CHAPTER 42
NERO ZANTHOS
She’s gone. Again.
This time, though, it feels much worse. I did everything right. I rummage through my mind for anything that might contradict that—it wouldn’t be the first time I rushed to judge and got it wrong.
But there’s nothing. Not a single action, word, or even thought of mine that could justify her disappearance.
I accepted everything. I wanted everything. I gave absolutely everything of myself to make her dreams my own. To make her feel safe. To make her trust me. To make sure she would never doubt that I never want to be a problem—only part of the solution.
I understand that her life changed completely in a matter of seconds and everything got tangled and confused. Things spun out of control and moved faster than she might have been ready for—but we’re having a child.
There’s no pretending life won’t be different from now on. Still, I expected her to face that change with me. To trust me, damn it.
She was afraid before—fine. I took a little longer than I should have, but I understood. But now? If there was a problem, whatever it was, she needed to talk to me instead of pushing me away like I was an inconvenient visitor. I am the constant. An integral part of the small family we’re building.
Creating distance was a low blow. It makes me feel dispensable. Disposable. And that feeling drags me back to a place of ungrateful memories—abandoned for far too long for me to welcome them now like old friends.
There are few things in life I remember failing at. The possibility that this happened when all I did was try to get it right adds a second layer of gravity, pressing me down, making me feel small and out of place.
And as if that weren’t enough, she told her mother everything was fine. Rosa refused to say a single word about where she went or what she was doing. She didn’t want her mother to worry… Me, on the other hand… discarded. Every small decision she made echoes that same word in my head.
I like to believe that if Nina had told me she needed time—to think, to be alone, even if that meant being away from me—I would have accepted it. I would’ve been pissed, of course. Sad and disappointed too, but I wouldn’t have denied her.
Most likely, I would have taken her myself—my heart heavy as hell—to wherever she chose to be without me. She chose, instead, to leave me in the dark.
I’ve always been afraid of the dark. Being in dimly lit—or completely unlit—rooms fills me with an unbearable anguish, a reminder of my years of abuse. I never allowed myself, however, to fully embrace that weakness. I made a point of immersing myself in it and facing it, because that’s what I do.
With Nina, all I can feel is swallowed whole, crushed—because none of my actions seem to be enough to even be considered… My hands go to my hair on their own, and I don’t even feel pain when I yank at it with all my strength.
A lopsided attempt to stop my thoughts before they lock me, alone, back in that place. The dark is not welcome.
I swallow air with difficulty, feeling as if I’m breathing water. It burns, weighs, hurts. The anxiety I haven’t felt in a long time makes me realize there’s a feeling I despise even more aggressively than helplessness: not being enough.
While I was focused on worrying about her—on whether Nina was okay, whether she felt safe, whether she had everything she needed—there was no room for anything else. Now the relief of that moment has passed and given way to all this torment.
My inner monsters knocked on my door all at once, and too distracted by the emptiness of her absence, I opened it. After a few hours in their company, drowning in thoughts seasoned with bitterness, the only taste I recognize in my mouth is betrayal.
Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?
I don’t understand. I can’t comprehend why she would feel the need to suddenly disappear without a trace. It hasn’t even been two days since we were in our bed, making plans, thinking of names for our baby. I simply can’t understand.
I get lost in a vicious cycle as the hours pass. It always starts with helplessness, moves through the feeling of betrayal, and ends in the true agony of not having Nina within reach of my hands.
I want to fight with her. I want to tell her all the reasons why what she’s doing is wrong. I want to accuse her of irresponsibility and blame her age—but I want her here, in front of me, so I can do all that and then kiss her.
After that, hold her, breathe her in, and demand a promise that she will never do something like this again. Because it doesn’t matter that, at this exact moment, she’s breaking a promise already made—I will believe her. I want to believe her.
The doorbell rings, and I find myself on my feet in front of the door faster than I ever thought possible. Unfortunately, I welcome nothing but disappointment.
“I can’t speak with you right now,” I say as soon as I see my mother standing in the entry hall.
“It’s important,” she replies, stepping in without being invited. “The last thing I wanted to do today was come here. But there’s something you need to see, and it can’t wait.”
“Mother, you picked a terrible time. Please—if you don’t want to fight—”
“You really don’t care about me anymore, do you?” she interrupts, her voice tearful. “Everything I do—everything I’ve ever done—was thinking about what’s best for you, Nero. And now I’m not even worthy of a minute of your time?”
I shake my head. Starting this conversation would be a mistake. This is not a good moment for me to engage in any kind of argument—especially this one.
My mother may be guilty of many things, but she has nothing to do with my current state. And I know myself well enough to know my temper shoots first and asks questions later when pushed to the limit.
“Please, Mother, I’m asking you to leave.” Each word leaves my mouth searching for a battlefield. My brain wants peace, but everything inside me vibrates with war.
A few moments of silence separate my words from the first sounds of sobbing that escape her lips.
“All this for what?” The disdain in her voice is palpable. I turn my back because I need water. A lot of water. My hands barely reach a glass and the pitcher before she strikes. “Because of that woman, isn’t it? You’re worried because she disappeared.” I spin around immediately.
“How do you know that?” I spit the words out, stumbling over them, and a scornful laugh leaves her lips.
“I’ll let you find out for yourself,” she says, lifting a brown envelope she’s holding in one hand. She throws it in my direction, and I think twice before giving her what she wants—to see me bend down to pick it up.
I cross my arms at my shoulders, resisting the temptation. Her gaze challenges me, and knowing that for her every gesture is a punishment, I refuse to yield. I stay still.
“If you came to play games—again—I suggest you leave,” I offer, exhausted.
“That woman doesn’t deserve you, Nero.” She takes a step forward. “Look at you. Look at what she’s doing to you.” Her hands lift toward my face, but I step back—not fast enough to miss the curtain of hatred that immediately covers her eyes.
She picks the envelope up from the floor and rips it open, spreading its contents across the makeshift desk.
“See for yourself,” she hisses.
“What is this?” I ask, staring at the first image—a random photo of Nina.
“You’d never believe me if I told you. These are the proofs that this woman is not who she claims to be,” she declares, laying them out.
I wrinkle my nose, worn down by all of this. Lysandra insists on this baseless fixation on Nina, and we haven’t even had the chance to tell her about the baby, about the wedding.
The reasons my mother believes make Nina unsuitable don’t matter to me—but I suppose it’s better to put an end to this persecution once and for all.
I lift the first page of what looks like a report about her past and roll my eyes, imagining the kind of nonsense my mother thinks I need to know.
But when I hold the papers in one hand and use the other to turn the page, I realize the bundle between my fingers is anything but irrelevant.
The photos attached to the report make my chest explode into violent beats, and all the air drains from my lungs. What the fuck is this?
“I wanted to spare you,” my mother says, but I can’t stop flipping through the pages, image after image, the dossier drowning me.
“What does this mean?” I ask through clenched teeth, barely able to breathe under the pressure crushing my insides, and I let the pages slip from my hands, scattering across the floor.
I turn to my mother. Her eyes don’t waver under my fury. They don’t look away from mine.
“I told you she wasn’t the woman for you, Nero.” An irritated laugh bursts from my throat at her evasive answer. “I’m sorry you have to suffer this disappointment—”
“Disappointment?” I cut in, bracing my hands on my hips only to drop my arms seconds later, suddenly not knowing what to do with them.
I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation.
I wish this were a fucking nightmare. I grit my teeth and turn my head, exhaling deeply before facing my mother again.
“A storm wiping out a harvest is a disappointment. Seeing photos of my woman naked in the beds of two other men—while she wears my engagement ring on her finger—is a bit more than that, damn it.”
“Manners, Nero! Just because you insist on associating with riffraff who use that kind of language doesn’t mean I have to tolerate it!”
“I’m sorry, Mother, if my last concern right now is your sensitive ears. I want answers!”
“Again, I’m sorry you had to see this. I would have spared you this horror show if I thought you’d believe me without seeing it.”
“How kind of you.”
“I’m not the villain here, Nero.” She steps closer, protesting my tone. “I’m not the one who betrayed you.”
Betrayed. The five-letter word fires arrows straight into my heart, and it bleeds memories of the images now spread across the floor.
There are many of them. Different men. Different rooms. Different beds. The only constant is Nina—my Nina—naked, giving to others what she swore was mine alone. The pain in my chest threatens to consume me, held back only by the hope that there is an explanation—because there has to be one.
Those photos aren’t from a time before us.
That would be a valid explanation, even if it wouldn’t quiet my jealousy.
But Nina was a virgin, wasn’t she? And there’s the ring.
The ring I moved heaven and earth to get, stamped on every photo that makes me wish I’d been born blind so I never would have had to see them.
But there is an explanation. There has to be.
“This is what she does while you leave your house to play the fool in love,” my mother throws the words in my face without mercy. “It’s probably what she’s doing right now, while you’re here mistreating the only woman in your life who truly wants what’s best for you.”
“What are you talking about, Lysandra?” I ask, and she jerks her head back, looking shocked that I used her first name. It’s the first time in many years I’ve said it out loud. “Nina is—”
“A con artist!” she accuses, cutting me off.
“A woman with no morals! A fortune hunter! What more do you need, Nero? Do you want me to put those men in a room—with you? Because I can do that if necessary!” Just the idea of being confined in the same place as the men in those photos makes me feel feral.
I’d probably leave in handcuffs. “That woman was after an idiot, Nero. You’re not the only one she was playing the good girl for—suddenly pregnant.
She had options and probably would have stuck with whoever fell for the scam first.”
“That makes no sense,” I refuse to believe it.
“I didn’t find out by accident,” she begins.
“I hired a detective to look into her, and I didn’t like the results.
I asked him to follow her for a few days, and he brought me the first evidence.
I was also shocked to find out I wasn’t the only one who’d hired him.
That girl was never the saint she pretends to be, Nero. ”
“She was a virgin!” I try to defend the indefensible.
“With you—and with all the others.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Based on how many data points?” she mocks. I shift on my feet and rake my hands through my hair. I’d never been with a virgin before—but it can’t be. She wouldn’t have lied about that too, would she? Fuck. Even about that? “Wake up, Nero. She told you what you wanted to hear!”
“I never cared about that.”
“Of course not. But you certainly started treating her differently after you learned you’d be the first man in her bed.
There’s a reason it’s called the oldest trick in the book.
You’re not the first to fall for it, and you won’t be the last.” Lysandra sighs.
“After I discovered you weren’t her only victim, I needed to know what kind of scum we were dealing with.
I had her investigated more deeply, and the things I found…
Since college, she’s been playing games, going after the most promising young men on campus.
She didn’t succeed back then and kept trying.
Well, I suppose those who wait eventually get what they want. ”
“That makes no sense. It doesn’t make sense,” I tell myself, pacing back and forth.
“Nina never wanted any of the things I offered her. She never gave me any indication she was interested in money, in possessions…” I lift my eyes and find my mother sliding her hands through her hair as if she’d just given up on pulling it out.
“I can’t believe I invested millions in your education only to still have to teach you how to identify a manipulation strategy.
I thought I’d raised you better than this, Nero.
” She looks away, shaking her head before sighing.
“One thing I have to admit—using the few resources she had, that girl managed, in just a few months, to do what you’ve silently accused me of trying to do your entire life. ”
“And what would that be?”
“Manipulate you. If my son weren’t one of that wretch’s victims, I’d applaud her.”
“Enough!” I shout, losing the last drop of control left in my body. “Enough.” I lift my hands as if I could place a barrier between myself and the abyss my mother has opened. “That’s enough!” I grab her arm and take her to the door with more force than necessary.
“You’re throwing me out of your house?” she accuses, stumbling on her heels.
“You’re pathetic, Nero. When that bitch comes back with her tail between her legs—and she will, because the mothers of the other idiots were faster than I was—take her back into your home.
Let her introduce you as hers, the son of another man. ”
I throw my mother out as if the truths in her demonic words were lies—but when I close the door behind her, they’re still here, scattered across the living room floor.