Chapter 3

It was late when we left the Romano estate.

Bella was curled up in my arms, eyes swollen, not making a sound.

I stroked her hair, assuming she was simply exhausted from crying, and hurried to find somewhere to stay.

By the time I stood in the hotel lobby, I looked like an absolute wreck.

"A suite, please."

I handed over the supplementary credit card.

The receptionist swiped it, then looked up. "I'm sorry, ma'am. This card has been frozen."

My stomach dropped. I dug out my own bank card.

Only to discover that my personal savings had been transferred out too.

My fingertips went cold. I felt nothing but revulsion.

Vito was willing to go that far.

He didn't just want me to grovel—he wanted to cut off every escape route I had.

The receptionist's tone was flat: "Miss, would you still like a room?"

My throat constricted. I called my closest friend:

"Can you lend me some money? Or book a room for me? I just need somewhere for Bella and me to stay tonight."

My fingertips went cold. I felt nothing but revulsion.

Vito was willing to go that far.

He didn't just want me to grovel—he wanted to cut off every escape route I had.

The receptionist's tone was flat: "Miss, would you still like a room?"

My throat constricted. I called my closest friend:

"Can you lend me some money? Or book a room for me? I just need somewhere for Bella and me to stay tonight."

Two seconds of silence. Then her voice dropped low:

"Sofia, it's not that I don't want to help. It's just—my family is in the middle of negotiating a deal with the Romanos right now. This thing with you has gotten so big… if I get involved, it could hurt the company."

She didn't finish, but I already understood.

I hung up, staring at my own reflection in the marble floor, and suddenly found it all absurd.

Twenty-some years alive, and I had nothing.

The only person left who would stand by me without hesitation was the daughter in my arms.

But the next second, her body swayed, and she went limp against me.

I pressed my hand to her forehead, and my heart turned to ice.

She was burning up.

I scrolled through every contact in my phone, and finally stopped on the one name I least wanted to bother.

After managing to borrow money, I carried Bella back to the front desk:

"A room, please. My daughter has a fever."

The receptionist suddenly rolled her eyes:

"No wonder your cards are frozen. You're that Romano fake heiress who cheated on her husband."

I froze.

She looked me up and down, her tone growing nastier by the second:

"Rotten to the core, and you still had to pop out some no-name bastard to embarrass everyone. This is a respectable establishment. Please take yourself elsewhere—don't dirty our floors."

Guests in the lobby turned to stare.

I tried to explain, but there was nothing I could say.

I could only carry Bella out of the hotel in humiliation.

The streets were empty, the late-night wind cutting like a blade.

Bella was delirious with fever, her face buried in the crook of my neck, murmuring:

"Daddy… please don't leave me…"

That single sentence ripped my heart to shreds.

I clenched my jaw and finally pulled out my phone, dialing Vito's number.

Ten calls. No answer.

My fingers trembling, I typed out a message:

Bella has a fever. Can you please come?

After a long while, his reply:

"The kid isn't even mine. I don't have time for your sob story."

I stared at those cold, dead words on the screen.

The world around me buzzed with noise, but I couldn't even cry.

In the end, I took Bella to the hospital alone.

The emergency corridor was crowded. I'd barely finished registering when I heard a familiar voice.

Vito was guiding Alessia into the ER.

A nurse handed a test form to Vito, her tone reproachful:

"Bleeding in the first trimester—threatened miscarriage. These early months are critical. You're her husband; be more careful. Stop putting stress on the mother!"

Vito took the form, instinctively pulling Alessia closer. "Does it still hurt?"

Alessia shook her head softly, eyes red-rimmed.

"Bleeding in the first trimester—threatened miscarriage. These early months are critical. You're her husband; be more careful. Stop putting stress on the mother!"

Vito took the form, instinctively pulling Alessia closer. "Does it still hurt?"

Alessia shook her head softly, eyes red-rimmed.

Vito frowned. "Don't go home tonight. Stay at my place—I'll take care of you."

Alessia bit her lip, whispered an agreement, and leaned into his chest.

I stood there. My blood turned to ice, inch by inch.

Years ago, when I was pregnant with Bella, he'd held me just like that.

I'd had terrible morning sickness—couldn't keep even water down.

He canceled every meeting on the spot and stayed by my side for all ten months.

He'd said: "Sofia, you and our daughter—you're my whole life."

And now, the one who'd stamped his "whole life" as a bastard was him.

The one who'd pushed me and Bella into the abyss with his own hands—also him.

I almost wanted to laugh.

Turns out, the more real a person's love seems when they love you—the more brutal they become when they don't.

Bella was still burning in my arms.

My phone buzzed.

I looked down. A message from Vito:

"Sofia, I'm done waiting. Three days from now. City hall."