"You're just a toy. Accept it and leave. It's better for you."
She straightened, fixed her collar.
"Next month, fifteenth, St. Patrick's." Her heels clicked sharp across the floor to the door. She paused, glancing back with a smirk. "You're welcome at our wedding."
The door shut.
I sat on the couch, baby catalog open on my lap to "A Cozy Home for Baby."
I stared at the words; they blurred into a dark smear. Felt like they mocked me.
Anna came from the kitchen, setting a glass of water beside me.
"Miss Bennett, you okay?"
I looked up. Anna's face was worried, guilty. But I knew she wasn't tied to Valentina like that; she'd been waiting for someone, though.
I had no energy for it now. My head was mush, thoughts a tangled mess like overcooked soup.
"I'm fine. Need to be alone."
Anna gave me a complicated look for seconds, then nodded and slipped away quiet.
I collapsed on the couch, arm over my eyes, letting darkness swallow me. My mind spun—trust Enzo or her? No answer. By evening, I'd quit thinking.
Enzo would be back soon anyway.
An hour later, his footsteps echoed from the entry. He entered the dark living room, pausing at my outline.
"Why no lights?" He hit the switch. Warm glow lit my face; I squinted.
Enzo saw my expression, brows furrowing. He came over, crouched in front of me, hands bracing the couch, caging me in.
"What's wrong?"
I studied his face. Worry, concern—but maybe he'd shown the same to another woman.
I almost blurted about Valentina, almost threw the invite and photos at him. But I held back at the last second.
If he was lying, confronting would just get more bullshit to shut me up. He was a hundred times smarter; I'd never win head-on.
I needed to probe another way.
"Enzo." My voice stayed calm. "Is the engagement really off?"
No flicker in his expression. "I told you. It's off."
"And Valentina? She okay with it? Her family?"
His brow twitched. "Why ask now?"
"Just confirming." I looked down, dodging his eyes. "Been thinking about it. You said wait, but no details on the plan. Don't know how long or how you'll handle it. Makes me uneasy."
Every word was true. But I said them to watch him, not for comfort.
Enzo's hand covered my knee, thumb rubbing through the fabric.
"Chloe." His tone was certain. "You're pregnant; mood swings are normal. Don't overthink. I said I'd handle it—you just trust me."
