18. VALENTINO
18
VALENTINO
"She's growing up so fast."
I stand in my father’s house, watching as he cradles baby Mira in his arms, gently burping her after what must have been a big feeding.
There’s a peacefulness about him that still feels strange to see, like he's settled into this new chapter of his life without hesitation.
A proud smile tugs at his lips. "You're telling me. Even though I've already raised all three of you, each new child feels entirely different, especially since it’s been more than twenty years since Luciana."
"Well, back then, you wouldn’t have been able to do it without Mom, not with how busy you were running the business. Kids at this stage are a whole new chapter for you."
He nods, adjusting Mira in his arms. "Definitely. I feel like I’m a lot more involved this time around." His eyes soften, the weight of his words pressing into something deeper. "You’ll understand one day, when you have children of your own. I can’t explain it, it’s just… incredible."
There’s a glow to him, an unmistakable joy in his voice, and I can’t help but notice how different he looks now compared to the man I grew up with.
I remember the years after my mother passed, how the weight of grief had made him harder, more distant. The stress of running the company had consumed him, leaving little room for anything else.
But now? He’s lighter. Happier. It’s good to see.
"I’ve got some time before that happens." I can’t bother entertaining the thought too much.
"You never know. I had you all when your mother and I were still in our twenties. Life has a way of happening when you least expect it." His smirk is knowing. "Besides, things seem to be going well with Layla."
Layla. Just hearing her name sends a warmth through me, something unsteady and unfamiliar.
Last night, she fell asleep in my arms. That’s why I was late to work this morning, I didn’t want to leave her.
"I can’t complain. I’m lucky to have her."
The words feel dangerous on my tongue. They feel real. And for the first time, I guilt coils deep in my stomach.
I’m lying to my father.
He believes this is something genuine, something built on love and trust. And I’m feeding into it, letting him believe what he wants, because I know that’s the only way to secure my future in the company.
I tell myself that’s all this is. A business decision. The logical choice.
But why does it feel so wrong?
Why does it feel like I’m betraying something more than just my father’s trust?
A part of me wants to play up our relationship in front of my father, after all, wasn’t that the whole point of this arrangement? But as I say the words, I realize I don’t have to pretend.
It’s not an act.
It feels natural.
As if we’re already in a real relationship.
My father watches me closely before nodding, as if reaching a silent conclusion. "I had my doubts before, but after meeting Layla, I think she’s the right person for you."
His words catch me off guard. "You do?"
"I do." Then, after a brief pause, he adds, "In fact, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this."
I straighten, instantly alert. "Talk about what?"
For a brief second, I wonder if this is it, the moment he officially hands the company over to me. But instead, he sets baby Mira down in her chair and steps out of the room.
I frown, watching him disappear. When he returns a moment later, he’s carrying a small velvet box.
The second I see it, my stomach tightens.
"Dad, what is that?" My voice is carefully controlled even as my pulse kicks up a notch because I already know the answer.
He hands me the box. "Take a look."
I hesitate before opening it.
Inside, nestled against the plush velvet, is my mother’s ring.
The weight of it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
"She always wanted me to pass it on to you when the time was right."
I stare at the ring, my fingers brushing over the delicate band.
The diamonds catch the light, gleaming like something out of a dream.
Or a reality I wasn’t prepared for.
Yes, Layla and I have already discussed the engagement. This shouldn’t surprise me.
My father had always wanted me to marry young, just as he had. But now, holding the ring in my hands, the moment feels… surreal.
I swallow hard. "It’s beautiful."
My father smiles, his expression tinged with nostalgia. "I think Layla will appreciate the sentimentality behind it. She seems like someone who cares deeply about things like that."
I press my lips together and quickly close the box, shoving it into my pocket.
Something dark twists inside me. Guilt, again, but sharper this time.
This ring belonged to my mother. It was given in love, built on something real, something sacred. And here I am, using it for a lie.
It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel fair.
And yet, I pocket it anyway.
Because I know what’s at stake.
My father’s trust. The company. My future.
This is the right decision. The practical decision.
But as the weight of the ring presses against my leg, something inside me whispers that I’m making a mistake.
"Have you already been thinking about proposing?" My father’s eyes sharpen with curiosity.
"I have," I say too quickly, fumbling over my words before he has a chance to question me. "We’re already serious. This feels like the next natural step."
I picture it, kneeling in front of Layla, slipping this ring onto her finger.
It should feel hollow, given the reason behind our arrangement. But it doesn’t.
There’s a warmth in my chest, a sense of rightness I didn’t expect.
"I’m sure she’ll say yes," my father says with certainty.
I grip the box inside my pocket, my fingers pressing into the velvet. "How do you even work up the courage to propose?"
For once, I’m not just playing my role. I genuinely want to know.
My father chuckles. "It’s natural to be nervous. If you’re really worried, you could ask her parents for their blessing first."
I hesitate. I’ve never even met her mother. "Did you do that?"
His expression shifts, his gaze turning distant. "I did with your mother, yes. And though my relationship with Quinn’s father was… complicated, to say the least, I also let him know my intentions as soon as I made up my mind."
"I can’t imagine he was happy?" My father and Quinn’s relationship had its share of challenges, given their age gap and history.
"Not when he first found out, no. But when he realized we were both serious about this and that a baby was coming, he gave us his blessing.”
"I’m glad it worked out for you."
"I was lucky. I worried about how you kids would take it. But you were all so supportive and helpful. If it weren’t for you, I might have woken up too late for what I was giving up."
"We were old enough to understand. We weren’t going to stand in the way of your happiness. We love you, and we could all see that you weren’t living after Quinn left. It was like when you lost Mom all over again. We couldn’t have that."
He nods, looking relieved. "If you were younger, it would have been a different story. You never know how a new marriage can impact a child."
His words hit me harder than I expect.
Vincent.
The way he looks at me, the way he trusts me, the way he’s already started letting me into his little world.
It makes my stomach turn.
He’s a kid. A good one. And he deserves more than to be caught in the middle of whatever game I’m playing.
If I go through with this marriage, what happens to him?
I don’t want to be another man who walks into his life only to walk away again. I don’t want him to get used to having me around, only to one day wonder why I left.
I hadn’t fully considered his feelings in all of this. If I go through with the proposal, if we get married and then things fall apart, what happens to him? He doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this.
"But you don’t have to worry about that," my father adds, oblivious to my spiraling thoughts. "I’m excited to hear the engagement news."
I nod absently.
I exhale, pressing a hand to the bridge of my nose, exhaustion settling deep in my bones.
Sleep has been a stranger lately, chased away by the endless meetings, the constant pressure, and her . Eva.
The woman is relentless, a storm that refuses to pass. Every time I think I’ve handled her, she finds another angle, another loophole, another way to challenge my authority. She doesn’t just want to make things difficult, she wants to dismantle everything I’m building.
I’ve been playing defense, but it’s starting to feel like a losing battle.
"I spoke to Eva again." I drag my thoughts back to the conversation with my father.
His expression sharpens. "And?"
"She’s not backing down."
My father sighs, rubbing his temples. "Consider her a challenge. You’ll encounter plenty like her as CEO."
"I’m handling it," I assure him.
“Good. This will be a good obstacle for you. Problems like this won’t disappear once you take over, the higher you go, the more you’ll have to deal with people like her."
He makes it sound easy. But it’s not.
I think about the endless emails, the late nights spent poring over documents trying to find a way to shut down her influence. The quiet dread that settles over me every time I walk into a meeting, knowing she’ll be there, ready to undermine me.
But my father’s right about one thing. This isn’t just about Eva. This is about proving myself. Proving that I’m capable. That I can handle this, that I deserve this.
After saying my goodbyes, I leave his house, my mind still tangled in everything he said.
I don’t want to be the kind of man who walks into a boy’s life only to leave it. But my relationship with Layla is… complicated.
And yet, with every step I take, I realize one thing with startling clarity.
Maybe it isn’t just an arrangement anymore.
Not wanting to go back home, I instead drive to Dante’s house. He’s one of my closest friends. I need to clear my head, and a conversation with him, or at the very least, a solid workout, might help.
I find him in his gym, shadowboxing with a bag when I walk in.
"Well, well, well, look who decided to turn up." He grins as he lands another punch on the bag. "Care to join?"
I put on a pair of gloves. "Sure, why not."
"You look like you could use a good workout anyway."
"Oh, you have no idea."
"Trouble in paradise?"
I start throwing a few punches at the bag.
He smirks. "Or fake paradise. Whatever it is that you have going on with that girl."
Dante is the only person I’ve told about this arrangement.
"My dad expects me to propose to her soon." I land another jab at the bag.
"Shiiiit." Dante circles the bag. "That’s tough, man. But it’ll just be a temporary thing, right?"
We trade blows with the bag, the sound of leather hitting leather filling the room. Each punch seems to knock loose a bit of the tension I’ve been carrying, but it’s not enough to clear the fog in my mind.
"Temporary, yes, but I’m starting to finally realize that it’s not as simple as I thought it would be," I sigh. "She has a kid."
"Have you met him yet?"
"Yeah, he’s sweet. We really got along."
"So, what’s the problem, then?"
"He doesn’t deserve to be caught up in all this. If I go through with the proposal and it’s just a business deal, what happens to him if things fall apart?" I land a solid punch on the bag, growing more frustrated with myself by the minute.
"I see what you’re saying. He’s the one who’s going to be affected the most if things go south."
I don’t answer.
We keep sparring until sweat drips down my back.
Dante is the first to tap out, but I keep going. Every punch I throw releases more of the tension building up inside of me.
Finally, I step back, letting my gloves drop to the floor and sit down on the mat next to Dante.
"So, what’s your plan?" Dante wipes the sweat from his brow.
"I keep trying to tell myself that it’s going to be fine, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is all going to blow up in my face."
"Why not make this a real thing?"
The words hang in the air between us.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Because I don’t have an answer.
I’ve fallen hard for Layla. And that terrifies me the most.