He walked toward the bed and stopped in front of me, towering over where I sat.
His presence cast a shadow across my lap, his silhouette cutting through the soft light of the room.
I couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t look anywhere else.
“Even though it’s becoming...” he paused, eyes narrowing slightly, as if choosing the right word with care, “...disturbingly difficult to keep hurting you,” he continued quietly, “do not mistake any of this for kindness.”
His gaze locked onto mine.
The words didn’t come as a surprise.
My breath hitched.
My heart stuttered—then cracked wider, like something inside me couldn’t quite hold itself together anymore.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
But when I did—
My voice came out soft.
Almost defeated.
“You don’t have to keep saying it.”
A pause.
My eyes lowered slightly. “I already know.”
He reached out without warning.
His fingers closed beneath my chin—firm, controlled—tilting my face upward until there was no escaping his gaze.
The contact was warm, grounding even, but his expression remained untouched, carved from something colder than the air between us.
“Do you take a morning-after pill after the sex we had last time?” Vincenzo asked, his voice low and dangerously calm, each word slicing through the silence like a blade.
I felt the question land heavy in my stomach.
Before I could even form an answer, he continued, eyes locked on mine with chilling intensity.
“I do not want you—” he paused, his gaze narrowing with deliberate disgust, as if the very thought repulsed him, “—ever, in this lifetime, to carry my child
My breath caught.
He didn’t just say it — he made it clear I was unworthy.
The words settled between us like something final.
The pain that followed struck deeper than the raw wounds on my knees, deeper than the cold that had already settled into my bones.
It bloomed inside my chest, stealing my breath in a way I couldn’t control.
For a second, I thought I might collapse under the weight of it.
But I didn’t.
