Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
VALENTINA FERRARA
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching Clara sleep.
She was finally resting after the exhaustion of those infernal days.
First the wedding. Then the move. And the first days living under the same roof as Enrico had been no less brutal than the two that came before the disaster that was our marriage.
Every soft rise and fall of my daughter’s chest was a painful reminder of the absurd situation we were trapped in now.
The last name Ferrara felt heavy on my tongue. Like an anvil.
There was nothing left of the happiness or love I had once dreamed of having with him.
Every sharp exchange with Enrico in those first days, every provocation, every challenge—I knew exactly what they were.
Survival.
It was the only way. The only way I could still feel something that resembled control over my own life.
And yet, with every lingering look we shared, every time he invaded my personal space, every time his eyes dropped to my lips or his hands clenched and released in an obvious loss of control, I felt myself slipping further from that illusion of control.
I looked around the bedroom—luxurious, elegant, impersonal—and couldn’t stop thinking about how far this reality was from the life I had once imagined for Enrico and me.
With a euphoric smile, I took a few steps back, carefully adjusting the position of the picture frame for the fifth time.
Every detail of that penthouse had once mattered too much.
Because this was supposed to be where I would live the happiest days of my life.
Our home.
My heart had raced back then, imagining the stories we would live in that space. The memories we would build together.
I bit my lip, trying to decide if I had finally found the perfect spot for the photo, when an ugly memory surfaced—unexpected and cruel—slowly erasing my smile.
A week earlier, a tabloid headline at a newsstand had caught my eye:
“Billionaire playboy Enrico Ferrara and his new conquest — Cinderella or gold digger?”
The words clung to my mind like poison.
A constant, painful reminder that there were people out there who believed I was nothing more than an opportunist chasing the Ferrara fortune.
The insecurity wrapped itself around me, smothering the earlier euphoria. The genuine happiness I’d been feeling minutes before vanished completely.
“Valentina?”
Enrico’s warm voice echoed through the room, making me flinch. I hadn’t heard him approach.
I turned to find him looking at me with concern, already closing the distance. His strong arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace, his familiar warmth immediately calming my racing heart.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, kissing my forehead, then my cheek, before his lips finally found mine.
I closed my eyes, sighing into his touch.
I loved that. Every caress. Every kiss. Every quiet display of affection.
Touch was one of my love languages, and Enrico knew exactly how to use it—to calm me, to make me feel safe.
“You look worried,” he said gently, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. “Talk to me, love. What happened?”
I swallowed hard, hesitating, fighting the insecurity threatening to take over again.
“Who do I need to kill?” he added with a grin, making me laugh despite everything.
I looked around once more, loving every piece of the home we were building—yet suddenly feeling guilty for it.
“Don’t you think this is all… maybe… too much?” I asked, gesturing to the spacious living area.
The sophisticated furniture. The expensive artwork. Everything felt grand. Intimidating.
Enrico frowned slightly.
“Of course not. It’s our home. Our place. I want it to be perfect for you.”
The tenderness in his voice still startled me.
My heart sped up, a painful doubt tightening in my chest.
“Sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a dream I could wake up from at any moment,” I admitted quietly, looking away, my cheeks burning.
He pulled me closer and let out a low chuckle. One hand lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“It’s not a dream, Valentina,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “It’s real. We’re real. And I’ll prove that to you every day for the rest of our lives.”
His warm, gentle kiss erased my doubts and fears in an instant.
In his arms, everything made sense.
There—in that new penthouse, still empty of stories—I believed nothing and no one could destroy what we had.
I was happy.
So deeply happy it scared me.
“I love you,” I whispered against his lips, feeling complete in a way I’d never imagined possible.
“I love you too,” he said, looking at me as if I were the most precious thing he owned.
I sighed, happy one second—
—and terrified the next when the bedroom door opened slowly, dragging me back to the present.
“Mrs. Ferrara?” a staff member said softly. “Mr. Ferrara asked me to inform you that you’ll be traveling to S?o Paulo early tomorrow. He asked that your bags—and the child’s—be prepared.”
My throat tightened.
The audacity of that man stole the air from my lungs.
“Thank you,” I murmured with effort, holding back the tears threatening to spill.
The door closed, leaving me alone with my memories—and my bitter new reality.
I walked to the window and stared out into the night.
The mansion. The luxury. The Ferrara name.
None of it mattered.
Because the most important things were missing.
Love. Respect. The life I had once dreamed of.
Now all that remained was the suffocating pain of knowing I was trapped in a sham marriage with the man I had once loved more than anything.
A man who now seemed determined to grind down every piece of my pride, day by day.
Tomorrow, once again, I would follow his orders.
Tomorrow, once again, I would pretend to be happy—
—even though that happiness had died years ago.