Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Natasha
"Where were you last night?" I kept my voice level, trying not to sound accusatory.
But Dante's brow furrowed instantly, the exhaustion on his face morphing into pure irritation.
"I already told you last night." Dante raised his voice, every word dripping with blame and annoyance. "I had an emergency with the organization. I was up all night."
"Stop being so paranoid, Natasha." Dante rubbed his temples, his voice growing sharper. "I don't have the energy to deal with your drama every time I come home."
Drama.
He stood there reeking of my sister's perfume and had the nerve to call me paranoid.
It was absurd.
My eyes drifted down involuntarily. On the collar of Dante's white shirt, there was a faint red mark.
A lipstick stain.
Leo was right. Dante had spent the entire night with Vera.
What had they done that left him drenched in Vera's perfume? That left a lipstick mark on his collar?
The answer was right there, glaring at me.
All that trust felt like a cruel joke. I felt a sharp blade plunge straight into my heart, twisting in my chest. I had to consciously tense my calves just to keep myself standing.
But I swallowed my words. I knew it wasn't the smart choice.
But right now, there was a new life growing inside me. I'd grown up in a cold, loveless home. I craved a real family so desperately. I couldn't let go of the brief moments of love I'd found.
I wanted to give him one last chance. Give us one last chance.
"Fine, let's not talk about that. Tomorrow's your birthday." I met Dante's eyes. "I've prepared something special for you. I've been working on it for months. I want us to spend it together. Can you come home early tomorrow night? Dante."
Dante froze. He clearly hadn't expected me to bring up his birthday now.
The irritation in his eyes flickered, like beneath that cold, hard shell, a flash of guilt finally broke through.
He stepped closer and pulled me into his arms, bending down to brush his lips against my forehead.
The kiss was perfunctory. Cold. Empty. Only Vera's faint perfume kept stabbing at my nerves.
"Okay. I'll come home early tomorrow." Dante made his promise. "I swear."
That night, we lay in the same king-sized bed, spending a silent night. We turned our backs to each other with enough frozen air between us to cause frostbite. He didn't touch me. Didn't say a word.
The next morning, when I woke, the sheets beside me were ice cold.
Dante had left long ago. I sat in the empty bedroom, staring at the indent his head had left on the pillow, a wave of loss washing over me.
This constant anxiety was killing me. But I slapped my cheeks. I couldn't waste time wallowing.
I spent the entire afternoon cooking an elaborate spread of traditional Russian dishes. The kind of home cooking he'd once mentioned loving.
After finishing the feast, I asked Anya, one of the maids who was particularly skilled with makeup, to help me. Her hands were magic. She covered my pallor, swept blush across my cheeks. She even twisted my long hair into an elegant updo.
Everything was ready. The dim, intimate lighting in the dining room. The elaborate dinner on the table. And the massive secret growing in my still-flat belly. I'd bet everything on tonight, praying I could pull Dante's drifting heart back to me.
Finally, there was my carefully prepared gift—the portrait of Dante I'd spent three months painting. In the lower right corner of the frame, I'd tied the positive pregnancy test with a delicate silk ribbon.
I was a clumsy woman. I'd never had Vera's effortless charm. I didn't know how to use sweet words to keep a man.
I'd racked my brain. This was all I could think of to make him happy.
It seemed pathetic, maybe. But it was all my hope. All my love for him, laid bare.
Time crawled by. The antique clock on the wall ticked monotonously.
I sat at the dining table. I sat there for four solid hours.
The food had gone cold ages ago. The roast had lost its sheen, a thick layer of white fat congealing on the soup's surface. The candles had burned down halfway, wax dripping onto the expensive tablecloth.
But Dante still hadn't come home.
I kept asking myself why.
He'd looked me in the eye last night and promised so earnestly.
So why couldn't he spare even this little bit of time for me?
I needed an answer.
I took a deep breath, grabbed my phone, and called Dante.
The phone rang for ages. So long I thought he wouldn't pick up at all. Then, in the final seconds, the call connected.
"Dante," I spoke nervously, my voice hoarse from hours of silence.
"I'm busy." Dante's voice came through the receiver, dismissive, even annoyed. "I'll be home soon."
"But you promised me..." I gripped the phone tighter. I wanted to push back, to tell him I'd been waiting four hours.
That's when I heard a woman's voice. Soft, naturally intimate, floating through Dante's background.
"Dante? Who is it?"
I'd never mistake that voice. It was Vera. My own sister. The next second, the call cut off. Nothing but the cold, piercing dial tone remained.
My heart finally shattered completely.
Sitting in that cold chair, staring at the meal I'd prepared so carefully for him, I felt like the world's biggest fool. My misguided patience and compromise, my naive hopes and efforts—all of it had only encouraged his brazen disregard.
He'd rather spend time with a runaway bride than come home and keep his promise to me.
Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, splashing onto my hands. I was so tired. I just wanted to run. Running was always my first instinct.
But I was a mother now. My child shouldn't be born into a swamp of lies and betrayal. I couldn't let him have a lying father and a desperate mother.
No more waiting around in a daze. No more self-deception. I had to face the truth.
I wiped my tears and rushed out of the Manor toward Dante's office.
Sitting in the speeding car, I clutched my dress with both hands.
Whatever the truth was, I needed closure tonight. Whether Leo's intel was wrong or Dante had truly fallen back in love with Vera, I had to see it with my own eyes. I was done living in fear and panic.
This was torture for me. For my child. I needed to break free from this suffocating doubt.
Would Dante choose our child and me, or would he choose Vera? I needed him to give me an answer himself.
The car stopped beneath the corporate headquarters. The building was dead silent in the dead of night. I took the private elevator to the top floor alone, my footsteps muffled by the thick hallway carpet.
This wasn't my first visit to Dante's workplace, but I still felt inexplicably anxious. Whether from the massive scale of the building or fear of what I'd find, I couldn't say.
I approached Dante's office. The wooden door wasn't fully closed, a sliver of weak yellow light seeping through the crack.
I took a deep breath and raised my hand to push the door open. But the scene inside made me freeze.
Through that crack, I saw everything clearly.
Vera was pressed tightly against Dante's chest. She was sobbing, her shoulders shaking.
And Dante—the man who'd told me coldly on the phone that he was busy—had his arms wrapped around Vera. They were locked in an embrace, looking exactly like lovers.
My vision blurred instantly. Why? I was carrying his child. I'd prepared for his birthday with such care. I'd even dolled myself up like an idiot for him, and here he was holding another woman.
My hand pressed against the doorknob. I wanted to burst in and confront them both.
What right did they have to play me like a fool?
Then Dante's voice drifted through the crack. He bent his head, his palm tenderly stroking Vera's tearful face.
"Don't cry." Dante's tone held a tenderness I'd never heard before. "You know Natasha was only ever a substitute while you were gone."
Substitute.
My hand froze mid-air. The air was sucked from my lungs. I opened my mouth but couldn't make a sound. A massive pain exploded in my chest, spreading through every limb.
Tears poured down my cheeks, hot liquid washing away the makeup Anya had so carefully applied. The face I'd spent two hours perfecting must look like a ghost now.
I felt ridiculous beyond measure.
I'd sat at home for four hours, staring at cold Russian food, making excuses for him over and over in my head. I'd actually thought I could make him choose between this marriage and his old flame.
I'd thought I meant something to him. Even just a little.
But I was just Vera's stand-in. A toy to fill the void.
A temporary replacement for when she left.
In that choice I'd imagined, I was never even an option.