Page 114 of Secret Baby for my Off-Limits Fiancé

“That’s not happening.” He holds out his hand. “You won’t get past his front gate without me. He knows me.”

I clench my teeth, glaring at him before getting into the passenger’s side

“Fine.”

The engine hums low beneath us, filling the silence between me and Valentino as he speeds down the dimly lit roads outside of the city.

I stare out of the passenger window, watching the blurred trees whip past us, my hands gripping my lap so tightly my nails dig into my palms.

The air inside the car is thick, weighted with everything unsaid, the betrayal, the confusion, the heartbreak.

But there’s something else, too.

Something unspoken that lingers between us like a frayed thread holding together what little remains of our relationship.

He should be furious with me. For robbing him of the chance to be there for his son. But he hasn’t lashed out, hasn’t raised his voice or accused me of anything.

Instead, he just… drives. His hands are tight on the wheel, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched.

I steal a glance at him.

The glow from the dashboard casts shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his features, the way his lips are pressed into a firm line.

I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

I don’t even know what I’d say if he asked me to explain myself.

So, I stay silent.

Minutes pass, stretching the tension between us like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap at any second.

Then, he finally speaks. "How are you holding up?"

His voice is softer than I expected, like he’s trying not to push too hard.

I blink, my fingers curling tighter into my lap.

“I don’t know.” My voice’s barely audible over the sound of the tires against the pavement.

It’s the truth. I don’t know how to feel about any of this.

Finding out that Silvano Salvatore is my father. The fact that I have to beg him to save my son’s life. The fact that the only person who understands even a fraction of what I’m going through right now is sitting next to me, and I don’t even know where we stand anymore because of what I did to him.

I chance another glance at him, expecting to see frustration or coldness in his expression. But instead, there’s something else.

Something almost like understanding.

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly. He exhales through his nose before flicking his gaze toward me briefly.

"This… is a lot to process." His voice is measured, calm.

I swallow hard. "Yeah. It is."

Silence settles between us again, but this time it feels different, not quite as suffocating.

I shift in my seat, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to keep my emotions in check.

The weight of it all, the fear, the guilt, the regret, presses down on me, making it hard to breathe.

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