Chapter 3

Elena's POV

The pregnancy test report felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in my hands.

The doctor smiled. "Congratulations, Mrs. Castro."

My throat tightened.

I'd thought it was just a stomach bug.

I walked out of the hospital in a daze, clutching that report.

Fear wrapped around my throat like shackles, pulling me in opposite directions.

If I told Riccardo, how would he react? Would this child be "the Castro heir" to him, or just another "problem" to deal with? This baby—to me, it was flesh and blood. To him, it might just be one more complication.

Especially now that Serena was back.

But what if he wanted the child?

Then he would never let me go. The divorce papers would be torn to shreds, the war correspondent application would become waste paper, I'd be trapped in this manor, continuing to be that transparent, silent "Mrs. Castro" who could be replaced by Serena at any moment.

Finally I made a decision:

Go back. Tell him.

Because as the child's father, he had the right to know about the baby's existence.

I would return to the manor. I would tell him everything. Tell him I was leaving.

Perhaps he would let me go for the child's sake.

When I reached the entrance, I heard voices inside.

Serena's voice.

"...what am I supposed to do, Riccardo? I only just found out myself..."

Riccardo's voice was lower. I couldn't make out his words. But Serena's next sentence came through crystal clear:

"Are you happy? About this baby..."

The rest was drowned out by laughter.

My mind buzzed.

Suddenly, I couldn't hear anything, couldn't feel anything.

My bag slipped from my fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud.

Riccardo's voice called from inside: "Who's out there?"

He came to the door, opened it, and saw me.

Serena appeared behind him:

"Elena? Are you all right? You look terrible..."

Riccardo didn't look at her. He stepped forward, reaching for my arm: "Elena, listen to me—"

"Riccardo!" Serena's voice suddenly rose, carrying tears. "You promised me..."

I took a step back, yanking my arm free. I bent down, grabbed my bag, and turned away.

He called my name behind me. I didn't stop.

I didn't know where to go. The manor was Riccardo's, the apartment in the city was Castro family property. I had nowhere that was mine.

For the next two days, I did everything I could to avoid Riccardo.

I locked myself in the second-floor study, staring at my computer screen.

The war correspondent application had been submitted. But now I didn't know what to do.

I was carrying Riccardo's child. And Riccardo had gotten another woman pregnant.

On the third evening, I came back from outside to find Riccardo waiting for me at the manor entrance, leaning against his car.

He blocked my path.

"You've been avoiding me for two days."

I said nothing, standing there looking at him.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. After taking a drag, he spoke: "Tomorrow is your birthday."

I froze.

I'd almost forgotten. Riccardo actually remembered.

"I've been neglecting you lately." His tone was even, but his eyes stayed on my face for a long time. "I've made arrangements for tomorrow. Dinner. Just the two of us."

My first instinct was to refuse.

But when the words reached my lips, I stopped.

I was leaving. No matter what happened with this baby, I wasn't coming back to this manor. This might be the last time—the last time sitting with him, the last time seeing his face, the last time pretending there was still something between us.

"All right," I said.

The next evening, he took me to a private terrace overlooking the Bay of Naples. White tablecloth, candles, a view of the entire harbor at night.

He rarely arranged this kind of thing himself.

We ate in silence for a while.

Suddenly, a burst of light appeared across the bay, followed by a boom.

Fireworks.

Gold, red, purple—blooming across the water, reflecting on the surface, lighting up the entire harbor. I turned to look at Riccardo.

He wasn't watching the fireworks. He was watching me.

"Do you like it?"

I didn't answer. I hadn't expected this. He'd never done anything like this for me before.

My eyes burned. I held back tears.

He stood up, walked over, and pulled me into his arms. His chin rested on top of my head.

I could feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

This was the first time he'd ever held me like this.

I closed my eyes and buried my face in his shoulder. Cologne, cigars, and that scent I could never name that belonged only to him.

Just this once, I told myself. One last time.

"Elena, about Serena's pregnancy—" his voice came from above my head.

"Riccardo!"

Serena stood at the entrance.

"You've already started! I thought I'd be the first one here..."

She walked over, set a gift bag on the table, her eyes pausing on me.

"Elena's birthday should be celebrated properly. I thought you'd want me here too."

After Serena sat down, the atmosphere became awkward.

Riccardo didn't say much, but he didn't send her away either.

Halfway through the meal, one of the stone pillars at the edge of the terrace made a groaning sound.

It fell toward Serena. She screamed—the edge of the stone caught her shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

Riccardo sprang from his chair.

"Riccardo... it hurts... my baby..." Serena's voice was thin and trembling, her hand clutching his sleeve.

He bent down, scooped her up, and carried her toward the exit.

I stood there.

I looked down at my leg—when the pillar fell, debris had flown up and sliced my calf. Blood ran down my ankle. Not serious, but it wouldn't stop.

But Riccardo didn't look once.

He carried Serena away.

I looked down at the blood on my leg.

My fingers gripped the table edge as I tried to stand. But my vision started to darken.

I heard someone shouting "Ma'am," the voice getting farther away.

I woke to the smell of disinfectant.

I turned my head and saw two figures at the door. Riccardo and the attending physician.

My eyes locked on the medical chart in the doctor's hands.

What did it say? About my pregnancy? About the baby?

The doctor stepped forward: "Mr. Castro, regarding your wife's condition, I need to explain—"

He couldn't know.

I couldn't let Riccardo know.