After the doctor left, the house went dead quiet.

I dragged myself out of bed and started packing.

Halfway down the stairs, diary in hand, I ran right into Sandro and Helga. She was cradling Genny, both of them laughing like some perfect family.

Sandro saw me and froze, like I was a threat or something. Pulled Genny behind him without thinking.

Once Helga whisked Genny away, he chilled a little. Tried to explain. "Helga's pregnant with my son. She can't handle a sick kid, so I brought them here."

Then he noticed my face and that irritation kicked in. "Genny got sick because of your jealousy. Since you're fine now, apologize to Helga and help the maids with Genny."

Normally, I'd have yelled at him.

This time, I just looked up and met his eyes.

Sandro noticed my pale lips, brows pulling tight. Stepped in closer. "You look awful. Is it your period? Did the cold room mess you up? What'd the doctor say?"

I stepped back. Dodged his hand.

Sandro froze, then frowned. "Emilia, after last night, the more I defend you, the worse my family gets.

"But now that Helga's pregnant with my son, they've agreed to the wedding. Even if you're still not okay—can't you just admit you were wrong? For me?

"Once Genny's better, I'll convince them to reschedule everything."

'Still telling me to wait.' I said inwardly.

I held onto the diary tighter, tossed him a bitter smile.

He didn't like that. "Smile? What's so funny?"

He ripped the diary from my hands, flipping through it like it owed him answers. His eyes landed on the numbers—every time I waited. Every time he failed me.

Clueless.

"What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

He kept flipping, pages snapping, until he hit the last one—the one where I wrote about the baby.

Helga stepped in like clockwork, Genny in her arms. "Sandro, it's normal for Emilia to be emotional after punishment. I'll take Genny back to the manor. No need to argue."

She looked all helpless and soft—nothing like the ice queen who smirked while ordering her guys to strip me.

That fake plea? Cracked whatever spine Sandro had left.

"Don't overthink," he told her gently. "This argument isn't about you."

Then he turned to me, all exasperation. "Emilia, if you were more like Helga—gentle, mature, not so bitter toward Genny—we'd be married by now."

"I didn't—who poured the water on Genny wasn't—"

I tried to speak, but Helga swooped in, sugar-dripping voice and all. "It's my fault! I panicked when Genny got a fever. I never imagined they'd punish you so harshly.

"You don't have kids, Emilia... so maybe you just don't understand what it feels like to be a mother."

She smoothed her hair, and the ruby ring caught the light.

I froze. Shaking harder than I had in the cold room.

That ring—Sandro's mom's heirloom. The one he used to propose to me.

He'd knelt, said he'd only ever give it to the woman he loved most.

It was supposed to be on my finger tomorrow.

Now it was on hers.

Sandro's voice came out stiff. "Helga's Genny's mom. It made sense for her to wear the ring at the party. And... our wedding got postponed after your punishment. When we reschedule, I'll have her give it back."

'Yeah, right. There's no next time.' I sneered to myself.

"Alright," I said, head down so he wouldn't see my eyes.

Sandro was playing nurse for sick little Genny and baby mama Helga.

He had no clue I'd already booked a flight—three days and I was gone.

That night, just when I figured he'd crash next to Helga, my door creaked open.

The bed dipped.

He slid in, wrapped his arms around me.

"Genny's fever finally broke. Helga's asleep too," he said, hand settling on my stomach.

I flinched when he whispered, "Your belly feeling better?"

No answer from me, so of course he started rubbing my lower stomach like nothing had changed.

I shoved his hand off. "I'm fine.

"But I'm not."

He exhaled, then pulled my hand to his shoulder like some kid needing a hug. "It hurts here."

My fingers grazed the scar. I went still.

The memories slammed in.

Sandro—Vaitti golden boy—could've had any mafia heiress. Instead, he picked me. No title, no name, nothing.

Three years ago, he tried to walk away from it all—for me. His dad's punishment? Ninety-nine brutal lashes.

I bawled like my chest was being ripped open.

"Emilia, my father finally agreed to let me go. I just have to give him an heir. Wait for me," he'd whispered, half-dead in my arms, smiling like the welts weren't tearing his back apart.

How the hell did we end up here?

Back in the moment, he sighed, kissed my fingers. "You're the only one I've ever loved. Everything I've done... it was for you. Just wait a little longer, okay?"

My hand hovered. "What if I told you the person who hurt your daughter wasn't—"

"It doesn't matter anymore," he cut in, voice worn down. "My father's coming to see Genny tomorrow. For our future, Emilia... just be nice to Helga. Once he calms down, we can finally have our wedding."

My heart iced over. The fingers he kissed? Numb.

"Okay."

I shut my eyes. I was done hoping.

***

At dawn, Davide Vaitti showed up. Don of the Vaitti Family. Cold as ever.

He didn't even glance my way until Genny got a clean bill.

Then he handed me a contract, eyes sharp and freezing. "Sandro keeps nagging me about the wedding. Since he's so insistent, I'll allow it. But for my grandson's safety, sign this agreement. Then you get your marriage."

Sandro looked at me like this was great news, totally ignoring the fact I'd gone pale.

I stared at the Don, stunned. "You want me to sign something saying I'll never have kids?"

Davide didn't even blink. "My grandson's mother can only be Helga Cicili. If you stay childless, you're not a threat."

My stomach twisted. I turned to Sandro, voice cracking. "You knew? You agreed to this?"

He shifted, uncomfortable. "It's not like we have a kid. We could always get a dog or something."

Then he stepped closer, like that would help. "Just sign it. Father said once you do, we don't have to wait for Helga's baby. We can get married next week."

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. My eyes stung. "And if I don't?"

"Then you'll never marry Sandro," Davide snapped.

Sandro glanced at his dad, then turned on me, voice tight. "Emilia, everything we've done—everything—was for us to be together! He's only hesitating because of what happened to Genny. What are you trying to prove now?"

Davide scoffed and stormed off.

Sandro didn't even look back. Just chased after him to smooth things over.

And then came Helga, practically glowing with smugness.

"Emilia," she purred, "looks like locking you in that cold room wasn't enough of a wake-up call."

She scooped the contract off the floor, waving it. "See this? Only I'm fit to stand next to Sandro. You? You're just some nobody. And if I feel like it, I can make sure you not only lost that baby in the cold room—but never have another one again."

She knew.

She'd known all along.

Panic surged. My hands flew to my stomach as I turned and bolted for my room.

But as the front door creaked open, Helga's hand clamped onto my arm. Her voice went shrill, dramatic enough for the whole house to hear. "Emilia, what are you doing? Don't hurt my baby!"

Sandro burst in right on cue.

Helga staggered back, crashing into the shoe cabinet. "Ah! It hurts! Sandro—our baby!" she wailed, clutching her stomach.

The second he saw her crumpled and crying, he shoved me out of the way and scooped her up.

I hit the floor, pain slicing through my abdomen. Warm blood spread beneath me—again.

Somehow, I still managed to call the doctor before everything went dark.

Sandro never came back.

Three days later—the day I was supposed to leave—I tore the contract to pieces. Tossed it, along with my diary, into the trash. Then walked away without looking back.

The city blurred in reverse through the car window.

Sandro called. "Helga's baby's fine. You keep begging me to trust you, but somehow you always end up hurting my kids."

He sounded beat. "Maybe my dad was right about that no-kids agreement... I vanished for three days hoping you'd get it—"

"I do," I cut in. "Hope you all live happily ever after."

Silence. Then he snapped, louder now, "What the hell does that mean? You think I love Helga? The only person I've ever loved is you!"

I clenched the phone. Didn't say a word.

He took that as a win. Typical.

"Let's just forget all this. I'm not mad. But don't ever talk about leaving again. Everything I've done was for us."

The airport came into view. I didn't bother telling him I was already gone.

"And Helga? She cool with all this?" I asked.

"She forgave you. Just wants a fake wedding tomorrow—for the kids. So they think we were married or whatever. It's just for show."

A beat. Then, "Just wait for me. One last time. Then I'll marry you."

One last time.

Sure.

My heart didn't even flinch. "Okay."

I hung up, walked straight into the airport, and dumped my phone in the trash. Then I boarded.

***

The wedding kicked off right on time.

Sandro peeked through the door. Guests buzzed in and out—no Emilia.

Well, duh. Emilia actually loved him. That was why she got jealous every time. No matter how chill she sounded on the phone, there was no way she'd roll up to watch him marry someone else.

Just thinking about her hit like a gut punch.

Meanwhile, Davide and the whole Vaitti squad sat beaming as Helga floated in, glowing.

Everyone was smiling—

Except him.

He could still feel Emilia in his arms.

"Once we leave the Family, let's rent a little house with a yard," she'd said. "We'll have a small wedding and two kids—one boy and one girl."

She'd pouted when he just smiled. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I was imagining how beautiful you'd look in a wedding dress."

"Mr. Vaitti."

The priest's voice yanked him back.

"Please place the ring on the bride's finger and recite your vows."

Sandro stared at the ruby ring, blank.

He'd promised his mom this would only go to the one he truly loved.

That was Emilia Estavini. Only Emilia.

Helga was beaming. But then she noticed something was off.

"Sandro?"

She whispered a reminder, reaching out to touch his face.

The second her hand brushed him, it snapped—like waking up mid-nightmare.

"No. Even if this is fake, I'm not doing it." He shoved her hand away. "I'm sorry."

Gasps. Whispers. Helga's voice chasing after him. He didn't stop.

His car flew toward the house he used to share with Emilia.

He didn't wait for the engine to cool—he was already out, already running.

"Emilia! Babe, we're done waiting! Let's go—right now!"

He kicked open the bedroom door, heart in his throat—

And froze.