Chapter 4: The Seed of Doubt

A soft knock echoed against the bedroom door.

Elena opened it slowly, her eyes lowered and shoulders slumped, the weight of the morning already pressing on her spirit.

Contessa Valentina stood there with a pitiful smile on her face. “I’m sorry, dear. I was helpless.”

Elena didn’t answer.

She knew better than to believe empty sympathy. No one could’ve saved her from Dario’s fury last night not even his beloved stepmother. So, without a word, she turned away and went back to her duties, her hands trembling as she stripped the bed sheets and replaced them with fresh ones.

The sound of the running shower in the background was a cruel reminder that he was still nearby.

Her hands moved mechanically, straightening the pillows, smoothing the comforter, folding the corners just as Dario liked it. Her body ached, her heart heavier than ever, but she kept moving.

“He’s in the shower?” Valentina asked quietly.

Elena nodded, not lifting her gaze.

Before Valentina could speak again, the bathroom door opened. A cloud of steam drifted out as Dario stepped into the room. His robe clung to his damp skin, his dark hair slicked back, water still clinging to his jawline.

His cold eyes briefly scanned Valentina, then landed on Elena who didn’t even glance his way.

Without a word, Dario walked into the closet to get dressed.

Valentina’s gaze followed him, but then something else caught her eye.

Elena pushed her hair back from her face unintentionally revealing the marks.

Love bites covered her neck, her jaw, even near the corner of her lips unmistakable signs of intimacy. Marks Dario had left behind.

Valentina’s stomach twisted with rage.

After all she had done every lie, every trap he still touched her?

She had sent him models, actresses, women with beauty and fame. Yet none of them had managed to keep his interest. Even when they hung on his arm at parties, he barely noticed them. And every night, no matter what, he came home.

To her.

Valentina’s jaw clenched.

She believed Dario only enjoyed breaking Elena. Making her cry. Making her weak.

But what she didn’t know… was that Dario never touched his wife when she cried.

No matter how cruel his words were, when he touched her, he did it with twisted tenderness coaxing her pain into pleasure. His tongue cut like a blade, but his body… it betrayed the control he tried so hard to maintain.

Dario never hit Elena. But his emotional cruelty had left her scarred in a different way. Every word, every accusation, tore a piece of her soul. And yet, she still loved him and still hoped he’d change.

A sharp wave of nausea suddenly struck Elena.

Clutching her stomach, she bolted toward the bathroom.

Valentina narrowed her eyes and followed.

Inside, Elena fell to her knees and vomited violently into the toilet. Her entire body shook as she tried to catch her breath. Valentina stood at the doorway, silently watching her, suspicion blooming in her eyes.

After several long minutes, Elena rinsed her mouth, pale and exhausted. She tried to return to her chores, but Valentina’s sharp voice stopped her.

“Elena… Oh my God, are you pregnant?”

Elena froze.

Her heart stuttered.

Before she could respond, Dario walked out of the closet, shirt half-buttoned, his tie hanging loose around his neck. His brows furrowed as he looked between the two women.

Valentina stepped closer to him, latching onto his arm with a forced, excited smile.

“Oh, Dario!” she gushed. “Finally, after three years… you’re going to be a father! I’m going to be a grandmother!”

Elena’s breath caught.

This wasn’t how she wanted him to find out.

She turned, her wide, innocent eyes locking onto her husband’s.

Dario’s expression darkened.

His gaze snapped to Valentina. “What did you just say?”

Valentina flinched at the sharpness in his voice and instinctively stepped back.

Dario’s jaw clenched as he turned toward Elena.

His eyes burned with disbelief.

“Elena is pregnant?!”

His tone thundered across the room, and Elena’s legs nearly gave out.

She couldn’t breathe. Her skin turned cold as he took slow, calculated steps toward her. The air grew heavier with every step he took.

When he stopped in front of her, his voice dropped to a low whisper.

“Is it even possible… for you to carry my child, sweetheart?”

His words were soft… almost loving.

But the storm beneath them raged louder than ever.

His voice wasn’t calm, it was lethal. And Elena knew it.

She didn’t speak or cry.

She only shook her head, instinctively trying to shield herself from the explosion she knew was coming.