Chapter 72: Here
Dora left the hospital at a steady pace as she stepped into the car, even though every nerve in her body screamed for her to move faster—much faster—than she did. She wanted distance from the sterile smell of disinfectant, from the memories that clung to every corner of the building, and especially from the events that had unfolded only hours ago. But rushing would only draw more attention, and right now the last thing she wanted was anyone observing the quiet unraveling happening inside her.
Ettore entered the car right after her, settling beside her without saying a single word. His silence wasn’t comforting. It was heavy, like a reminder of everything she wanted to forget. She kept her eyes glued to the window, watching the city blur by, and pretended not to feel the weight of his presence or the judgment she imagined simmering beneath his calm expression.
The drive back to the estate didn’t take long, but to her, it felt like an eternity. By the time they rolled past the gates, the sky had already shifted into shades of orange and gold, the sun dipping low as if retreating from the world. Evening was settling over the grounds, painting everything in a dim, melancholic light.
The moment the car stopped, Dora opened the door and stepped out without waiting for Ettore or the driver. She headed straight inside, ignoring Ettore completely—didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge him, not even a flicker of gratitude for escorting her. In truth, she partly blamed him. If he had accepted her offer earlier—if he had just given her a different option—she wouldn’t have taken those drastic actions that almost got her killed. She knew it wasn’t fair, but fairness wasn’t exactly what governed her emotions today.
She had barely stepped inside when she saw Giulia already waiting near the doorway, her hands clasped together, a slightly worried expression clouding her otherwise composed face.
"You’re back later than I expected," Giulia said, the faintest sigh slipping through her voice. "Your lessons will have to take place tomorrow," she added, referring to something Dora was far too mentally drained to think about.
Dora merely nodded, too tired to argue or give an excuse. Her body felt like lead as she turned toward the staircase. Each step felt heavier than the last, dragging her deeper into exhaustion. By the time she reached the hallway leading to her room, she barely had the energy to turn the handle.
She pushed the door open and slammed it shut behind her—harder than she intended—before stumbling toward the bed. She didn’t bother undressing or taking off her shoes. Instead, she fell face-first onto the mattress, her breath sinking into the fabric. The moment she buried her face into the sheets, the emotions she had been holding inside cracked open.
A scream tore out of her throat—raw, muffled, but loud enough that anyone passing by might have heard it. She didn’t care. Today had shredded what remained of her composure, and she had no strength left to hide the fear trembling beneath her bones.
She had foolishly—stupidly—assumed that she was safe. She had low-key believed that as long as she stayed within the estate or near Ettore, she wouldn’t have to fear Tiberio or anything else. But the second she stepped away earlier, reality had swung at her with brutal force.
She was not safe. Not even close.
And worse... the incident today made something painfully clear. Without Dante, she might as well lie down and wait to die. It was humiliating, infuriating, and terrifying all at once. The danger was real, and she was utterly powerless without him.
The fear still lingered in her bones, mixing with confusion and anger. Why? Why did Tiberio keep chasing after her as if she were the last woman in existence? He could have anyone—absolutely anyone. Yet he chose to hunt her down relentlessly, risking conflict, risking Dante’s wrath, risking everything.
What kind of godforsaken pride is this? she thought bitterly, rolling onto her side. Her head pounded, but closing her eyes offered a sliver of relief. Exhaustion pulled at her, dragging her slowly into sleep, until finally her mind drifted into darkness.
She didn’t know how long she slept, only that a knock jolted her awake. She blinked, disoriented, and slowly turned toward the window. It was already pitch dark outside. The lamps in the estate grounds glowed faintly, casting long shadows.
If it was this late... then Dante must be back.
Her stomach twisted. There was no avoiding the conversation that would eventually come. Whatever Ettore told him—whatever Dante assumed—she would have to face it. And she wasn’t remotely prepared.
Still half-asleep, she got up and washed her face, splashing cool water over skin that felt clammy and swollen from crying. She brushed her hair back and dressed in comfortable black slacks and a soft top. Something simple. Something that didn’t feel like armor, but at least kept her steady.
Taking a slow breath, she stepped out of her room and headed toward the dining area. Her plan was simple: eat first, gather her courage, and then go to Dante’s study afterward to speak with him.
But the moment she pulled open the dining room door, she froze.
Dante was standing there.
Still dressed in a dark tuxedo, his suit immaculate, his posture regal and composed—as if he had just stepped out of an important meeting or a formal event. His presence filled the room instantly. He turned to her the moment she appeared.
She forced her lips into a polite greeting, but her heart betrayed her. It picked up pace immediately, thumping against her ribs almost painfully.
He looked... incredible. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe him. He looked powerful. Sharp. Impossibly elegant. And the worst part? She couldn’t stop the flicker of memories that came rushing back—of what he looked like without the suit. The thought sent heat rushing through her cheeks.
His platinum hair, perfectly styled, caught the warm light of the dining room, giving him an almost ethereal glow. His expression was cool—cold even—but the small smile he sent her the moment their eyes met made her breath hitch.
They sat down shortly after, Dante removing his jacket before taking his seat. Dora kept her gaze down as much as possible, busying herself with signaling to the servants which dishes she wanted.
They ate quietly, neither speaking as plates were served. Dora took slow bites, her eyes fixed on her food, relieved—deeply relieved—that Dante hadn’t brought up Ettore or the incident at the hospital.
Unless... Ettore didn’t actually tell him, she wondered nervously, stealing a quick glance at Dante.
He ate calmly, steadily, as though nothing was wrong. His face was breathtaking even in something as mundane as eating. And for a moment, she found herself staring at him differently—more consciously—because she was carrying his child now. The thought made her chest tighten.
She was still lost in her thoughts when Dante suddenly spoke from beside her.
"Are you okay?"
Her fork clattered softly on her plate. She jerked her head up, eyes wide.
"Wha... what?" she stuttered. Hearing his voice—that tone—made her pulse spike.
"Ettore mentioned what happened," he said softly, raising his head to look at her fully. "It must have been extremely shocking."
She nodded slowly, her appetite vanishing. She waited, knowing he had more to say.
"I figured you didn’t try to ditch him without reason," he added calmly, cutting straight to the truth. Her heart dropped, pounding wildly.
Should she tell him? Should she tell him she was pregnant?
But her mouth opened—and lies spilled out instead.
"I truly felt some pain in my leg. I have no—"
Dante cut her off gently, his voice steady.
"Then you should get a full body check-up. Just to ensure everything is okay."
She swallowed and nodded, pretending to keep eating. But inside, panic swirled. Why couldn’t she say it? Why couldn’t she tell him?
It wasn’t fear of rejection. She knew Dante wouldn’t harm her. But he would act—he would protect the child, even if it meant locking her inside this estate, restricting her movements, and controlling every part of her day for the sake of the baby.
Could she trust him not to place the baby’s wellbeing above her own?
The answer was painfully, undeniably clear.
No. She couldn’t.
"Of course," she murmured, forcing a small smile and pretending the conversation was over.
But Dante spoke again almost immediately.
"Are you free tonight?"
The question dropped like a stone into her chest. His tone was calm—too calm—but she knew exactly what he meant. And her heart leapt, anxious and wanting at the same time.
This was another reason she didn’t want him knowing she was pregnant.
She liked the intimacy.
She liked the sex.
She hated admitting it even to herself, but she looked forward to it, craved it even. If he knew she was carrying his child, all of that would likely stop, and she wasn’t ready to give it up. She couldn’t sleep with anyone else—not while pregnant with his child—and she refused to admit to him that pleasure, not reproduction, was why she wanted it.
And so, she sat there, silently battling her truth, aware that Dante’s eyes never left her.
