Chapter 2

I moved into a studio apartment. The rent was 800 dollars a month. The mattress was thin, and the walls were paper-thin. Every night, the savory aroma of cooking from downstairs would drift in through the window.

Moonlight lit the room as my hand rested on my flat stomach. Inside it was not only my child but also the sole heir to the Rinaldi family. Oliver had abandoned him, and in doing so, he had severed his only chance to rise to the top of the ladder.

My phone suddenly vibrated. Oliver's name flashed on the screen. For a brief second, I wanted to let the call go to voicemail, but in the end, I answered it.

"You're still holding a company card under your name." He cut to the chase. "You need to cancel it."

His voice sounded as calm, restrained, and businesslike as ever. If anyone had overheard us, they would've assumed we were merely colleagues who were tying up loose ends on a project, not a couple whose marriage had ended less than 24 hours ago.

"I'll do it soon."

"Alright."

I was just about to end the call when another voice came through the receiver, "Doesn't she still have an access card?"

It was Maeve.

After a brief silence, Oliver answered, "Bring that with you, as well."

"Anything else?"

"That's all for now."

The call ended.

I stared at the screen for a while before pulling up our chat history. It was filled with three years of messages, including work updates, shopping lists, morning greetings, late-night check-ins… Thousands of exchanges that had once felt important.

The very first message was still there. "Thank you for your help today, Ms. Elettra."

I recalled that day in a heartbeat. We had been negotiating at a bar table, and the client had suddenly demanded concessions, even threatening to walk away from the deal entirely. Oliver had been at a disadvantage, his expression incredibly grim.

I was the one who had quietly reviewed the contract, pointed out several clauses that could shift the leverage back to his side, and ultimately sealed the deal that very afternoon. Unbeknownst to Oliver, the client had actually recognized me as one of the Principessas to the Rinaldi family.

I had let him believe I was merely a barista making just enough to pay my bills. After all, a woman like that was much easier on his ego.

…

Early the next morning, Oliver's mother, Ophelia White, called. The first thing she asked was not how I was doing, nor whether I had settled in or needed anything after the divorce.

"Have you finished packing?"

I looked around my tiny apartment and let out a bitter chuckle. "More or less."

"Good. Leave your old closet behind. Maeve took a look at them and told me there was nothing worth keeping." Her voice carried no overt ill intent. She simply spoke as though this were the natural order of things.

Then, she added, "By the way, Maeve wants the recipe for your ragù."

For three whole years, I had made jars of that ragù almost every single weekend. Oliver ate it so often with breakfast that whenever our stock ran low, I'd instinctively whip up a few more jars. Yet, Ophelia had never once praised me for it.

"No."

My answer caught her off guard. "What do you mean, no?"

"It means Maeve can't have it."

The warmth in her tone vanished instantly. "You are being incredibly childish, Elettra."

Leaning against the wall, I listened in silence as she listed Maeve's endless "advantages"—a better background, a higher education, and an effortless integration into Oliver's life. Therefore, she was more suitable for him.

Having heard her reasoning, I could tell she'd been holding these in for years, and she'd finally found an opportunity to say them out loud.

However, just last month, Oliver's company was on the brink of bankruptcy because a partner backed out of a deal at the eleventh hour. He had been running around like a headless chicken, attempting to secure a loan, and came within inches of selling Ophelia's retirement home.

I was the one who had used my family's connections to make a single phone call, and within 48 hours, the liquidity crisis had been resolved.

That night, Oliver had returned home with a brilliant smile, pulling me into a tight embrace. "It looks like luck is finally on our side," he had said.

Little did he know that luck existed only because his wife bore the surname Rinaldi.

"Mrs. Wright, I can't give you that recipe. Is there anything else?" I inquired.

Ophelia hung up on me.

Half an hour later, I received a message from Oliver. "Mom told me you were incredibly rude earlier. We're over, Elettra. Don't make this any uglier than it has to be."

I left him on read. After setting my phone face down on the mattress, I placed my palm flat against my abdomen.

A few months from now, my pregnancy would no longer be a secret. When that time came, I would return to the Rinaldi residence. Awaiting me were immense responsibilities, new horizons, and a colossal inheritance destined to rewrite the rules of the entire industry.

Oliver's company, which he was so proud of, was nothing but a drop in the ocean in comparison.

…

That afternoon, I went for my first prenatal checkup. The waiting room was packed and loud. A television was playing in the corner, and the nurses at the front desk were calling out patients' names.

I had just finished filling out the forms when my phone rang again. This time, it was Maeve, calling from Oliver's phone.

"Hi, Elettra," she chirped. "Sorry to bother you, but I found a bottle of folic acid in the bathroom cabinet."

I tightened my grip on my phone.

She paused for a beat before adding, "I wasn't sure if it was yours or if someone else left it here."

For a moment, I was at a complete loss for words. How could I have forgotten that bottle of folic acid?

Ever since we started trying for a baby, I had been taking it every day. I always kept the bottle in the drawer of my nightstand, alongside my prenatal vitamins and ovulation test strips. I had packed the vitamins when I left, but somehow, I had forgotten the folic acid.

I squeezed my phone tightly. "Throw it away," I said at last. "It's expired."

"Okay. By the way, Oliver wanted me to remind you about the company credit card. When are you planning to cancel it?"

"Tomorrow."

"Great, thanks!"

The line went dead.

Slowly, I lowered my phone and stared at the dark screen. Maeve was sharp and perceptive, and she'd found my folic acid…

"Will she find out?" I muttered under my breath.