Chapter 29 #2
“Good,” I murmured, a slow satisfaction curling in my chest. “Then cooperate.” I leaned back slightly, watching her like a man watching a locked door. “Tell me about my daughter. Everything you hid from me.”
For a moment, Valentina didn’t speak.
I saw anger, yes.
But under it—hurt. Persistent. Quiet. The kind that didn’t heal.
“You want details?” she asked finally, voice edged with venom.
She crossed her arms like armor. “Fine.” She stared straight at me.
“Clara goes to bed at eight, but she usually wakes up around seven. She likes stories before sleep—and she’s picky about who tells them.
” Her mouth tightened. “She hates loud noises. She’s afraid of the dark, so I always leave a light on in the hallway. ”
A strange ache moved through my chest at how small those details were—and how violently it mattered that I didn’t know them.
“What else?” I demanded, keeping my tone hard.
“She loves drawing,” Valentina said, not looking away. “Flowers and dogs, mostly. She hates carrots, even though I try to make her eat them.” Her sarcasm returned, bitter as poison. “And she likes purple. Lilac. I hope that doesn’t interfere with your grand interior design plans.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Did she like the new room?” I asked, ignoring the jab.
Valentina hesitated—just a beat. Her lower lip caught between her teeth for a second, an unconscious gesture that snagged my attention in a way I didn’t want.
“She was scared,” she admitted finally. “It’s big. It’s unfamiliar. It’s not her room.” Her voice hardened. “It’s not our home. It’s your house, Enrico—and you didn’t bother to find out if she’d feel safe here before you dragged us into it.”
“That’s why we’re talking,” I snapped, pushing down the discomfort her words triggered. “If she needs something, you tell me now. I don’t want her to feel displaced.”
“She needs the home you took from her,” Valentina fired back, anger rising again. “She needs the life you destroyed the second you decided to interfere.”
My patience wore thin.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low.
“She also needs the father you stole,” I said, resentment heavy. “Five years I’ll never get back.”
Valentina’s gaze flickered away for the briefest second.
Then she came back sharper.
“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before you turned your back on us at the altar,” she said. “If there’s a villain here, Enrico—” Her voice dropped like a verdict. “It’s you.”
Silence settled again.
Neither of us willing to yield.
And yet, even through the hostility, my mind registered things that irritated me because they shouldn’t have mattered: the way her breath hitched when she was angry, the flush of color in her cheeks, the dangerous brightness in her eyes.
It was inconvenient.
It was a mistake.
“You can hate me all you want,” I said, forcing steadiness, “but you’re going to learn you don’t have a choice. The faster you accept it, the easier it will be for everyone—especially Clara.”
“Clara doesn’t need this farce,” Valentina said, pushing back from the table and standing abruptly. “And neither do I. Don’t expect me to cooperate just because you decided it.”
I stayed seated, watching her.
“Then prepare yourself,” I said coldly, a faint, dangerous smile touching my mouth. “Because I don’t give up easily. Not on Clara. Not on what’s mine.”
Her lips pressed together. Her breathing was fast.
And I hated how satisfying it was to see that my words still moved her—through anger if nothing else.
“I don’t know how I ever believed you loved me,” she said quietly, each syllable loaded with contempt—yet her gaze stayed on mine in a way that felt almost magnetic.
A cynical laugh escaped me.
“Apparently you’re good at believing lies,” I said. “Especially the ones you invent.”
“And you’re good at destroying the people you claim to love,” she shot back. “Especially when it means crushing them and humiliating them in front of the world.”
I stood before I planned to.
My patience had snapped—or something else had.
I crossed the space between us in slow, deliberate steps until I was close enough to feel heat coming off her skin.
“I won’t deny I made mistakes,” I murmured, voice low, dangerous in proximity. “But maybe my biggest mistake was ever letting you have power over me.”
Her lips parted as if to answer, eyes widening slightly—vulnerability flashing beneath the pride.
“You never let anyone have control,” she said, voice steady but tight. “No one controls you but you. That’s the tragedy.”
Her eyes held mine with an intensity that made it difficult to keep my face neutral.
The hostility between us was thick enough to choke on.
And under it, something else pulsed—something neither of us wanted to name.
“What’s your tragedy then, Valentina?” I asked, stepping closer—too close—until there were only inches between us.
I braced my hands on the arms of her chair, boxing her in without touching her.
“Not being able to admit you still miss me?” I lowered my voice further, letting it cut.
“That despite everything… you still want me?”
Her chin lifted, proud.
But her breath sped up, her eyes shining with something disturbed and furious.
“You’re delusional,” she whispered.
I smiled—cold, weaponized—because it was easier than admitting the truth in my own body.
“If I’m delusional,” I murmured, “then so are you.” My gaze dropped for half a second, then returned to her eyes. “I can feel the way you react to me. Even now. Even with all that hatred you’re trying to wear like armor.”
She shoved the chair back with her feet, forcing me to step away. Valentina stood abruptly and retreated a step, breaking eye contact like it burned.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, voice hard. “Whatever I felt for you died five years ago. At that altar.”
The words hit like a fist.
Something sharp moved through my chest.
I crushed it before it reached my face.
“Then maybe you need a reminder,” I said, voice dangerously low as I moved again—pinning her against the wall without touching her, close enough that escape felt impossible. “Because what I see isn’t indifference.” I held her gaze. “It isn’t disgust.”
I let the final word fall slowly.
“It’s fear.”
Valentina went still.
Eyes wide. Breath caught. Lips parted like she had a thousand words and none of them safe.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered, but the denial sounded thin even to her.
I leaned in just enough to make it unbearable.
“Then prove it,” I murmured. “Prove you feel nothing.” My voice stayed calm, but every word was loaded. “Prove I don’t affect you anymore.”
She didn’t answer.
Our faces were too close.
My own breathing had betrayed me, accelerating against my will.
This was dangerous.
Stupid.
And I still didn’t step back.
“Enrico…” she began, barely audible—half warning, half plea.
I didn’t move.
“I’m listening, Valentina,” I said softly, close enough to feel the heat of her breath. “I’m listening to every word you’re not saying.”