They returned to the mansion in silence.
The car pulled into the driveway, and the staff opened the doors promptly. Elena stepped out first, her pace quick, her eyes avoiding everyone's gaze.
She headed toward the staircase, eager to disappear into her suite.
Luca's voice stopped her.
"Do not force me to be too controlling, Elena. I don't want that. And you won't want that part of me too."
He didn't wait for a response.
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the marble floor.
Elena stood still for a few moments, her heart heavy, her mind racing.
Then she moved slowly, her steps sluggish, and made her way to her suite without another word.
Elena entered her suite and closed the door gently behind her.
The silence inside was thick, almost suffocating.
She leaned against the door for a moment, her eyes closed, trying to steady her breath.
Her mind replayed everything—the confrontation at the university, the slap, the car ride, Luca's final words.
She walked slowly to the edge of her bed and sat down, her fingers tracing the hem of her blouse absentmindedly.
She felt small.
Not because she was weak, but because everything around her was so loud—Luca's authority, Marissa's cruelty, the whispers, the contract.
She looked around the room, at the luxury that surrounded her, she was happy when she moved in.
It now felt like a cage.
She whispered to herself, almost inaudibly.
"What am I doing here?"
Her hand drifted to her stomach.
The child was the reason.
But what about her?
She didn't cry this time.
She just sat there, staring at the floor, letting the weight of everything settle quietly on her shoulders.
The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of the bedside lamp.
Her thoughts swirled like autumn leaves caught in a slow wind—memories, regrets, questions with no answers.
She lay back slowly, her body sinking into the mattress as if it were the only place that didn't demand anything of her.
Her eyes traced the ceiling, then the chandelier, then nothing at all.
The silence wrapped around her like a blanket.
Her breathing slowed.
Her hand rested gently on her stomach, a quiet promise to the life growing inside her.
And as the weight of the day pressed down, her eyelids grew heavy.
The last thing she remembered was the sound of her own heartbeat, steady and soft.
Then sleep took her—not violently, but like a tide pulling her gently under.
The morning light crept through the curtains, casting soft streaks across the room.
Elena stirred slowly, her body reluctant to wake.
Her limbs felt heavy, her head foggy, and her stomach unsettled.
She blinked a few times, trying to gather herself, but the fatigue clung to her like a second skin.
She sat up, groaning softly, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
The moment she stood, a wave of nausea hit her hard.
She rushed to the bathroom, barely making it in time before she leaned over the sink and vomited.
Her hands gripped the porcelain tightly, her forehead damp with sweat.
She stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily, her body trembling.
Everything felt heavier than it should—her thoughts, her limbs, her heart.
She rinsed her mouth, splashed cold water on her face, and looked at herself in the mirror.
Pale.
Tired.
Changed.
She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her.
Elena lingered in her suite long after she'd cleaned up.
She didn't have the strength to dress or move around much. Her body felt like it was dragging itself through wet sand.
She curled up on the couch near the window, wrapped in a light blanket, staring out at the garden below without really seeing it.
Time passed slowly.
The mansion was quiet, but downstairs, breakfast had long been served.
Brittany knocked gently on the door before peeking in.
"Elena?" she called softly.
Elena turned her head slightly, her eyes dull.
"You didn't come down for breakfast," Brittany said, stepping inside. "Are you alright?"
Elena hesitated, then nodded faintly.
"I just… feel tired," she murmured.
Brittany walked closer, concern etched across her face.
"You look pale. Did you sleep well?"
Elena gave a weak shrug. "I slept… but I woke up feeling heavy. I vomited earlier."
Brittany's expression shifted instantly.
"That's normal," she said gently. "You're in your first trimester. Your body's adjusting."
Elena nodded again, but her silence spoke louder than words.
Brittany sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"You don't have to go through this alone, you know."
Elena didn't respond.
She just leaned her head back against the cushion, letting the quiet settle again.
Brittany looked at Elena with gentle concern.
"Would you like breakfast in here?" she asked softly.
Elena nodded.
Brittany gave a small smile and stood. "I'll be back soon."
As the door closed behind her, Elena reached for her phone on the side table.
She unlocked it slowly, scrolling through notifications until she opened the group chat.
Her eyes froze.
A message from Marissa sat at the bottom of the thread, bold and venomous.
"Elena Hart is a whore! She's nothing but a whore! Cheap and pretentious… won't be long before I fully expose you bitch."
Elena's breath caught.
Her thumb hovered for a second before she quickly logged out of the chat and dropped the phone onto the table beside her.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands pressed against her temples.
Her eyes drifted to her bandaged wrist.
She stared at it.
Not because it hurt.
But because it reminded her of everything she couldn't escape.
A few minutes later, Brittany returned, balancing a tray with care.
She placed it gently on the table beside Elena.
"I brought you oatmeal with sliced bananas and a cup of chamomile tea," she said softly. "It's light and good for your stomach."
Elena gave a faint nod, her eyes still distant.
Brittany sat down beside her again, her tone shifting slightly.
"Mr. Moretti had me register you for a prenatal orientation class," she said. "It's for first-time pregnant women. The sessions start tomorrow."
Elena looked up slowly, her expression unreadable.
She didn't speak.
She just stared at the tray, then back at Brittany.
The silence lingered.
But as Elena stared at the tray, something shifted inside her.
She felt lighter.
Luca had done this for her—not to control her, but to help her understand what she needed to know.
It was thoughtful.
And unexpectedly sweet.
She reached for the tea, her fingers curling around the warm cup, and took a slow sip.
An hour later.
Elena stepped into the bathroom, steam curling softly around the edges of the mirror.
She undressed slowly, her movements still sluggish, and stepped into the shower.
The warm water cascaded over her skin, soothing her muscles and washing away the weight of the morning.
She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe.
But as she turned to reach for the soap, her foot slipped.
Her body jolted.
She fell hard against the tiles, a sharp cry escaping her lips.
Her scream echoed through the suite.
Across the hall, in his own room, Luca heard it.
He didn't hesitate.
He rushed out, crossed the corridor, and pushed open Elena's door without knocking.
He followed the sound of running water and pain straight to the bathroom.
There she was—on the floor, wet, trembling, and unclothed.
Luca's eyes widened, but he didn't falter.
He hurried to her side, kneeling beside her.
"Elena," he said urgently, "are you hurt?"
She looked up at him, dazed, her arm clutching her side.
"I… I slipped," she whispered.
He grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around her gently, shielding her from the cold and from his own gaze.
"Don't move," he said. "Let me help you."
Luca carefully slid one arm beneath Elena's back and the other under her knees.
She winced slightly as he lifted her, cradling her against his chest.
Water dripped from her skin onto his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice.
His focus was entirely on her.
Elena's cheeks burned with embarrassment.
This was the second time he'd seen her unclothed.
But something about the way he held her, the way his eyes never wandered, made her feel strangely safe.
He didn't leer.
He didn't smirk.
He didn't even flinch.
Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on her face, full of concern and quiet strength.
She clutched the towel tighter around herself, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry…"
Luca shook his head. "Don't be."
He carried her out of the bathroom and gently laid her down on the bed, pulling the covers over her.
"I'll call someone to check on you," he said, already reaching for his phone.
Elena watched him, her heart thudding—not from the fall, but from the realization that Luca wasn't just kind.
He was a gentleman.
Elena shifted slightly under the covers, her hand resting on her stomach.
Luca reached for his phone, but she stopped him.
"Don't call anyone," she said softly. "I'm fine. It was just a minor fall."
He looked at her for a moment, studying her face.
Then he nodded.
"Alright," he said. "But be more careful."
She gave a faint nod in return.
Luca stood, glanced once more at her wrapped in the blanket, then turned and walked toward the door.
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't linger.
He just left quietly, closing the door behind him.
Elena lay still, listening to the silence that followed.
Elena lay back against the pillows, her body finally still.
She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting.
"I don't even have a bump yet," she murmured to herself, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "And he thinks a fall could do any damage at this stage…"
She shook her head slightly, amused by his protectiveness.
But the smile lingered.
Her mind wandered—back to the way he rushed in, the way he wrapped the towel around her without hesitation, without a trace of lust.
The way his voice softened when he spoke to her.
She hadn't expected Luca Moretti to come to help her.
She stared at the door he'd just walked through, her thoughts tangled in the quiet.
And for a moment, she forgot about the fall.
She forgot about Marissa.
She forgot about the whispers.
She was simply lost in thoughts about Luca.