He didn’t look nervous.
He looked like a man who was used to winning—and who expected nothing else.
A shiver ran up my spine, but I lifted my chin and kept walking.
I would not fall apart in front of him.
Not here.
Not now.
Not again.
If someone had told me months ago that I would end up pounding on Enrico Ferrara’s door after midnight, demanding to know why he wanted to take my daughter from me, I would’ve laughed in their face.
And yet that was exactly what I did—one week ago.
That night, after I opened the legal notice threatening the most precious thing in my life, the only thing I could think waswhy.
Why would Enrico—who seemed so devoted to Clara, so careful with her—move this fast? Why did he need to destroy me in the process?
That was why I drove to the mansion he’d rented in town, heart hammering, and practically invaded it searching for answers.
What I found wasn’t answers.
It was accusations. Grief. Resentment I’d carried for five years, finally erupting with an intensity I couldn’t control anymore.
We screamed. We tore into each other. We threw cruelty like knives until I didn’t know whether I was crying from rage, pain, or pure exhaustion.
But in the middle of that chaos, something else rose—something that made me disgusted with myself.
Desire.
Intense. Dangerous. Completely wrong.
And still it was there—burning in every look, every harsh word, every step too close to avoid.
Now, sitting in a cold courtroom waiting for a hearing that could decide my daughter’s future, I could still feel the echoes of that night.
I could still feel the weight of Enrico’s words… and the unsettling intensity of his presence.
I closed my eyes briefly and shoved the memory away.
Then the judge entered.
My body went rigid, snapping back into the present as everyone rose and sat again. I couldn’t stop my gaze from sliding—just once—toward Enrico.
He remained impassive, posture confident, unshaken. Like he didn’t have the slightest doubt how this would end.
My attorney touched my arm gently, pulling me back, as the judge began to speak—his voice deep, authoritative, filling the room.
“We are here today for the preliminary hearing in the matter of legal establishment of paternity and petition for custody, brought by Mr. Enrico Ferrara against Ms. Valentina Muniz, concerning the minor child Clara Muniz.”
Every word tightened around my heart.
My stomach churned. My hands went cold. The vulnerability was almost suffocating.
I never wanted it to come to this. No matter how much fear or resentment I’d carried, I never set out to deprive Clara of a father. But everything had happened so fast—so violently outside my control—that now I felt lost inside the chaos my life had become.
