He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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That was all it took for Lorenzo to forget. To wipe our daughter from existence like she never mattered.
The De Luca empire's five-star hotel blazed like a beacon, its grand ballroom packed with the most ruthless figures in the underworld. Crystal flutes clinked, champagne flowed, and laughter rang out—obscene, mocking laughter. Above the stage, a massive banner screamed in gilded letters:
WELCOME HOME, ISABELLA & DANTE.
My nails bit into my palms as I stood frozen at the entrance. Fourteen days. That's all it had been. Fourteen days since we buried Amara. And here he was, throwing a goddamn party. My grief meant nothing. My pain was an inconvenience.
I shoved past the guards, their protests fading behind me. The sharp click of my heels against marble cut through the noise as I stormed forward, my vision narrowing to one target—the stage. To them.
Lorenzo stood at the center, immaculate in his tailored black suit, exuding power like always. Beside him, Isabella clung to his arm, draped in a blood-red gown, her smile radiant. Glowing. As if she hadn't ripped my world apart. As if my daughter's grave wasn't still fresh.
White-hot rage exploded in my chest. I didn't think. I just moved.
The slap cracked through the ballroom like a gunshot. Gasps erupted as Isabella's head snapped to the side, shock flashing in her eyes before she schooled her expression into wounded innocence.
"Valeria—" Lorenzo's voice was a blade, sharp and warning.
But I wasn't done. "How dare you?" My entire body trembled. "You stand here celebrating while our daughter is rotting in the ground?" My voice broke, but I didn't care. I turned on Lorenzo, fury scorching my words. "You couldn't even give me a month to grieve. And now you're parading this whore around like she's your queen?"
Isabella gasped—then collapsed to the floor in a theatrical heap.
"Oh my God!" she wailed, pressing a trembling hand to her cheek. "She hit me! She attacked me in front of everyone!" Tears gushed down her face, her shoulders shaking with exaggerated sobs. "Lorenzo, please," she whimpered. "Make her stop."
Lorenzo's jaw clenched, tension rolling off him in waves. Then—movement.
Dante. His precious son.
The boy hurled himself at me, tiny fists slamming into my ribs. "You monster!" he shrieked, face twisted in fury. "You hurt my mama! You're evil! Papa hates you now!" His small foot lashed out, kicking me hard enough to steal my breath.
Pain flared, but I didn't fight back. I wouldn't. Not a child. Even if he was hers. Even if Lorenzo just stood there, watching. Silent.
Then I saw it—Isabella's smirk. Brief. Smug. Gone in a flash as she buried her face against Lorenzo's chest, playing the fragile victim.
"She's trying to ruin us, Lorenzo," she whispered, voice trembling. "She can't stand that you love me now."
Lorenzo exhaled sharply—then struck.
The slap sent me stumbling back, my skin burning. The room fell deathly silent. When I lifted my gaze, his expression was ice. No remorse. No recognition. Like I was nothing. Like our years together, our child, meant less than dust.
"This ends tonight," he said, voice hollow.
He pulled something from his pocket and flung it at me. Papers scattered at my feet.
Divorce papers.
Then—photos. Dozens of them, fluttering to the floor.
Me. Naked. Tangled with three different men. A lie. A setup.
My blood turned to ice. "What the hell is this?"
Lorenzo's eyes were pure disgust. "You think I wouldn't find out? Spreading your legs for my enemies? Selling secrets from our bed?"
"No," I choked. "Lorenzo, these are fake—"
Isabella let out a broken sob. "Must we do this here? She's humiliated herself enough."
Our eyes locked. And there it was again—that glint of triumph.
She did this.
But Lorenzo didn't see. Or didn't want to.
"You really believe I'd betray you?" My voice shook, but I held his gaze. "After Amara?"
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes at her name. Then—gone.
"Sign the papers," he said, tone final.
My heart shattered, but I refused to crumble. Not here. Not for them. I straightened, chin high. "You'll regret this."
Lorenzo didn't answer. He just turned his back on me—like he had with our daughter.
And as I stood there, drowning in whispers, one truth crystallized:
The man I loved was dead.
And if he thought I'd walk away quietly?
He had no idea what hell I could unleash.
The De Luca empire's five-star hotel blazed like a beacon, its grand ballroom packed with the most ruthless figures in the underworld. Crystal flutes clinked, champagne flowed, and laughter rang out—obscene, mocking laughter. Above the stage, a massive banner screamed in gilded letters:
WELCOME HOME, ISABELLA & DANTE.
My nails bit into my palms as I stood frozen at the entrance. Fourteen days. That's all it had been. Fourteen days since we buried Amara. And here he was, throwing a goddamn party. My grief meant nothing. My pain was an inconvenience.
I shoved past the guards, their protests fading behind me. The sharp click of my heels against marble cut through the noise as I stormed forward, my vision narrowing to one target—the stage. To them.
Lorenzo stood at the center, immaculate in his tailored black suit, exuding power like always. Beside him, Isabella clung to his arm, draped in a blood-red gown, her smile radiant. Glowing. As if she hadn't ripped my world apart. As if my daughter's grave wasn't still fresh.
White-hot rage exploded in my chest. I didn't think. I just moved.
The slap cracked through the ballroom like a gunshot. Gasps erupted as Isabella's head snapped to the side, shock flashing in her eyes before she schooled her expression into wounded innocence.
"Valeria—" Lorenzo's voice was a blade, sharp and warning.
But I wasn't done. "How dare you?" My entire body trembled. "You stand here celebrating while our daughter is rotting in the ground?" My voice broke, but I didn't care. I turned on Lorenzo, fury scorching my words. "You couldn't even give me a month to grieve. And now you're parading this whore around like she's your queen?"
Isabella gasped—then collapsed to the floor in a theatrical heap.
"Oh my God!" she wailed, pressing a trembling hand to her cheek. "She hit me! She attacked me in front of everyone!" Tears gushed down her face, her shoulders shaking with exaggerated sobs. "Lorenzo, please," she whimpered. "Make her stop."
Lorenzo's jaw clenched, tension rolling off him in waves. Then—movement.
Dante. His precious son.
The boy hurled himself at me, tiny fists slamming into my ribs. "You monster!" he shrieked, face twisted in fury. "You hurt my mama! You're evil! Papa hates you now!" His small foot lashed out, kicking me hard enough to steal my breath.
Pain flared, but I didn't fight back. I wouldn't. Not a child. Even if he was hers. Even if Lorenzo just stood there, watching. Silent.
Then I saw it—Isabella's smirk. Brief. Smug. Gone in a flash as she buried her face against Lorenzo's chest, playing the fragile victim.
"She's trying to ruin us, Lorenzo," she whispered, voice trembling. "She can't stand that you love me now."
Lorenzo exhaled sharply—then struck.
The slap sent me stumbling back, my skin burning. The room fell deathly silent. When I lifted my gaze, his expression was ice. No remorse. No recognition. Like I was nothing. Like our years together, our child, meant less than dust.
"This ends tonight," he said, voice hollow.
He pulled something from his pocket and flung it at me. Papers scattered at my feet.
Divorce papers.
Then—photos. Dozens of them, fluttering to the floor.
Me. Naked. Tangled with three different men. A lie. A setup.
My blood turned to ice. "What the hell is this?"
Lorenzo's eyes were pure disgust. "You think I wouldn't find out? Spreading your legs for my enemies? Selling secrets from our bed?"
"No," I choked. "Lorenzo, these are fake—"
Isabella let out a broken sob. "Must we do this here? She's humiliated herself enough."
Our eyes locked. And there it was again—that glint of triumph.
She did this.
But Lorenzo didn't see. Or didn't want to.
"You really believe I'd betray you?" My voice shook, but I held his gaze. "After Amara?"
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes at her name. Then—gone.
"Sign the papers," he said, tone final.
My heart shattered, but I refused to crumble. Not here. Not for them. I straightened, chin high. "You'll regret this."
Lorenzo didn't answer. He just turned his back on me—like he had with our daughter.
And as I stood there, drowning in whispers, one truth crystallized:
The man I loved was dead.
And if he thought I'd walk away quietly?
He had no idea what hell I could unleash.
End of He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby book page.