Lahat ng Kabanata ng Ruined By Desire : Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

The night stretched on like a wound that refused to close.At the villa, Luca sat on the floor of Sofia’s room, the crumpled letter from his late wife still clutched in his bloodied fist. Valentina knelt beside him, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, the other wiping tears from her own face. The silence was thick, broken only by Luca’s ragged breathing and the occasional creak of the old house settling.Luca stared at the letter as if it were a living accusation.“I can still hear her voice,” he whispered. “Elena’s voice. She was so weak at the end. She held my hand and made me swear. ‘Promise me you’ll take care of Sofia. Promise me she’ll never lack for love or protection. Be the father she needs.’ I swore it. I cried and I swore it on my life.”His voice cracked into a sob.“And I broke it. For you. For us. I broke the last promise I ever made to my wife.”Valentina felt the words like a physical blow. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, tears soaking into his shir

The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains of the villa, casting long, pale shadows across the kitchen floor. It was the kind of soft, golden dawn that usually promised a fresh start. Today, it felt like mockery.Luca stood at the stove out of pure habit, the same way he had done for years. His hands moved automatically mixing batter, heating the pan, adding chocolate chips because Sofia had always preferred them that way. The familiar rhythm was the only thing keeping him tethered to the present. If he stopped moving, the reality of the empty house would crush him.Valentina sat at the island, watching him with quiet, exhausted eyes. She hadn’t slept. Neither had he. The events of the previous night Sofia’s devastated face in the kitchen doorway, the sound of the suitcase wheels on the driveway, the final slam of the front door replayed in an endless loop in her mind.The pan sizzled as Luca poured the first circle of batter. The smell of cooking pancakes filled the kitch

Valentina sat across from Luca in the silent kitchen, the untouched cold pancakes still sitting between them like a silent accusation.She couldn’t stop staring at the empty chair.It was just a piece of furniture wood and cushion, slightly worn from years of Sofia sitting in it every morning. But right now it felt like the most damning evidence in the world. The dent in the leg from when Sofia was six and had kicked it too hard during a tantrum. The small scratch on the armrest from when she had dropped her keys as a teenager. The way the cushion still held the faint imprint of her body.Every detail screamed Sofia’s absence.And every detail screamed that Valentina was the reason for it.Homewrecker.The word wouldn’t leave her mind.It looped endlessly, louder with every passing second.She had come into this family as Sofia’s best friend — the girl who had been welcomed with open arms, who had been treated like a daughter, who had shared secrets and laughter and late-night talks

The kitchen table had become their battlefield.Luca and Valentina sat across from each other, the cold pancakes still sitting between them like a silent witness to everything that had gone wrong. The empty chair where Sofia used to sit loomed larger than ever, a constant reminder of the daughter who had walked out with a suitcase and a broken heart.Neither of them had moved in nearly an hour.The conversation had been circling for a long time, painful and raw, each word carrying the weight of the decision they both knew they had to make.Luca finally broke the heavy silence, his voice hoarse from hours of crying and barely speaking.“We have to decide,” he said. “We can’t keep pretending this is sustainable. We can’t keep sitting here hoping Sofia will magically forgive us while we continue to be together. She made it clear — she can’t handle seeing us as a couple. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”Valentina nodded slowly, her hands wrapped tightly around her cold mug of coffee. Her eyes we

The days after Sofia left blurred into a hollow routine that felt more like survival than living.Luca woke up every morning at the same time, as if muscle memory could bring order back to a world that had shattered. He went to the kitchen, pulled out the mixing bowl, and made breakfast pancakes on Mondays, waffles on Saturdays, scrambled eggs with herbs on the other days. He set three plates on the island out of habit, then quietly removed Sofia’s and pushed it to the side. The empty chair stared back at him like an accusation he couldn’t escape.He cooked anyway.The smell of food filled the kitchen, warm and familiar, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. He sat at the table alone most mornings, fork moving mechanically, eyes fixed on the empty seat where Sofia used to sit. The dent in the leg from her childhood tantrum. The small scratch on the armrest from when she dropped her keys as a teenager. Every mark was a memory that cut deeper than the last.Valentina watched him from th