Enzo left.
I thought I'd feel relieved. The name that had kept me up night after night was finally about to disappear from my life. I should've been happy.
But after I closed the flower shop door, standing in the empty room, what I felt wasn't freedom, it was a vague sense of loss. Like someone had carved out a piece of my chest, leaving an irregular hole. Wind rushed through it, howling.
I told myself it was exhaustion, nothing else. Then I went home, warmed some milk, took a shower, and went to bed. Everything just like always.
But I tossed and turned until two in the morning without sleeping.
My mind kept replaying Enzo's retreating figure. His shoulders used to be so straight and tense, like he was always ready for battle. But today, when he turned away, those shoulders sagged. His whole silhouette looked smaller than I remembered, like a building stripped of its support beams.
And that last look he gave me, I'd probably never forget it.
Stop. Don't think about it.
We were never right for each other. The elevator, the club—just accidents that forced us together, a mistake.
What did we have in common? Nothing. Except maybe we were both stubborn.
I couldn't tolerate deception. I only wanted real feelings. But for Enzo, status, money, reputation—those were everything. Maybe he loved me once. Maybe even now, throwing everything away to find me.
But eventually he'd realize—it was just his obsession talking. His life had so few things he couldn't have, that's why he was so persistent. Years from now, he'd think: Chloe Bennett, just another woman. Not worth giving up everything for.
What made me think I could change someone who'd lived according to plan for so many years?
Stop being naive.
I slapped my cheeks, trying to banish that image of his back.
Next morning at seven, I mechanically got up, brushed my teeth, washed my face, changed clothes, and grabbed my bag for work. When I opened the door, my foot hit something.
A manila envelope sat on the doorstep, a silver key on top.
I struggled to crouch down and pick it up. As the months progressed, even simple movements had become difficult.
I opened the envelope. Inside was a property deed. I saw the name in the owner column: Ella Gray. The address was a big house at the foot of the mountain on the east side of town. At the bottom of the envelope was a bank card and a note in Enzo's handwriting, scrawled hastily. The card balance was listed—a number so large my fingers started going numb. Enough for me and the baby to live comfortably in this small town for many, many years.
My first reaction was disgust. I didn't want anything from him. It only reminded me of those humiliating words at the church door.
I crouched there, about to stuff everything back in the envelope, when I heard footsteps behind me.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. I knew that rhythm too well. A skill I'd developed at the villa—every night I'd wait for those footsteps to come home. Once, it had been my only happiness in that little house.
"That money isn't for you." The voice came from above me.
I stood and turned around. Enzo wore the exact same clothes as yesterday—dark gray sweater, black pants. His stubble was a bit longer. Deep shadows circled his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept at all.
"It's for the child." His tone was low, but his expression unusually gentle and firm. "Whether you forgive me or not, I'm this baby's father. I have a responsibility to provide for the child's future. You can hate me, you can keep me away, but you can't take away my rights as a father."
I noticed his hands hung at his sides, fingers slightly curled. Scabbed wounds covered his knuckles—from hitting something or being cut by something. Under his left sleeve, bandages wrapped around his arm, pink seeping through the edges. He had several injuries I'd never seen before. None of these existed before I left New York.
What the hell had this man been through to end up like this?
I didn't want to think about it. But I figured breaking away from that kind of family probably cost him dearly.
I was quiet for a long time. Finally, I put the envelope in my bag.
Then, without warning, Enzo pulled me into his arms again. His arms circled my back, holding tight, so tight I could barely breathe. My face pressed against his chest. I could hear his heartbeat.
