real reason for this sudden trip to São Paulo.
The lawyer.
I had spent the last few days turning that meeting over and over in my mind, reaching no conclusions. Only unease.
