For a fleeting moment, she wanted to tell him the truth, that she was already carrying his child.
But the brutal reality twisted like a dagger in her heart, dragging her into the depths of despair. Her voice came out sharp, edged with madness.
"Enzo, I’m atoning for my father’s sins. How could we possibly have a child?"
"You would become the target of public scorn. They would drown you in their contempt."
"Someone like me isn’t even worthy of being a mother."
A cold, self-deprecating laugh slipped past her lips as her clear, desolate eyes met his abyss-like gaze.
Enzo’s jaw tensed, his fists clenching at his sides. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with biting indifference.
"At least you have some self-awareness."
He stepped back, putting distance between them and without hesitation, he handed her a wedding invitation.
Kinsley took it, her fingers trembling as she unfolded the delicate paper.
Her gaze fell on the bride’s name—Quinn.
At that moment, memories surged like an unforgiving tide.
Once, she had held a wedding invitation just like this.
Once, her name had been there.
But time had passed. And there was no going back.
The bubbling of the soup on the stove broke the suffocating silence, pulling Kinsley from her daze. Slowly, she turned off the heat.
Enzo’s gaze lingered on her for a second, two seconds, before he turned away and strode upstairs.
Kinsley remained crouched on the ground, unmoving. The night stretched on, swallowing her whole.
Her head throbbed as if it might split apart, but she clenched her teeth and swallowed the pain in silence.
Her lips, bitten raw, seeped with blood and a dull ache coiled in her lower abdomen.
Dazed, she drifted into the past.
Back when Enzo’s father was still alive, they had already begun planning their wedding.
She still remembered the first time they met at a lively gathering in their youth. For Kinsley, it had been love at first sight.
And Enzo had felt the same.
That night, he had sat beside her, murmuring her name over and over as if engraving it into his soul.
Her hand had pressed against her chest, trying to steady the wild rhythm of her heart.
They had been happy once.
Until everything crumbled the night before their wedding.
She could still hear the desperate tremor in her mother’s voice, raw with panic.
“Kinsley, come home quickly! Something terrible has happened!”
Fear had seized her, but she hadn’t wasted a second. She had tried to call Enzo, but his phone remained unanswered.
By the time she reached home, a bloodied figure lay motionless on the ground.
She had shoved her way through the gathering crowd, only to stop dead in her tracks, her body frozen, her breath stolen by the sight before her.
Her mother clung to her, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Kinsley, talk to Enzo, please! Don’t let them send your father to prison!”
Her mind went blank. The words barely registered, drowned out by the chaos swirling around her.
Before she could make sense of anything, an ambulance arrived, sirens wailing and took the injured man away.
And then, she saw him.
Enzo stood there, his gaze piercingly cold, steeped in disappointment and something far worse, helplessness.
Her steps felt like lead as she forced herself forward, lips parting, yet no words came out.
His fingers dug into her shoulders.
“Kinsley, your father committed a crime and now you want mine to take the fall?”
His voice was laced with disbelief, with fury, with an ache she could not name.
Before she could respond, another figure broke through the crowd: his mother.
“You are the daughter of a murderer! I will never let you step foot into my house!”
