He glanced at me then.
Only briefly.
“I’ll have to learn how to make things right,” he said softly.
“Because you won’t be the wife I married for revenge anymore... you’ll be the woman carrying my child.”
The words settled between us.
Heavy.
I exhaled slowly, the tension in my chest loosening just a fraction.
“That’s not... what I thought you’d say.”
He didn’t respond.
But his hand left the wheel for just a second.
And reached across the console.
He took my hand, and I let my fingers curl into his.
The city lights stretched out ahead of us, glowing and shifting as we drove deeper into the night.
Colors blurred past the window—gold, blue—like the world was moving faster than I was.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the sprawling estate.
The house loomed ahead—dark, guarded—its long windows reflecting the faint glow of the estate lights like watchful eyes.
Vincenzo didn’t turn off the engine.
He just sat there.
Hands locked around the steering wheel.
Jaw tight, as if he was holding something back.
Something he didn’t want to say to me.
I unbuckled slowly, the seatbelt clicking into place as I reached for the door handle.
The silence between us stretched, heavy and unresolved.
“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked, glancing at him.
“I’ve still got a meeting, and I’m running late,” he said, tone flat and final.
“Go inside. I’ll let you know when I return.”
I hesitated a second longer, searching his face for something—
But there was nothing.
So I stepped out.
The night air wrapped around me immediately.
