Page 52 of Tormented Oath

I should destroy it, but something makes me hesitate. One last lifeline, maybe. Or one last mistake waiting to happen.

In the kitchen, I start to write a note, then stop. What could I possibly say?

Sorry I lied about everything? Sorry I'm running? Sorry I'm carrying your child but I can't trust that you'd choose us over revenge?

Better to say nothing. Cleaner that way. Professional.

My father would be proud. My mother would understand. They had taught me well—how to slip away in the night, how to cauterize wounds before they can bleed you dry.

They just never taught me how to do it while carrying someone's heart in my hands.

Or their child in my body.

I press my palm flat against my stomach that is still unchanged but somehow different now that I know for sure. Now that I'm choosing this path for all of us.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to the silent penthouse, to the man sleeping in the other room, to the life growing inside me. "I'm so sorry."

But sorry doesn't change what needs to be done.

The elevator waits, but my feet carry me back to the bedroom doorway. One last look. One last moment of weakness.

Stefano sleeps peacefully, unaware that his world is about to shift, that everything he thinks he knows about me is a lie. That somewhere inside me, his child is growing.

"I love you," I whisper into the darkness, the words catching in my throat. "God help me, but I do."

He doesn't stir. Of course he doesn't.

I slip from the room.

The elevator doors slide open silently, ready to take me away from everything I never meant to want.

Everything I can't keep.

It's better this way, I tell myself as I step inside. Better to leave him with anger than destroy him with truth.

Even if it means destroying myself in the process.

* * *

The elevator descends smoothly, each floor marking another step away from the life I could have had. Forty-two floors to second-guess everything. Forty-two chances to turn back.

I don't.

My reflection in the polished elevator walls shows a woman I barely recognize, hair slightly mussed from Stefano's hands. Lips still swollen from his kisses. Eyes harder than they should be, considering what just happened in his bed.

Professional. Keep it professional.

The mantra steadies me as I count security cameras, note guard positions, track the gaps in coverage I've spent weeks memorizing. The night shift is lighter, something I'd filed away automatically, never thinking I'd use it against him like this.

Floor twenty-eight. The cameras in the east stairwell will be switching feeds.

Floor fifteen. Matteo starts his rounds, always clockwise.

Floor seven. The service entrance will be unlocked for the early deliveries.

I know every detail of Stefano's security because he trusted me enough to let me see it. He trusted me in his home, his bed, his life.

And I'm using it all against him.

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