Chapter 37
THIRTY-SIX
VALENTINA FERRARA
The mansion’s wide, silent hallway made the exhaustion from that insane trip to S?o Paulo feel heavier with every step.
Enrico’s sudden change of plans had left me on edge. He’d called while I was still at my parents’ house, and something in his voice—so unlike his usual arrogant, untouchable tone—had unsettled me. There had been urgency in it. Hesitation. And something else I couldn’t name.
Since we returned, Enrico had been… wrong. Almost unrecognizable.
On the entire drive back to Tiradentes, he barely spoke. He just watched me—intensely, almost obsessively—those gray eyes loaded with something that looked like regret… or anguish.
It didn’t make sense.
Not coming from him.
I released a slow breath as I kept walking, my mind boiling with questions that refused to settle into answers. Maybe it was just another one of his games. A more sophisticated kind of emotional torture—because Enrico Ferrara had become an expert at that.
Then I heard it.
A low murmur coming from one of the rooms ahead.
I slowed automatically.
I recognized Enrico’s voice immediately—raised in a way I had never heard before.
“You don’t understand, André—” he almost shouted, and then, in the next second, his voice dropped.
I should have kept walking.
I should have turned away.
It wasn’t my business.
But curiosity—paired with the sheer strangeness of everything that had happened that day—pulled my feet toward the door.
It wasn’t locked. Just barely closed.
A thin crack showed a sliver of the room beyond.
I stayed a step back, arms pinned to my sides so I wouldn’t brush the door by accident and give myself away.
“I don’t know how to handle this now,” Enrico said, this time almost a whisper. “How am I supposed to look at her after everything I did?”
His tone was… stripped. Raw. Unarmed.
For the first time since our reunion, I heard a trace of the man I had once fallen in love with.
Except the sound coming through that crack hurt in a way I wasn’t prepared for—like Enrico was suffering just saying the words.
My heart began to pound, hard and fast, as I tilted my head slightly, drawn in by the distress in his voice.
“You have to tell her the truth, Enrico,” André answered calmly, in a normal voice—as if refusing to mirror his brother’s whisper. “Valentina deserves to know you’ve found out. It’s the least you can do.”
Wait.
They were talking… about me?
A heavy pause hung in the air.
My breathing turned shallow, tight.
Truth?
What truth had Enrico found? What truth did he need to tell me?
Cold swept over my skin as my mind fired through possibilities like sparks.
Had he—somehow—finally understood I was innocent? That I had never betrayed him?
No.
No, that was impossible.
If it were that, he wouldn’t sound so torn apart.
…Would he?
My hands started to tremble as I tried to assemble the pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t known existed.
Hope—sharp, painful hope—pressed against the caution I had spent years forcing into my bones.
I couldn’t allow myself to believe he’d discovered the truth and regretted what he did.
That kind of hope was dangerous.
But then why did André sound so certain? Why did he sound like this was clear and undeniable?
What had Enrico found that justified the hesitation in his voice?
A wave of vulnerability crashed through me. An overwhelming urge to step into that room and demand answers.
And still, I stayed frozen—paralyzed by the fear that the answer might be more devastating than I could survive.
“I can’t do this right now,” Enrico whispered. His voice shook. “I don’t even know how to act around her after this. Maybe it’s better to keep it quiet for now.”
My chest clenched so hard it hurt.
Keep it quiet?
André’s tone sharpened—indignant.
“For now?” he repeated. “Enrico, you can’t be serious. You have concrete proof Valentina is innocent and you’re still going to hide it from her?”
Concrete proof of my innocence.
My knees went weak.
“And she never cheated on you,” André continued, as if he was speaking directly into my skull. “She never deserved what you did to her.”
Enrico knew.
He knew—without question—that I had never betrayed him.
My chest started to ache as the reality sank in deeper.
“It’s not that simple, André!” Enrico snapped, his voice rising, defensive and desperate.
“Do you understand what it means? It means admitting that everything I did to her—everything I put her through—was completely wrong.” His breath caught on the words.
“It means owning that I destroyed my life and hers for nothing!”
The pain of that revelation cut through me like a blade.
My legs shook violently. I had to grab the wall to keep standing.
Every word hit like a blow.
“Exactly!” André fired back, louder now. “You have to own it. You have to look at Valentina and tell her you were wrong—ask for forgiveness. She deserves that, Enrico.”
“And you think I don’t know that?” Enrico snapped, cutting him off, harsh and nearly aggressive. “I know! I know what she deserves.” His voice broke on the edge. “But I need to think. I need to decide how to handle this before I talk to her.”
“Think?” André’s disgust was unmistakable. “So you’d rather let Valentina keep believing you still think the worst of her… because you need time?”
The silence that followed seemed to fill the mansion, sinking into my skin like ice.
Enrico didn’t answer immediately.
And in that pause, something in me died.
Because I understood.
He had discovered the truth.
And he still wasn’t going to tell me.
Not yet.
Not when it mattered.
Not unless it fit his control.
He was going to let me keep suffering inside the lie that had destroyed my life for years—just so he wouldn’t have to face the consequences of his actions.
My breath trembled.
Without realizing it, I stepped back.
My shaky movement bumped the door.
It shifted, opening with a soft sound.
A sound that betrayed me instantly.
The conversation inside stopped.
Enrico turned sharply.
His face twisted with surprise—then horror—when he saw me standing there.
Our eyes locked.
His were filled with a panic I had never seen in him before.
“Valentina…” His voice came out rough—almost pleading.
I didn’t want to hear a single word he had to say.
I turned and walked fast down the hallway.
Behind me, footsteps—quick, urgent.
“Valentina, wait!”
His voice cracked with desperation.
My pain was too sharp to contain.
“Don’t come near me!” I shot back, voice trembling. Tears burned behind my eyes.
“You’re a coward, Enrico,” I said, and the words came out like truth tasted like blood. “You always have been.”
I needed to get away. From him. From this. From the ache ripping open inside me.
“Valentina, please—wait!” His voice echoed behind me as I moved faster, nearly running now, trying to suffocate the storm inside my chest.
“Don’t you dare come closer!” I spun around abruptly, facing him with every ounce of fury and revolt I had left. My hands shook uncontrollably at my sides.
Enrico stopped immediately.
He looked devastated—like he’d finally seen the size of the damage he’d done.
His breathing was uneven. His eyes wide, bright with fear and something that might have been genuine regret.
But I wouldn’t let myself believe it.
“Please,” he tried again, voice breaking. “Listen to me. I can explain—”
“Explain what?” I exploded, every word ripped straight from pain. “Explain that you found proof I was innocent? That you know you destroyed my life for nothing—and you still decided to hide it?” My voice rose, sharp and shaking. “Is that the explanation you want to give me now?”
He went still.
Like my words had stripped him of speech.
“You don’t understand… I was trying to protect you,” he murmured weakly, taking an uncertain step toward me.
“Protect me?” I laughed—bitter, incredulous.
“You still think you can use that excuse?” I wiped at my face with a trembling hand.
“You were protecting yourself. Your pride.” My voice dropped lower, deadlier.
“You’d rather preserve your ego than admit you were wrong—admit you destroyed everything between us.
You never tried to protect me, Enrico. Not once. ”
My chest rose and fell too fast.
Tears finally spilled—hot and furious.
“Valentina, I know I was wrong,” he whispered. “I know I deserve your hatred. But I needed time… I didn’t know what to do after I found out the truth.”
I lifted a hand, stopping him.
“You had years,” I said, voice shaking with disgust. “Years to humiliate me, punish me, treat me like dirt for something I never did.” My breath hitched. “And now that you know the truth, all you can think about is how to control it?”
My eyes burned.
“You’re not just a coward, Enrico Ferrara,” I said, each word sharp and final. “You’re a manipulator. And I don’t know how I ever believed you were anything else.”
He looked away, shoulders slumping under the weight of it.
“What did you expect?” I asked, voice breaking into something softer—sadder. “That I would wait forever until you finally decided to tell the truth?”
He looked back at me, eyes shining with real pain.
“No,” he said, hoarse. “I just… I needed to understand how to fix it. How to repair what I did to you.”
I shook my head slowly, a devastated smile touching my mouth. I didn’t need a mirror to know I must look wrecked.
“You can’t fix this,” I said quietly. “You can’t erase years of pain and humiliation with one apology.” My voice hardened. “And you haven’t even had the courage to give me that.”
He took another step.
“Valentina, please… forgive me.”
“No.” My voice came out steady, cold, even as tears ran down my face. “Your words don’t mean anything to me anymore.”
A small movement in the hallway caught my eye.
My heart dropped.
Clara stood there—wide-eyed, terrified—clutching a stuffed animal to her chest. Silent tears streaked down her little face.
The pain multiplied instantly.
“Mommy?” Her fragile voice hit me like a blow.