The accusation hit with a guilt that tangled into the rage, turning it darker.
“You think I didn’t suffer?” I asked, voice low and feral, our faces inches apart. “You think losing you like that was easy? Finding out it was all a lie—a cheap performance?” I leaned closer. “You say I destroyed your life, but you shattered mine. You betrayed me. You deceived me. You turned everything into ashes.”
Valentina laughed again, but this time it was rough, almost choking. Her fists trembled at her sides.
“You still believe that?” she demanded. “After all these years, you still believe that lie?” Her eyes flashed. “You don’t see how manipulated you were? How it was all theater?”
Something pulsed inside me—hard and painful—threatening the fragile control I still held.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Valentina,” I hissed. “I saw the proof. Photos. Messages. Everything.” My voice sharpened, memory turning into steel. “You were pregnant and you didn’t even have the courage to tell me. I found out through an envelope—from someone else. Do you honestly think I would’ve believed you after that?”
“Yes, I was pregnant,” she shouted, finally shattering the last of her restraint. “Pregnant by the man I loved, Enrico.” Her eyes glittered with something dangerous. “By the man I would’ve never—never—betrayed.” She stepped closer, voice shaking with raw truth. “But you didn’t want to listen. You didn’t even want to look at me. You chose the comfortable lies they sold you instead of choosing me.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Her words hung between us—burning, cutting, ripping open wounds that would never fully heal.
I stared at her, my mind refusing to accept what she was saying…
even as a dangerous part of me wanted—desperately—to believe it.
A part that still missed her with an intensity that hurt.
Without warning, anger and bitterness began to morph into something more primal.
Deeper.
The air between us turned electric in a new, far more dangerous way.
Her gaze flicked—briefly—to my mouth, betraying her conflict before she forced herself to step back like she’d been burned.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, trying to regain control. “You’re not taking Clara from me. I won’t allow it.”
My voice came out rough, almost unrecognizable.
“I’d like to see you try.”
She stared at me, breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
Then she shook her head slowly.
“No, Enrico. What you want is revenge.” Her tone cut. “You want to hurt. You always want something beyond what you say.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m not letting you do that to my daughter.”
“Our daughter,” I corrected again, the words a harsh whisper. I stepped closer—too close—until my mouth was almost brushing hers. “I’m not making the mistake of trusting you again. I’m not giving you the chance to keep me from Clara a second time.”
For a moment, she went completely still—eyes locked on mine, the closeness nearly unbearable.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then Valentina jerked back, something close to panic flashing across her face.
“You’re not winning this war, Enrico,” she said, and turned on her heel.
I watched her go, every muscle in my body fighting an absurd impulse to follow her, to grab her, to—
