Lysandra laughs.
“How cute,” she mocks. “I’ll admit—you’re not stupid. You were quick to lock down an illegitimate heir. Guaranteed yourself a pension for life.”
My breath catches in my throat when she speaks about my child.
How does she know?
If I swallowed my replies when her cruelty was aimed only at me, now that becomes impossible.
“My child will not be a bastard,” I say through clenched teeth, tears of rage burning my eyes. “Whether you like it or not, Nero and I are getting married.”
If I thought any of her earlier smiles were cruel, it’s only because I hadn’t yet seen the one that spreads across her face now.
“That,” she says coldly, “is what we’ll see.”
A chill runs down my spine at the promise in her tone.
“If you want to wait for Nero, wait here. I don’t want you wandering around my house.”
And with that final blow, she turns her back on me and leaves, abandoning me alone in the unfamiliar kitchen.
I glance at my watch.
Not even fifteen minutes.
The speed with which I flee—not just the kitchen, but the entire property—is almost unbelievable. I walk several metres before spotting a taxi and flagging it down.
When I collapse against the soft leather seat, all the happiness that filled my chest over the past few days feels suddenly poisoned.
Every plan I made with Nero, every dream of the future, every promise we exchanged feels like a distant dream I’ve just woken from.
I force that feeling down, kicking it out of my chest with mental force and replacing it with nothing but seething hatred for the woman my fiancé calls his mother.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly, deeply, until my heart finds its rhythm again—because if I let the bitterness Lysandra planted take root, she wins.
And I’d rather lose my clean criminal record by killing her any day of the week than let that happen.
***
“Hey, love,” Nero greets me hours later, arriving at his apartment and finding me seated on the only piece of furniture in place besides the bed we’ve been sharing almost every night and the clothing rack where he keeps his spare clothes—a sofa.
I lift my eyes from the papers scattered around me, where I’ve been obsessively studying the interior design projects the architects and designers sent us weeks ago.
I told Nero I couldn’t choose, but the truth is I’d been postponing it, clinging to the idea that it was too soon for him to include me in decisions like this, no matter how insistent he was.
Now, though, I’m starting to think I’m the one falling behind—because there’s a child arriving in seven and a half months, and his house is literally empty.
“Hey,” I say softly, offering a smile.
He tilts his head, removing his jacket and loosening his tie. I watch him carefully. I could do it all day. He’s beautiful.
“That look—is it an invitation?”
“My doors are always open,” I tease.
“And your legs?” he asks, stepping closer and bending to kiss my forehead, my nose, and finally my lips. I inhale his scent deeply.
“I thought that’s what we were talking about from the start,” I reply.
