Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
ENRICO FERRARA
I left her room with my fists clenched and my jaw locked.
Her stubborn pride still burned on my tongue like a bitter taste, and I hated every second of it.
That woman threw me off balance.
She always had.
But now… now it was worse. Much worse.
Now Valentina looked at me like I was a stranger. Like what we’d lived together had never existed. Like I hadn’t been inside her world—like she hadn’t once been inside mine.
And the worst part?
A part of me believed I deserved that cold, indifferent stare.
Even as every step away from her felt like a constant fight between the control I had left… and the savage impulse to go back and pull her into my arms.
I crossed the hallway in absolute silence and locked myself in my office, trying to forget the image of her standing there in that thin nightgown, chin lifted, proud, pretending she was stronger than she felt.
Nothing in her trembled?
Lie.
I saw her chest rise too fast. I saw her breath hitch the moment I got close. I saw her fingers grip the dresser so hard her knuckles went white.
I saw it all.
And still I walked out.
Because that was what I had to do.
I had to keep control.
I had to prove—to myself most of all—that Valentina had no power over me anymore.
Except…
she did.
She always would.
Because she was the mother of my daughter.
And there was no undoing that. Ever.
I spent nearly an hour in my office pretending I could think about anything else.
I failed.
Eventually, I gave up and headed back toward my bedroom, determined to end this night and stop letting her take up space inside my head.
But when I reached my door—hand on the cold handle—something stopped me.
I heard it.
Low. Broken. Real.
A sound I shouldn’t have heard. A sound I never imagined I’d hear again.
Valentina was crying.
My entire body went rigid.
I turned without thinking and walked straight to her door.
I stopped there with my fists clenched, breath tight, my chest compressed by something heavy I couldn’t name.
She was crying quietly, trying desperately not to be heard.
But I heard her.
I heard every shaky breath, every stifled sob that slipped through the wood and landed inside me like a blow.
And hearing that—hearing Valentina fall apart like that—touched a part of me I’d sworn had died years ago.
Without thinking, I leaned my forehead against the cold wood and closed my eyes.
My hand rose.
I almost knocked.
I almost gave in to the impulse to go in and make the suffering stop—the suffering I had caused.
But I didn’t.
Because I knew.
If I walked into that room right now, I wouldn’t have the control I needed. I had no idea what I’d do. What I’d promise. What I’d give.
If Valentina looked at me with those dark, wounded eyes—
If she asked me for anything in that moment—
I would give her the world.
Even if I was still determined to destroy hers.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the frustration and guilt burning in my throat. I drew in a breath, the anguish threatening to suffocate me.
And then I whispered—so low it was almost nothing—a whisper meant for myself, for the night, and for her if some miracle carried it through the door.
“I’m here,” I muttered, rough. “For fuck’s sake…”
Valentina didn’t answer.
She kept crying, inconsolable, separated from me by a door I didn’t have the courage to open.
I turned away slowly, every muscle in my body tight and exhausted, and walked back to my bedroom like a coward.
Like a man who had failed—deeply—and would never admit it out loud.
Like a man who felt too much and hated himself for feeling at all.
Like a man listening to the woman he once loved cry behind a closed door… and not being brave enough to open it.
The house was swallowed by near-total quiet—quiet that should have been comforting, but instead made the chaos in my head louder whenever Valentina was near.
I went up to the TV room and stopped in the doorway, my steps catching when I saw her on the couch.
Valentina looked absorbed, legs tucked beneath her, a thin throw blanket pulled to her waist. The remote in her hand. On the screen—a romantic comedy she’d probably claim to hate if I asked.
She didn’t look up right away.
Or maybe she pretended not to see me.
I should have walked past.
I knew that.
But the need to provoke her—irrational and corrosive—was stronger than it should’ve been. A craving I didn’t like recognizing.
Neither of us had spoken about what happened two nights ago. We’d eaten dinner together since, but she didn’t know I’d heard her cry, and in theory I didn’t know she had.
Or that it had broken something inside me.
I walked in without a word and sat on the couch beside her.
Too close.
Valentina’s head turned instantly—sharp as a blade. Her entire posture shifted: shoulders tight, jaw set, eyes narrowing with restrained irritation.
“Could you please get out of my personal space?” she asked through clenched teeth. “I was here first.”
I leaned back against the cushion like I was relaxed, like my pulse wasn’t too fast.
“This is my house,” I said with a lazy shrug. “Any space in it belongs to me.”
“Oh, don’t start,” she muttered, exhaling in frustration. “We’ve been under the same roof less than a week and you’ve said that twenty times. The house, the couch, the air I breathe… it’s all yours, right?”
“Exactly,” I said, tapping the cushion between us. “Including this part.”
Her eyes narrowed further, and I almost smiled. She looked like she might lunge at me if I pushed one inch harder.
I wanted to see her try.
“By your brilliant logic,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “the couch is also half mine. We’re married. Or did you forget?”
I lifted one eyebrow, seizing the opening she’d handed me.
“Do you really want to go down that road?”
Suspicion tightened her mouth.
“What road?”
“The wife road,” I said smoothly. “Because wives”—I let the word sit—“have certain… obligations.”
She snorted, humorless.
“Go to hell, Enrico.”
“I’m just being logical,” I said. “You’re the one who insisted on mentioning our arrangement.”
“And I’m being patient by not kicking you out of here right now,” she shot back.
I propped my elbow on the back of the couch, giving her a cynical smile I knew would make her angrier.
Valentina’s patience snapped. She threw the blanket aside and stood, cheeks flushed with fury.
“You know what? If you won’t move, I will.”
“Be my guest,” I said, still seated, still provoking. “Go anywhere you like. The house is yours too. Half of it, at least.”
Her eyes cut into me.
I added softly, because I couldn’t help myself—
“Just don’t forget everything has a price.”
She stalked past me without looking at me, steps quick and tight.
But I saw what she tried to hide: the color climbing her throat, the way her breath sped up like her body was reacting to me in ways she refused to admit.
Her bedroom door shut a moment later—less violent than she wanted, but far louder than it should have been.
I stayed on the couch for a few minutes, the TV flickering in front of me, utterly uninterested in the movie.
Because the feeling inside me was—absurdly—good.
Light.
As if those barbed exchanges were the only thing that still made me feel alive.
And maybe, I thought as I stood and shut the television off, I should be concerned by how addicted I was becoming to this dangerous game.
Valentina was right about one thing:
We’d been under the same roof less than a week.
But the more she looked at me with hatred…
the more I wanted her to keep looking.
***
Late afternoon smelled like sweet popcorn and children’s laughter—an irritating kind of lightness I still didn’t know what to do with.
Clara ran a few steps ahead, excited, a pink lollipop shining in her small hand, her easy smile infecting everyone around her.
Including me.
Of course I would never admit that out loud.
“Mommy, look!” Clara’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts, her eyes bright. “Uncle Gustavo is there!”
Valentina followed Clara’s gaze and smiled—a light, calm smile that irritated me instantly for reasons I refused to examine.
“It is,” she said, lifting her hand. “Hi, Guto!”
A tall man in a casual black T-shirt approached with easy steps and an annoyingly friendly smile. The kind of man who could chat with a streetlamp and make it feel appreciated.
My eyes narrowed before I could stop them.
Habit.
Or instinct.
“Well, look who’s here!” he said warmly, crouching to hug Clara with a natural ease I didn’t like. “My favorite reader!”
“I finished the book you gave me!” Clara announced, waving her hands. “It had dragons and a girl who could talk to them!”
Gustavo’s smile widened as he listened, clearly delighted.
“Since when does your daughter hand out the title ‘uncle’ to random men?” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
Valentina shot me a hard look immediately, but Clara didn’t notice. Gustavo pretended not to hear, keeping his attention on Clara.
Valentina stepped closer, and her voice dropped—sweet in a way that was meant to cut.
“Since you’re not the only man in the world, Enrico.”
I turned to her slowly, serious.
“I’m the only one that matters.”
Her brow lifted—surprised by my audacity, irritated by it too.
“Oh yeah?”
“You haven’t accepted it yet,” I said, a cynical smile tugging at my mouth, “but you will.”
She looked away quickly, but not before I caught the smallest movement at the corner of her mouth—like she was fighting a smile she didn’t want.
Gustavo showed Clara something on his phone. She laughed.
I barely saw the screen.
My eyes were on his casual touch in her hair—harmless intimacy that bothered me far more than it should have.
“We’ll see each other at tutoring, okay?” Gustavo told Clara, standing. Then he turned to me with a friendly smile and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, man. I’m Gustavo. I teach creative reading at the kids’ program.”
I shook his hand.
Firmly.
Maybe a little too firmly.
“Enrico Ferrara,” I said, holding his gaze. “Valentina’s husband.”
I put emphasis on every word.
His smile faltered slightly.
“Oh—right. Congrats to the couple.”
“Thanks,” I replied with a minimal smile that wasn’t friendly at all.
He left quickly.
The silence that settled between Valentina and me afterward was thick, sticky.
Valentina crossed her arms and stared straight ahead, jaw tight.
“Are you always going to be unbearable, or do you have days you improve?” she asked, not looking at me.
“Only when my daughter introduces random men like they’re family.”
She turned fast, eyes narrowed.
“He works with children,” she snapped. “Clara adores him.” Her voice dropped, warning. “And you should start watching your mouth when you feel like throwing the word ‘daughter’ around in front of Clara.”
I kept my face neutral and ignored the order.
“Still,” I said, “the ‘uncle’ title should require credentials.”
She rolled her eyes and didn’t answer—which only irritated me more.
Clara kept walking ahead, completely unaware of the quiet battle unfolding behind her.
I drew a breath, trying to ignore the irrational urge to pull Valentina by the waist and remind her who the only man was going to be in her life.
Even if, right now, that was only true in my head.
But what bothered me most wasn’t Gustavo.
It wasn’t even the jealousy I refused to name.
It was the sharp, unmistakable feeling that even standing beside them…
I still didn’t truly belong to that world.
Not yet.