Chapter 21 #2
By the time I reach Fran’s penthouse, I’ve forced myself into something resembling calm. I’m centered and prepared which is the armor I need for tonight.
She opens the door before I can knock.
She’s immaculate, dressed in bold, punishing red, every line of her gown sharp enough to cut. Her hair is slicked back into a severe twist, her makeup sculpted to perfection. She looks every inch the Donna she wants the world to believe she already is.
But her eyes…her eyes betray her.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“I don’t know if we should go tonight,” she says softly.
I raise a brow. “Oh? And why’s that?”
She steps aside, letting me into the penthouse. Her perfume hangs in the air. I used to love the scent. Now it curdles my stomach.
“I’ve been feeling sick.” She hesitates. “I’m late.”
As I cross the threshold, Elizabeth’s warmth still clings to my skin like a secret fingerprint, and I know before Fran even continues that tonight is going to demand a performance I no longer want to give.
I pause. “Late?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, unreadable. “My period is late, Lorenzo.”
For a second, the breath leaves my lungs.
Everything I planned—
The carefully worded speech.
The polite severing of ties.
The clean break that would have freed us both.
All of it is knocked violently off its axis by two simple words.
I search her face, but she gives nothing away. No triumph. No fear. Just a cool neutrality that feels like its own trap. She lets the silence stretch until it frays at the edges. And for the first time in years, I’m unsure what to do.
“How late?” I ask, my voice lower than I intended.
She exhales a humorless laugh, brushing a hand over her flat stomach as if she’s trying to feel something that isn’t there yet.
“I should’ve started three days ago.” Her gaze meets mine, sharp as broken glass. “I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but it looks like you might be getting what you paid for sooner than expected.”
The words hit like a slap.
What you paid for.
She means the contract. The alliance with her father. The expectation that she’d give me an heir because that’s what the Family demanded.
An image of Elizabeth flashes through my mind. The softness of her breath, the way she whispered my name in the dark. How she trusted me. How she swallowed the birth control pill I handed her this morning without a second thought.
Except it wasn’t a birth control pill. And I’m the one who swapped he her birth control with placebos. I’m the one who decided her future for her.
Fran says, “I’d guess we conceived when we went to Bali over Thanksgiving.”
A week before Sienna and Elizabeth came to Chicago, back when I was thinking like a Don instead of a man…
Fran’s words settle in my ears as the memory of Elizabeth taking the placebo fades. Guilt punches through my chest with a force that steals my breath.
Two women.
Two possibilities.
Two futures—one chosen for me, and one I’m trying to build in the shadows.
And I’m the one who’s turned it all into a tangle of secrets and lies. The kind of lies that can’t coexist without someone getting hurt.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Fran’s hazel eyes are full of tears.
When I don’t speak she says, “Father said I have to make an appearance tonight, so I suppose we should go for a bit.” She walks past me, grabbing her clutch with a steady hand. “Please don’t hold it against me if I don’t stay long. I’ve been nauseous all day.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
I watch her disappear into the hallway, the click of her heels echoing through her apartment like a closing door.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t know who I am in this story. The Don? The fiancé? Or the man who left a woman he actually wants sleeping alone in his bed?
I take a moment to center myself.
One month ago, the plan was crystal clear:
Marry Fran.
Produce a male heir.
Preserve the Conti legacy.
It was transactional. Strategic. Efficient. Everything I’ve built my life around. But then came Elizabeth And now everything is complicated.
I’ve always prided myself on being a man of my word—doing what needs to be done even when others would run. Which is why I know exactly what I have to do tonight. Even if it cuts me open.
Closing my eyes, I say a silent prayer that Elizabeth… Miss Miller… will forgive me.
When Fran returns I stand and extend my arm.
“Thank you,” I say.
Her brows knit with surprise. “For what?”
“For giving me an heir.” I kiss her knuckles above her engagement ring with practiced ease. “After the gala, I’d like to come back here. To spend the night..”
She stares at me, suspicion flickering behind her eyes.
“You confuse me, Lorenzo Conti. One moment you’re all in, the next I worry you’ll vanish without a word.”
I offer her the same smile I’ve used to disarm enemies and woo diplomats.
“I’m all in,” I lie smoothly. “In fact, when we return tonight, perhaps we can go over some of the wedding details.”
Fran studies me for a long moment. Then, she nods.
“I’d like that.”
The terrible thing is I’m sure she means it while I don’t.
But as we walk toward the car, her hand in mine and my future supposedly set, I can’t stop the ache in my chest.
Because no matter what I just promised Fran… My heart is already somewhere else. And I may have just sentenced the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted to a kind of heartbreak she never deserved.
The gala is packed with wall-to-wall wealth, power, and sharpened smiles. Flashbulbs go off. Strings swell. Champagne flows like water. And it all feels so fucking suffocating.
We barely make it two steps into the ballroom when Fran’s parents intercept us.
Her mother’s eyes shine like polished knives. “Did you tell him?”
Fran’s cheeks flush bright red. “Mother.”
“What?” Victoria presses, annoyance dripping from every syllable. “A woman is allowed to be excited for her first grandchild.”
My stomach clenches so hard it feels like someone’s driving a fist beneath my ribs. I force my face into the polite smile expected of a Don. It’s measured, unreadable, but carved from stone.
“That may be,” I say evenly, “but it’s wise to keep things like this under wraps for a while.”
Victoria’s expression curdles instantly, like spoiled milk. “You always seem to keep anything involving my daughter under wraps.”
The accusation slides through the air like a blade.
Federico’s head snaps toward her, eyes flashing his warning. “That’s enough, wife. Lorenzo is following tradition. We don’t announce anything until we’re sure everything is in order.”
He turns to me next, and to my disgust, his face softens—approval blooming like rot.
“I see you’ve come to your senses.”
My jaw aches from the effort it takes to keep smiling. To stay still. To not show the fury simmering beneath my skin.
They think this is about duty and about the Family.
They have no idea that upstairs, in my penthouse, lies the woman who has turned every plan I had inside out… the woman whose breath still warms my sheets, whose trust I’ve already broken in ways they’ll never imagine.
They have no idea that the word grandchild does not make me think of Fran at all.
It makes me think of Elizabeth. Of the pill she swallowed. Of the choice I stole. Of the future I’ve already imagined for her, one she doesn’t even know she’s standing on the edge of.
A future that can’t—mustn’t—exist.
Because as Federico drones on about tradition, alliances, legacy, every syllable digs the truth deeper into my bones.
I have to end things with Elizabeth. Not because I want to. But because I’m trapped in a web of expectations spun long before she ever touched my life. A web woven by blood, power, and promises I never should’ve made.
She’s upstairs in my penthouse, sleeping in my bed, wearing my shirt, trusting me like I’m something clean and safe.
And I’m standing here, surrounded by vipers, pretending I’m still theirs.
The guilt claws at my ribs, brutal and relentless.
Because I know exactly what I have to do.
I have to break the girl who looks at me like I’m worth saving. Push her away before she realizes the monster she’s curled her soft heart around. Cut her loose before she learns the truth about the pills, the lies, the future I almost dared to want with her.
I have to let her go—for her sake, not mine.
But as Fran’s mother smirks, and Federico beams because I’ve come “to my senses,” the bitter truth twists inside me.
Ending things with Elizabeth might be the one decision I’m not strong enough to make.
But I say to Federico, “Indeed.”
Federico claps me on the shoulder. “Good. Now let’s have a drink to celebrate.”
A server appears instantly, as if the universe is mocking me with convenience. Fran accepts a flute, takes a delicate sip before setting it aside.
I drain mine in one swallow.
The champagne burns all the way down, but it doesn’t touch the fire in my chest. It doesn’t dampen the image in my head of Miss Miller curled in bed.
God help me.
Federico gestures toward the dance floor. “Take my daughter out for a spin.”
I do what’s expected.
We dance.
We smile.
We look like the perfect couple under chandeliers worth more than some men’s lives. People watch us—investors, politicians, families who want what we represent. Legacy. Power. The future.
But inside, I’m hollow.
Fran laughs. I nod. Someone congratulates us on our upcoming wedding. I don’t remember who.
My vision tunnels. My body moves on instinct.
Her hand on my arm.
Her perfume.
Her father’s eyes on us like a brand.
The haze thickens—champagne, duty, expectation.
One kiss. Another. I kiss her because someone will notice if I don’t. Desire doesn’t course through me. It claws, feral and wrong, because every touch I give Fran feels like a betrayal to someone who doesn’t even belong to me.
Fran pulls me outside. I follow. Not because I want to. But because I can feel the walls of my life closing in.
The limo door shuts. I take her in the limo, fueled by something beyond my control. Later, at her house, she kisses me again I let her. Just as I let her take me to bed and climb on top of me.
And somewhere I realize there is no turning back.
I have doomed myself with that decision. And I might have doomed Miss Miller, too.