She took a step forward. Then another.
Closing the space between us inch by inch.
“Why?” she asked, her tone almost trembling, almost sincere.
“I’ve never done anything to you.” A faint pause, her gaze locking onto mine.
“If anything...”
“You’re the one who took everything from me.”
I let out a quiet breath, more irritation than surprise.
“No one hates you, Violet. You’re not nearly that important.”
“Stop being dramatic.”
She was standing in my room.
In my space.
And somehow, she was the one looking at me like I didn’t belong—like I had walked into her life and torn it apart.
Like she knew exactly what had happened between Vincenzo and me last night.
I stepped fully inside the room.
She lifted a hand to her face, dabbing delicately at the corner of her eye.
A tear slipped free.
“I’m just a weak woman with a failing heart and very little time left,” Violet said, her voice soft and trembling with delicate sorrow.
Her hand drifted to her stomach, fingers brushing over the barely-there curve,
“It has always been my greatest wish to be Vincenzo’s wife one day. Now that I’m carrying his child... you don’t need to hate me anymore, Elena. We must raise this baby together.”
I’d be a fool to believe a single word coming out of this woman’s mouth.
“Get out.”
My voice cut through the room like ice.
Violet blinked, clearly caught off guard.
She hadn’t expected resistance.
“Elena, please—”
“Get. Out.” I took a step forward, my tone turning lethal. “Or I will make you.”
She stared at me for a long, tense second.
The air in the room grew thick and heavy.
Then the mask slipped.
The tears vanished.
