Bye Loser! Love, Daddy's Heiress - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

The days melted into one another, a fog of grief and numbness swallowing me whole. Food lost its taste. Sleep became a distant memory. Those sterile hospital walls closed in tighter with each passing hour, until I could barely breathe.
But nothing hurt more than the silence.
No texts. No calls. Lothario never showed.
A part of me—stupid, hopeful—still made excuses. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he hadn't heard about the accident. Maybe there was some explanation for his absence.
So the second I could stand without collapsing, I dragged myself out of bed, ignoring the ache in my bones and the bandages clinging to my skin. I had to see him. I needed the truth.
But as I grabbed my coat, the past rushed in—memories of the Lothario I used to know.
I remembered the night I got lost in the woods. It was supposed to be a quick hike, but darkness fell too fast, and suddenly I was alone, shivering, blood dripping from a gash on my leg. Then his voice cut through the trees, rough with panic.
"Pearl! Where the hell are you?"
The second I saw him sprinting toward me, I broke. He dropped to his knees, hands shaking as he checked the wound. "Damn it, Pearl. Why would you go alone? What if I didn't find you in time?"
I tried to laugh. "You always find me, Lothario."
He scoffed, scooping me into his arms. "That's not the point. You scared me."
He stayed by my side all night, fingers tangled with mine in that hospital bed. "I'm never letting you go off on your own again, understood?" he'd whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the memory away. Where was that Lothario now?
Another flickered to life—the winter we went ice skating. Snowflakes swirled around us as we glided hand in hand, until my excitement got the best of me. I twisted my ankle, but he caught me just before I hit the ice, his grip iron-tight.
"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" he'd demanded, worry etched into every feature.
I tried to brush it off, but the pain was sharp. Without a word, he carried me off the rink, jaw clenched. "You're so damn stubborn. Why didn't you let me teach you properly?"
"Because I wanted to be good at it already."
He sighed, massaging my ankle before hauling me to the hospital. And later? He showed up at my door with takeout, roses, and a teddy bear bigger than my torso.
"Since you can't walk for a while, you'll have to hug this instead of me," he teased, ruffling my hair.
That was Lothario. That was the man I loved.
Now? Nothing. No calls. No texts. No flowers. No bear. Not even a "You alive?"
I clenched my fists, choking back the sting in my throat. Maybe I'd been an idiot to think I still mattered to him.
But I had to hear it from his mouth. I had to see it for myself.
So, legs trembling and heart leaden, I left the hospital.
Lothario's estate loomed as grand as ever—untouchable, pristine. But something felt off. The guards hesitated before letting me in. The maids averted their eyes. The air itself was thick with tension, like the house was bracing for impact.
This was only my third time here. After he made his fortune, he'd moved into this mansion alone—said he needed space. I didn't argue. I didn't want to smother us.
But now, standing in his marble foyer, I realized: I was just a visitor in his life.
Then I saw them.
The invitations.
Stacked neatly on the table.
Lothario De Luca & Alessia Ricci.
Engagement Party This Friday.
The room spun. My stomach lurched, and before I could stop myself, I was hunched over the sink, vomiting. He was mine. Wasn't he?
"Pearl?"
I wiped my mouth, shaking as I turned. Lothario stood there, flawless as ever. Like nothing had changed. His gaze skimmed over me, but he didn't flinch at the bruises, didn't notice the bandages. Just smiled.
"I've been meaning to call you," he said casually, stepping closer. "Got caught up."
I swallowed the acid on my tongue. He pulled me into a hug, his expensive cologne wrapping around me—familiar, suffocating. I didn't move. Not yet.
"Come," he murmured, guiding me toward the dining room. "Have dinner with me."
The table was set like a scene from a magazine—crystal, silver, food arranged like art. He poured wine like we were still us. Like we weren't shattered.
I forced my hands steady, watching him. Waiting. Finally, as he twirled his fork, I spoke.
"What am I to you, Lothario?"
He didn't pause. "The woman I'm going to marry."
My stomach dropped.
"The woman I want to have a child with," he added.
The words sliced deep. A child.
I bit my lip until copper filled my mouth. He didn't know. Didn't know about the accident. Didn't know I'd been carrying his baby. Didn't know I'd lost it all.
And worst of all—he hadn't even cared enough to ask.