The word "pregnant" hit me like a bucket of ice water.
"She's pregnant? What does that have to do with you? I thought you hated her."
The air froze. A flicker of guilt finally surfaced in his eyes.
After a long pause, he spoke, his voice tight with strain.
"I'm sorry. The child… it's mine."
"I was drugged that night. Isabella saved me."
"Elena, what happened between us… it was for the good of the family."
With every word of his pathetic explanation, my heart sank deeper.
"An 'exchange of interests' that involves an heir?"
"Dante, can you get rid of it?"
My voice was a desperate whisper, thin and fragile.
"Elena, that's my child, too."
"You can't give me an heir, but I have the right to be a father."
"Besides, she just wants the child. It won't threaten your position as my wife."
I only hesitated for a moment, but his tone was already sharp with urgency.
So urgent that he spoke without thinking, wielding my deepest wound as a weapon to persuade me.
"You've never been a mother, so you can't understand her pain."
"But you can't be this selfish!"
Selfish?
I thought of the child I’d lost ten years ago.
When I went to save him, I was already three months along.
But we were young, and life was hard. I was so rail-thin I never even knew.
It wasn't until I lost him that I knew he'd ever been there.
I was so afraid of saddening Dante that I had buried the secret deep in my heart.
Ten years of silent suffering, only to be called selfish.
I was suddenly exhausted, with no strength left to argue.
Things had come to this. There was no need for me to stay. I would give Isabella and their child my place.
Maybe that would make things easier for him.
"There's an engagement party tomorrow night. This whole mess started because of you, so go and make it right."
After tossing out that cold command, he turned and left.
I arrived at the engagement party on time.
Dante had many enemies, so he rarely exposed me to the public.
But now, for Isabella's sake, he had pushed me into the spotlight.
I recited the speech he had prepared for me, word for word.
Not until the last syllable fell did I realize the script was, between the lines, filled with blessings for Isabella and praise for her as the family's future matriarch.
The camera flashes were blinding. I couldn't tell if the dampness in my eyes was from the harsh light or something else.
Just as I was about to step down from the stage, the large screen behind me flickered, then scrambled before settling on a video from ten years ago: me, being tortured by a rival gang for three days and nights.
In an instant, I knew who was behind this.
Because Dante had silenced everyone involved in that incident.
He had comforted me, promising that no other soul would ever know.
And slowly, I had begun to heal.
I never imagined that, years later, the one to tear that old scar open for the world to see…
Would be my husband.
As the video played, the terrifying memories I had long suppressed came rushing back, a weight I could no longer bear.
Microphones and frantic reporters cornered me.
They picked apart every bloody detail, repeating them over and over.
I clutched my head, which felt like it was about to split open, and collapsed to the floor, my hands trembling as I pulled out my phone.
I had to ask him why.
When the call connected, Isabella answered.
"Dante is busy picking out a gift for our baby. He doesn't have time for you."
"He's long since grown tired of a cripple like you. He approved all of this. If you know what's good for you, get lost."
"And if this lesson wasn't enough, you're welcome to try me again."
The phone slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor. The final blow landed. I couldn't take any more, and the world went black.
