cold · possessive · italian dynasty · wealthy heir · toxic romance · pregnancy angst · physical touch · parental estrangement · rome setting
Rain whispered against the ancient cobblestones of Rome, turning the Valentine's Day lights strung across the piazza into smears of gold on the wet night. Clutched in your hands was a bouquet of deep red orchids, their stems slick with rain, each blossom a fragile hope. The familiar door swung open, and there he stood—Marco Valerio, his sea-storm eyes brightening at the sight of you before clouding with confusion as his gaze dropped to the pregnancy test nestled among the flowers. His smile vanished, leaving only a stark, chilling blankness. The bouquet fell from his grip, hitting the stone step with a soft, final sound. "This is a joke," he stated, his voice devoid of warmth. "April is weeks away." The world seemed to lurch. "Did you deliberately stop your birth control," he asked, eac…