"Hi." My chest thudded like it'd been hit. I clenched my fists, steadying my voice. "But Enzo told me the engagement's off. You're done."
Valentina eyed me with pity mixed with amusement. She didn't rush to argue, just sauntered to the couch, shrugged off her coat, draped it over the back, and sat gracefully.
"Darling. If you believed Enzo, you're more naive than I thought."
She pulled a folder from her bag, tossed it lightly on the coffee table.
"Take a look."
My hands shook, but I sat and opened it.
An interview transcript. Subject: Martha Bennett. First thing, bold red text.
"She knew how to use her looks from a young age. Richard was just seduced by her."
The folder slipped from my hands, thudding loud on the floor. My fingers froze like ice.
Valentina picked it up, nail tracing the marked line.
"Your mom's straightforward." Her tone teased. "Looks like your talent with men runs in the family. Stepdad wasn't enough; now a mafia heir with a fiancée. Miss Bennett, you've got quite the appetite."
My temples pounded. Shame and rage from childhood flooded my chest, thick enough to choke me.
"Why'd you interview her?" My voice trembled; I hated that. "I didn't seduce anyone. Richard tried to assault me."
Saying his name made me want to puke.
"Oh?" Valentina arched a brow, zero sympathy. "Maybe. But are you innocent? What're you doing now? Sleeping in a taken man's bed, living in his house, carrying his kid. What do you call that?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came.
Because she was right. On the surface, from outside, that's what it looked like.
"Enzo said the engagement's off." I clung to it like a lifeline. "He'll marry me."
"You've got it wrong."
Valentina slowly pulled two things from her bag. A gold-embossed invitation. Photos.
The invite had two names: Enzo Falcone and Valentina Lombardi. Date next month. St. Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan.
Photos showed Enzo in a black tailored suit, the kind I'd seen him in a million times. Stone-faced, staring ahead. Valentina beside him in a floor-length white gown, arm linked with his.
They looked like a power couple straight out of a glossy mag. Perfect match. I stared hard, hunting for fakes.
Next month—he'd said it was off. But really, wedding next month.
My stomach twisted, pain sharpening as truth sank in.
The ring in his pocket, the "wait to marry me"—all lies.
My hands shook violently. The invite slipped, landing silent on the rug.
"You're lying. This is fake. Enzo wouldn't." My voice was dry, hollow—even I didn't buy it.
Valentina stood, slipping back into her coat.
"Darling Miss Bennett." She leaned in, voice low for us alone. "Enzo's not your idiot stepdad. He's the coldest, most rational man I know. He won't toss his throne for a stripper."
