Chapter 9
She moved through the room like a ghost, her tears falling silently as she folded a few of her belongings into the suitcase. A shawl Marco had given her during their honeymoon slipped through her fingers, the memory of his warm smile flashing in her mind. She hesitated before placing it carefully in the bag, her chest aching with a bittersweet pang.
When everything was packed, she sat at her desk, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. How could she put everything she felt into words? She couldn’t tell him about the baby—not yet. That truth deserved more than a hasty note left behind in the dark.
After a long pause, she began to write.
“Marco,
I can’t stay and watch you destroy what we’ve built together. I’ve given you every chance to choose us, and you’ve let her come between us. I need time, and so do you. When you’re ready to see the truth, maybe we can talk. But for now, I have to go.
– Carmen.”
Carmen folded the note and placed it on his pillow, where she knew he’d find it. She lingered there for a moment, her hand brushing over the smooth fabric.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She slipped her coat over her shoulders, grabbed her suitcase, and moved toward the door. The house was eerily quiet, the hallways dark and still. Each step she took felt heavier than the last, as if the walls themselves were trying to hold her back.
When she reached the front door, Carmen paused, turning back to glance at the staircase that led to the bedrooms above. For a fleeting moment, she considered running back, unpacking her bag, and pretending none of this had happened. But the thought of Arianna, of Marco’s cold distrust, and of the child growing inside her strengthened her resolve.
She stepped outside, the crisp early-morning air biting at her cheeks. The estate loomed behind her, its grandeur a stark contrast to the emptiness she felt inside.
Carmen stood on the driveway for a moment, her suitcase at her side, and looked back at the house one last time. “I’ll come back if it’s safe,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “For both of us.”
She turned and walked away, the weight of her decision pressing down on her with every step she took.
…
The morning light poured through the large windows of the master bedroom, illuminating the stark emptiness that greeted Marco. As he moved toward the bed, his gaze fell on a piece of folded paper resting on the pillow.
Frowning, he picked it up, his eyes scanning the words quickly. With every line, his jaw tightened, his grip on the note firm until the paper crumpled in his hand.
“So, she left,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with bitterness. “She always threatened to, didn’t she?”
He tossed the balled-up paper onto the nightstand and strode across the room, his movements brisk and deliberate. He wouldn’t let this derail him. Carmen had made her choice, and if she thought she could manipulate him with her absence, she was mistaken.
Yet, as much as he tried to bury the thought, a small pang of regret settled in his chest.
Carmen’s fiery eyes flashed in his memory—the way she would stand toe-to-toe with him during arguments, refusing to back down, her strength a stark contrast to the fragile trust that had now crumbled between them. She had been his anchor, the one person who saw through his calculated exterior to the man beneath. He clenched his fists, forcing the memory away.
This wasn’t the time for sentiment.
In the days that followed, Marco threw himself into his work. His meetings with Arianna became more frequent, their conversations strictly business—at least at first.
Arianna’s charm was like a slow drip, subtle and persistent. She presented herself as indispensable, providing information about the De Luca family’s vulnerabilities, identifying their weak links, and even offering solutions Marco hadn’t considered.
“Enzo is their enforcer,” she explained during one meeting in his office. She sat casually across from him, legs crossed, her demeanor poised yet inviting. “He’s loyal, but not particularly bright. Leverage his greed, and he’ll fold. Sofia, on the other hand… she’s the real strategist. Break her, and the whole operation collapses.”
Marco leaned back in his chair, considering her words. “And you’re certain of this?”
Arianna smirked, tilting her head. “You forget, Marco. I know the De Luca family better than anyone. Trust me on this.”
Trust. The word lingered uncomfortably in the air.
