He turned away and walked out, leaving me standing alone in an immaculate room designed to look romantic while I felt like I was being buried alive.
We were married.
We were going to live under the same roof.
And I knew—deep in my bones—that this was only the next level of the hell he’d planned for me.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ENRICO FERRARA
The silence in the mansion broke with the sound of a car approaching the main gate.
I moved to the window and watched with a mix of satisfaction and irritation as Valentina stepped out.
She looked smaller than I remembered—careful in her movements, eyes averted as if pretending she hadn’t noticed me standing there.
Good.
Comfort was the last thing I wanted her to feel.
Then she helped Clara out of the car.
The way Valentina immediately took her hand—like she could shield her from me—irritated me more than it should have.
I inhaled slowly and pushed the discomfort down.
This was what I wanted.
Valentina needed to feel the weight of her choices, the consequences, the same pressure I’d lived with for years.
The front door opened—one of the staff greeting them—and I stayed exactly where I was, letting my presence do what it always did.
Control the room.
Valentina stepped inside. Clara followed, gripping her mother’s hand, eyes sweeping the space with cautious curiosity.
Seeing my daughter cross the threshold of my house tightened something in my throat.
In my urgency—my rage—I hadn’t fully considered how hard this would land on her.
“Welcome,” I said, and even to my own ears my voice sounded too formal.
Valentina lifted her gaze to mine for a brief moment, then nodded without a smile. There was no need for performance between us now.
Then she turned to Clara, crouched, and smiled—soft, reassuring—reserved exclusively for her child.
“Sweetheart,” Valentina said gently, “remember I told you we were going to stay at Uncle Enrico’s house for a little while, until we fix some things back home?”
The lie was smooth. Practiced.
Clara nodded slowly, skeptical, peeking at me and then tightening her grip on Valentina’s hand.
Valentina rose and faced me.
Her eyes sharpened into a silent warning:Don’t contradict me. Don’t question it. Not in front of her.
I disliked it immediately.
