Chapter 26
ELENA
The late-afternoon sun filtered through the lattice of the garden trellis, casting honeyed stripes across the stone path.
The light wasn’t harsh—just soft enough to make everything feel still, suspended between moments, as though even time hesitated to intrude on what was growing here.
I stood before my gardenia bush.
The same one I had planted eight months ago, born from loneliness and quiet frustration—back when Vincenzo refused to believe the child I carry is his... and still doesn’t.
Gardenias.
Fragile white blooms that opened in quiet defiance of the world around them, releasing their perfume only at dusk.
Back then, when the house had felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum, this plant had been the only thing that belonged to me.
Everything else belonged to Vincenzo.
Over the past eight months, Vincenzo had barely looked at me—unless it was to remind me I was there for a reason, and that reason had nothing to do with love.
And Violet—
She lived in the spaces I wasn’t allowed to occupy.
I was the wife no one wanted.
The shadow stitched into a life built on revenge and obligation.
So I gave the only thing I could.
Softness.
To this plant.
I started by watering it myself, carefully, almost reverently—until the soldiers began doing it under my quiet instructions.
Even that small act felt like control.
Like I was still allowed to nurture something.
Something that would grow because I wanted it to.
I talked to it.
On nights when the silence in the house pressed so hard against my chest that I couldn’t breathe, I whispered to the leaves as if they could hear me.
As if they understood loneliness the way I did.
And now—
Eight months later—
It had become something more.
A living promise.
Its leaves were deep green, glossy, full of life. The buds were swollen, almost ready to burst open into bloom.
And they would.
In one or two months.
Right around the time my child would be born.
I reached out slowly, my fingers brushing over the damp surface of the leaves—cool, fresh, grounding.
The scent lingered in the air.
Clean. Creamy.
Almost intoxicating.
It settled something inside me.
A quiet relief.
A fragile kind of calm.
I inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance fill my lungs, steadying the nausea that had become a constant companion these days.
My other hand rested instinctively over my stomach.
Round. Heavy.
Would my baby love this smell?
The thought came soft, unguarded.
Would he grow up surrounded by this scent and come to recognize it as something safe?
Would he press his tiny face into these petals one day and smile the way I did now?
The idea made something tighten in my chest.
Something dangerously close to hope.
A future.
A small, fragile one.
But still—a future.
“You should thank me you’re still alive, Elena.”
The voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
Sharp. Uninvited.
My eyes snapped open.
I turned.
Violet stood at the edge of the garden path.
And for a moment, I barely recognized her.
She was too thin.
Almost gaunt—like something inside her had been slowly eaten away from the inside out.
And yet—
Her belly was round and heavy.
Violet is nine months pregnant now and could go into labor at any moment.
She looked like she could topple over with the slightest movement, her balance precarious, her posture strained—but she stood there anyway, as if sheer will alone kept her upright.
Hatred burned in her eyes.
Bright. Unrelenting.
Unchanged.
She wore a cream silk dress that clung to her body in all the wrong ways—stretching over her frame, emphasizing her condition, her presence.
It wasn’t just clothing. It was a statement.
The last time I had seen her clearly was eight months ago—lying in that hospital bed, pretending to be gravely ill in front of Vincenzo. Only after he left did I realize it had all been a lie.
Since then, she had existed only in whispers.
In reports. In absence.
Renzo had told me that Vincenzo had kept her at a distance.
“He still sees her,” Renzo had said once, almost reluctantly. “But not here.”
“Where?” I had asked.
“Her apartment.”
A pause.
“He doesn’t bring her to the estate anymore.”
“Why?”
Renzo had exhaled. “He thinks she could be a problem for you, especially since you’re heavily pregnant.”
As if that was supposed to mean something.
As if that was supposed to comfort me.
Now I can’t help but wonder—what is Violet doing here?
And why is she this close to me?
She walked toward me with slow, deliberate steps, one hand resting under her belly.
“Don’t get too close, Violet. You’re always up to something, and I’m not in the mood for your tricks right now.” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the sudden tension coiling in my chest.
Violet stopped a few feet away.
Close enough.
She folded her arms beneath her chest, the movement lifting her belly even higher, making her appear both stronger and more fragile at the same time.
Her lips curled slightly.
“That bastard growing inside you has no right to be there. Agree to abort it... and you’ll live.”
My breath caught.
My arms crossed over my rounded stomach—protective, instinctive, almost defiant.
A silent barrier between her and the life growing inside me.
Violet noticed.
Her eyes flicked down for the briefest moment, tracking the movement, before snapping back to my face.
“Every attempt I made these past months to contact you about ending that thing in your belly before it grew... has failed.” She said, her voice tight.
She bit her lower lip until it whitened, as if holding herself back from saying more than she intended.
“Vincenzo only let me come to the estate today because I made it clear I’d hurt myself if he refused.”
I frowned slightly, trying to process that.
She let out a short, humorless breath.
“I even went as far as threatening to throw myself down the stairs in front of his men.”
Her eyes didn’t waver as she said it.
“I had to make him listen.”
A pause.
“Eventually, he caved.”
For a moment—
I almost laughed.
It came out as something bitter.
“So you blackmailed your way in, like you always do.” I muttered, shaking my head slightly
“I wonder how often you’ve twisted him to your will... it’s pathetic, really, to see a man so powerful wrapped around your fingers.”
Violet’s lips curved faintly.
“And that’s why you should be scared of me. If a man like Vincenzo can be bent to my will, imagine what I’m capable of.”
“Listen... I haven’t killed you all this time because I wanted to give you a chance—make sure you refused my offer—before I put you six feet under.”
Her voice was soft—poison wrapped delicately in silk.
The kind of tone that didn’t need to be loud to be dangerous.
I held her gaze, unflinching.
“Sometimes I can’t understand why someone as beautiful as you would be so cruel.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“It’s truly pitiful. You could have been extraordinary, if only you hadn’t let bitterness take hold of your heart.”
For the first time—
Something cracked in her expression.
Her eyes flashed, sharp and immediate, and she took a step closer, her posture tightening like a coiled wire.
“If the roles were reversed, you’d want revenge on the woman who took your man... and not just any day, but on her wedding day.”
The words snapped out of her like a whip. “Do you think I can ever forgive that?”
Another step.
“You’re the evil one here, Elena. Accept my offer and end it... or you and that child die.”
Her voice trembled now—not with weakness, but with rage barely contained.
Her gaze dropped to my stomach.
Lingered.
Burned.
Until I could feel the heat of her body pressing into mine, the tension between us almost suffocating.
Then her voice dropped.
Venomous.
“Death isn’t the only thing I can threaten you with.”
“Remember your little trip to California seven months ago? When Ruslan Baranov finally got his hands on you—I was the one who orchestrated it.”
“I told him exactly where you were. It still irritates me that Vincenzo got to you before Ruslan could finish the job.”
She added, as if savoring every word, “Pretty sure he would have killed you the moment you were taken to California—but he was taking his time, punishing you before finally ending you. Didn’t want your death to be too easy.”
Memories from seven months ago surged up, but I forced them down.
The horror wasn’t just in my mind—it had happened.
I knew she was the one who had betrayed me to Baranov.
And yet... here I am. Still standing.
Still alive.
I studied her face.
The pinched tension around her mouth.
The fever-bright intensity in her eyes.
The desperation hiding beneath the anger.
I tilted my head slightly, my arms still crossed over my stomach.
“No one even believes the child I’m carrying is Vincenzo’s. I’ve already done twenty-one DNA tests—none of them confirmed he’s the father. So why, exactly, does it bother you that I’m carrying this child?”
My voice was calm.
“You think I didn’t know the child is Vincenzo’s? Do you think those negative DNA results just happened? I’ve controlled every one of them.”
“Run a hundred more tests—here in Lombardy, anywhere in Italy—and they’ll all say the same thing. That’s how powerful I am, Elena. I will never let him know the truth.”
“I won’t allow him to see you differently. I won’t allow you to fully ensnare him.”
I froze, my chest tightening as the weight of her words sank in.
A storm of emotions roared inside me—rage, betrayal, fear, and a bitter, unspoken relief that at least I hadn’t been imagining things.
Violet stepped closer, until our bodies were almost touching.
Our heavily pregnant bellies were separated by mere inches.
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.