Chapter 3 - THE MISTRESS’S MISTAKE
“Let me see my wife!” Lorenzo shoved past the nurse, his former hesitation vanishing into pure, frantic adrenaline.
I followed as fast as my eighty-five-year-old legs could carry me, gripping my cane so tightly my knuckles turned white.
Inside the room, alarms blared. Claire lay pale against the pillows, doctors frantically adjusting IV lines. Her eyes were half-open, glazed with pain and exhaustion, but her fingers were locked around that diamond bracelet.
“Claire,” Lorenzo pleaded, falling to his knees beside her bed. He tried to touch her face, but she turned away.
“Don't,” she whispered, her voice barely a rasp.
“Claire, how did you get this bracelet?” Lorenzo begged. “Bianca wasn't here. She was at the party—”
“She was in my house,” Claire interrupted, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Before the party. Before my water broke. She came to the nursery.”
My blood ran cold. The estate was heavily guarded. No one entered the private family wing without authorization.
“What did she say to you?” I demanded, stepping closer to the bed.
Claire looked at me, the betrayal in her eyes deeper than any physical wound. “She didn't just come to gloat, Grandpa. She came to look for a document. She said Lorenzo promised her the Romano estate once I was out of the picture. She pushed me, Grandpa. That’s why my water broke.”
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room. The heart monitor beeped rhythmically, the only sound cutting through the tension.
Lorenzo looked at his hands, realizing they were stained with a betrayal far deeper than a simple affair. Bianca hadn't just faked an injury; she had actively tried to harm his pregnant wife and their unborn child.
“I’ll kill her,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice dark and hollow.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” a sharp voice rang out from the doorway.
May you like
We all turned. Standing there, flanked by two of my own security guards, was Bianca. She was no longer wearing the red designer gown. She wore a dark trench coat, and in her hands, she held a thick, leather-bound ledger.
“Lorenzo doesn't make the rules anymore,” Bianca smirked, holding up the book. “And neither do you, old man.”
