Chapter 7: The Truth I Could No Longer Deny

That night, I drank more than I should have.

Arabella hated the smell of alcohol.

She always had.

So I decided to sleep in the guest room—just one night.

Let the scent fade before I went back to our bedroom.

That was the plan.

When I woke up, half-drunk and disoriented, Ava was beside me.

Naked.

Too close.

For a second, my mind went blank.

Then the fear hit.

And after that—rage.

I hadn’t expected someone from the countryside, someone who was family, to dare cross that line.

But what terrified me most was the thought of Arabella walking in and seeing us like this.

I pushed myself away from Ava immediately.

“What are you doing here?”

My voice was hoarse, but the anger in it was unmistakable.

Ava pulled the blanket around herself.

“You were drunk. I was worried about you.”

“Get out.”

She stared at me.

“Dominic…”

“I said get out.”

She lowered her eyes, but there was something in her expression that made my stomach turn.

It wasn't fear.

It was satisfaction.

That was when I understood.

This wasn't an accident.

She had chosen this moment.

She had waited until I was vulnerable.

I stood up, grabbed my shirt, and walked toward the bathroom.

“Never come into my room again.”

Behind me, Ava's voice trembled.

“But you loved me.”

I stopped.

Loved.

The word sounded foreign now.

I turned slowly.

“Whatever happened between us was a mistake.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“A mistake that gave you a child?”

I looked at her stomach.

For the first time, I didn't see a future.

I saw the consequences of every selfish decision I'd made.

“The child is innocent,” I said quietly. “Don't ever use it to control me.”

Ava's expression hardened.

“You're going after Arabella, aren't you?”

I didn't answer.

She laughed bitterly.

“Even after everything, you still choose her.”

I looked away.

Because the truth was unbearable.

I had always chosen Arabella.

I had simply been arrogant enough to believe she would tolerate everything else.

Ava left the room.

I stood there alone, staring at the bed.

The sheets were untouched on one side.

Arabella's side.

I suddenly remembered how she used to sleep.

She always curled slightly toward me.

Whenever I woke during the night, her hand would be resting somewhere against my arm, as if even in sleep she needed to know I was there.

I sat down.

The silence was suffocating.

My phone was on the table.

I opened our old photographs.

Our first dinner.

Our wedding.

The day we moved into this house.

Arabella laughing with flour on her cheek while trying to bake something she had clearly burned.

Me pretending not to notice because I loved seeing her happy.

I kept scrolling.

Then I reached the last photograph she had sent me.

She was standing beside the window, wearing the necklace I had given her.

Her smile was soft.

But now that I looked closely, I saw it.

Her eyes were already tired.

She had been saying goodbye without telling me.

I pressed my fingers against the screen.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Of course, there was no answer.

I spent the rest of the night reading every message between us from the last five months.

At first, they were full of affection.

Then they became shorter.

“Have you eaten?”

“I'll be late tonight.”

“Don't wait up.”

“Goodnight.”

The change was so gradual that I had never noticed it.

She had been disappearing one message at a time.

And I had been too distracted to see it.

At dawn, I called my most trusted adviser.

“I need everything regarding Arabella's departure.”

He hesitated.

“Don, you understand that she's legally protected now.”

“I know.”

“If you attempt to interfere with her immigration status, it could create serious legal consequences.”

I closed my eyes.

“I'm not asking you to touch her documents.”

“Then what do you want?”

I looked at the empty chair across from me.

“I want to know where I went wrong.”

There was silence on the other end.

Then he said something I wasn't prepared to hear.

“Don, perhaps you're looking in the wrong direction.”

I frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“Mrs. Conti didn't leave because she wanted you to chase her.”

His voice was careful.

“She left because she no longer wanted to be chased.”

The words stayed with me.

I opened the folder again.

Arabella's final page was still there.

I read it one more time.

“I want peace.”

For the first time, I understood what she had been asking for.

Not flowers.

Not jewelry.

Not another promise.

Peace.

Something I had never given her.

I stood before the mirror.

The man staring back at me was the heir everyone feared.

The Don who could command hundreds of men with one sentence.

Yet I couldn't command one thing.

My wife's forgiveness.

I took off the Conti family ring.

I placed it beside Arabella's empty jewelry box.

Then I whispered the promise I should have kept before everything was destroyed.

“I will find you.”

I paused.

Then corrected myself.

“No.”

My voice was barely audible.

“I will become someone you can choose to forgive.”