"It's not that simple."
"It never is." Her hand covered mine, surprisingly strong for someone so small. "Whatever secret you're carrying, child, he deserves to know. He isn't his father." She paused, her gaze steady. "And he certainly isn't Antonio."
The mention of Antonio's name made me flinch. "That's what terrifies me. What if this just becomes another thing they fight over? Another piece of property to claim?"
Lila's eyes flashed with something fierce. "That child you carry is Ricci blood. But it's your blood too. Never forget that." She stood, smoothing her apron with practiced hands. "The boss is in his study. He's been there since dawn."
My heart raced. "You think I should tell him now?"
"I think waiting only gives fear more time to grow." She moved toward the door, then turned back. "He's a complicated man, Miss Sophie. But I've watched him since he was a boy. There's good in him—buried deep, perhaps, but there."
After she left, I sat with her words, letting them settle into my bones. She was right. I couldn't keep this secret any longer. Not when so much was at stake.
I dressed quickly in jeans and a soft sweater, pulling my hair back into a simple ponytail. No makeup, no pretenses. Just me, and the truth I needed to share.
The walk to Vittorio's study felt like marching to my own execution. Each step brought me closer to a moment that would define everything that came after. My hand trembled as I raised it to knock on the heavy wooden door.
But something stopped me. The door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, I could see Vittorio standing at his desk, his broad shoulders tense beneath his tailored shirt. Papers and photographs were spread across the surface in front of him.
I pushed the door open wider, words of confession on my lips—and froze.
Among the scattered surveillance photos and documents on his desk was an unmistakable medical chart with my name clearly visible at the top.
Ice flooded my veins as Vittorio looked up, his piercing blue eyes locking with mine. His face was a mask of controlled emotion, but I could see the storm raging beneath.
"You were going to tell me?" His voice was quiet, controlled, but I heard the dangerous current underneath.
I stepped into the study, letting the door swing closed behind me. "How did you get that?"
"Antonio sent it." He picked up the medical chart, holding it between us like evidence at a trial. "Six to eight weeks. That makes it mine."
Not a question. A statement of fact, of ownership.
"Yes." The word felt torn from my throat.
"When were you planning to share this information?" His tone was deceptively calm, but I saw the muscle in his jaw ticking, the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the edge of his desk.
"Today. I was going to tell you today." I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. "I only found out myself when I collapsed in the garden."
"And yet you've had multiple opportunities since then." He moved around the desk, closing the distance between us. "After I rescued you. When you were in my bed."
"I was terrified," I whispered.
His jaw tightened. "Of me?"
"Of this." I gestured between us. "Of what it means."
"What does it mean?" His voice was deadly quiet.
"That you'll see me differently. That I'll become just… just the vessel for your heir."
He flinched as if I'd struck him. "Is that what you think of me?"
"I don't know what to think anymore." My voice cracked. "I just know that I've been used by men before. Antonio treated me like property. And you—"
"I am not my brother." His voice was deadly quiet.
"No. You're more dangerous." I met his gaze steadily. "Because sometimes, I forget that. Sometimes, I look at you and I see something else entirely."
