Page 69 of Please, Forgive Me
“What do you mean?” I asked cautiously, confused by his sudden change in tone.
He stared at me for a moment, like he was carefully choosing his words—which only made me more uneasy. Diego was never one to think before speaking. Quite the opposite—he usually said whatever came to mind, no matter who it hurt.
“Even if the baby isn’t mine,” he said finally, his voice hard and controlled, “I still want to be informed. From now on, you’re going to keep me updated on every detail.”
For a second, I wondered if this was genuine concern.
No. It couldn’t be.
He’d made it clear he didn’t believe me. This felt more like an attempt at control than anything else. And yet… something in his expression—a flicker in his eyes—made me hesitate.
Was he worried?
I almost laughed. Of course not. This was Diego Bittencourt—the coldest man I knew. He just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be blindsided by some inconvenient surprise.
“And what if I refuse to tell you anything?” I asked, testing the waters.
If he was going to treat me like a pawn in his game, then I wanted to see how far he was willing to go. He tilted his headslightly, studying me for what felt like an eternity. Then his answer came, as cutting and certain as ever.
“You won’t refuse.” His tone was sharp, final. “Because if you do, things can get a lot worse for you around here. And we both know you don’t want that.”
Something in his voice made me flinch.
Even if I wanted to fight back, a part of me knew he meant it. It wasn’t an empty threat. Diego always followed through—whether for good or for bad.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
I couldn’t let him intimidate me like this, but I also knew his game was far more dangerous than anything I could play alone.
“Fine,” I said at last, more to avoid another confrontation than out of any real willingness. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“Excellent.”
When he finally left, I exhaled, relieved—but my mind was spinning.
I wanted to believe there was some shred of humanity buried beneath that icy façade, but I couldn’t afford to think that way.
My boss had made it painfully clear that I meant nothing to him—he’d humiliated me, laughed in my face when I told him I was pregnant. And now he wanted to interfere in my life?
I stared at my computer screen, but the job postings I’d been looking at before all of this suddenly seemed meaningless.
I needed to find a way out.
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
I paused my work for a moment and closed my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that always found their way back when I least wanted them to. But, as usual, it was useless.
The memories of that damned afternoon crept in again, eating away at any attempt at focus.
Years ago, that day, I’d come home early—something that almost never happened. Work had always come first. But Arthur, still just a baby at the time, was sick, and I’d decided to surprise them.
When I walked into the house, everything seemed too quiet. The kind of silence that makes your gut twist. I noticed it—but ignored it—and went up the stairs slowly, thinking maybe she was asleep.
I still remember the unease growing inside me with every step I took toward our bedroom.
Something was wrong.
What waited for me behind that door… I wasn’t prepared for it.
