“Satisfied?” I snapped, irritation flaring despite my control. “My daughter is asleep and I wasn’t even told. She ate without me.” I leaned forward slightly. “Do you honestly think I’d be satisfied?”
Valentina’s smile turned razor-thin.
“Fine, Enrico,” she said. “Since you insist, let’s talk.” She met my eyes like a challenge. “What do you want to know about Clara? Her bedtime? When she brushes her teeth? What she plays with?” Her sarcasm sharpened. “Since you’re suddenly so interested—five years later.”
The jab hit exactly where she aimed it.
I didn’t give her the pleasure of seeing it.
“I want to know everything,” I said evenly, beginning to serve myself without looking away from her. “I won’t make the same mistake you did.”
She lifted a brow, almost laughing.
“My mistake? What mistake, Enrico? Protecting my daughter from a father who rejected her?”
My fingers tightened around the silverware.
“Five years,” I said, voice low. “You stole five years of my life with Clara. I didn’t see her grow. I wasn’t there for her first steps, her first words.” I let the resentment show just enough to make it real. “And you want to call that protection?”
Valentina leaned forward, her anger sharp and almost—annoyingly—beautiful.
“Stole?” she said, hard. “You gave them up.” Her gaze didn’t blink. “When you left me at the altar—pregnant—in front of hundreds of people.” She stabbed the air with the truth. “You rejected your daughter before she even existed to you. Don’t talk to me about mistakes. You lost the right to that five years ago when you decided the baby I was carrying couldn’t be yours.”
Guilt tried to rise.
I crushed it.
“I believed you betrayed me,” I said, voice cutting. “What did you expect me to do?”
“To believe me,” she shot back, intensity breaking through her control. “To listen before you condemned me to hell.” Her voice trembled, not with weakness—rage held too long. “To not destroy my life without giving me a single chance to prove I was telling the truth.”
We stared at each other.
The air between us was packed with grief, fury, and something else—something deeper and far more dangerous than either of us wanted to name.
I forced my posture back into calm.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said, cold again. “We’re here now. You will accept that there is no alternative but to live with me.” I let the threat slide in smooth. “Unless you’d rather give up your daughter.”
Valentina’s eyes narrowed.
“I would never give up Clara,” she said, voice tight.
“Good,” I murmured, a slow satisfaction curling in my chest. “Then cooperate.” I leaned back slightly, watching her like a man watching a locked door. “Tell me about my daughter. Everything you hid from me.”
For a moment, Valentina didn’t speak.
I saw anger, yes.
But under it—hurt. Persistent. Quiet. The kind that didn’t heal.
“You want details?” she asked finally, voice edged with venom. She crossed her arms like armor. “Fine.” She stared straight at me. “Clara goes to bed at eight, but she usually wakes up around seven. She likes stories before sleep—and she’s picky about who tells them.” Her mouth tightened. “She hates loud noises. She’s afraid of the dark, so I always leave a light on in the hallway.”
A strange ache moved through my chest at how small those details were—and how violently it mattered that I didn’t know them.
“What else?” I demanded, keeping my tone hard.
“She loves drawing,” Valentina said, not looking away. “Flowers and dogs, mostly. She hates carrots, even though I tryto make her eat them.” Her sarcasm returned, bitter as poison. “And she likes purple. Lilac. I hope that doesn’t interfere with your grand interior design plans.”
