Chapter 3

Seraphina POV:

As Lorenzo reaches for my stomach, a gesture that was once a comforting promise, I recoil. His touch feels like a brand.

His brow furrows. He assumes I'm still brooding over my "punishment."

"Don't be difficult, Seraphina," he says, a low warning threading through his tone. "This is for your own good." He glances down at my belly. "Next time you defy me, there will be consequences. For the child."

The words land like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. A raw, hoarse sound escapes my throat. "There is no child," I try to tell him, the words scraping my throat. "I... I terminated the pregnancy."

Before the words can fully register, his phone rings, a shrill, demanding sound that cuts through the tension. He glances at the screen. Isabella.

He answers immediately, his tone instantly shedding its cold command for one of concerned affection. "What's wrong?"

I can hear her manufactured sobs through the phone, even from a few feet away. She's scared of the thunderstorm, she whimpers. She needs him.

Without a moment's hesitation, Lorenzo grabs his coat from the chair. He's already halfway to the door when he turns back to me, his expression a mask of impatience.

"What did you just say?" he asks, already shrugging the coat over his shoulders, his mind clearly with her.

I look at him, at the desperate urgency in his eyes to leave me and run to her. The fight drains out of me, replaced by a vast, empty calm. Why would I share the truth of my deepest wound with a man who wouldn't even pause to witness the damage?

"Nothing," I say quietly.

He doesn't press. He doesn't care enough to. Without a second glance, he's gone.

The front door slams shut, and a moment later, a deafening crack of thunder shakes the entire estate. The lights flicker. My legs give out, and I collapse onto the cold kitchen floor, pale and trembling.

A maid, Maria, one of the few who still looks at me with kindness, rushes to my side. "Mrs. Bianchi!" she murmurs, helping me to a chair. "You've always been so terrified of thunder." Her voice drops, heavy with a shared memory. "The Don... he used to rush home, no matter what meeting he was in."

I remember. I remember he had once flown his jet through a category three storm, just to get home to hold me until I fell asleep in his arms, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against the chaos outside.

Tonight, I spend the night curled in a ball on the floor, utterly alone, as the storm outside raged in tandem with the one inside me.

The next morning, Maria informs me that the Don has returned and requests my presence for breakfast.

I descend the grand staircase, my body aching, my soul numb. I find him at the dining table. And seated in my spot, the one at his right hand, is Isabella. She's wearing one of my silk robes.

Lorenzo looks up as I approach, his expression unreadable.

"Seraphina," he says, his voice cool. "Isabella was generous enough to stay and make sure the storm didn't upset you too much last night. You should thank her."

He then turns to Isabella, his fingers gently stroking her cheek with a possessive affection that sends a wave of bitter nausea through me. She leans into his touch, her eyes gleaming with triumph as her gaze lands on me.