𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲.
I never thought my world would crumble at the hands of a man like Alessandro Rossi-a 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 draped in silk suits and ruthlessness. One moment, I was Yasenia Fraga, daughter of the...
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I sat in my home office back in New York, miles away from Vigo, miles away from Yasenia, and miles away from the fucking mess I'd made of my life. The bottle of scotch on my desk was half-empty-or half-full, depending on how you looked at it-but I wasn't in the fucking mood for optimism. I was in the mood to drink myself into oblivion, to drown in the guilt and self-loathing that had been eating me alive since the day I walked out on Yasenia.
I tipped the glass back, letting the burn of the alcohol sear my throat, wishing it could burn away the memories too. But it didn't. Nothing did. Not the booze, not the sleepless nights, not the fucking endless cycle of regret. I'd hurt the only woman who'd ever loved me since my mother. I'd broken her heart when she needed me the most. Yasenia was carrying our baby-our babies, I corrected bitterly-and I'd left her to deal with it all alone. She'd almost lost them because of my fucking father's sick games, and then she'd lost her own father, the man who'd taken a bullet meant for me. And what had I done? I'd told her divorcing her was the best way to keep her safe. Like some kind of coward. Like some kind of fucking monster.
I hurled the scotch glass across the room, watching it shatter against the wall, the shards scattering across the floor like pieces of my own fucking broken life. I sat there, staring at the mess, wishing I could shatter myself just as easily. Wishing I could put a bullet in my goddamn skull and rid the world of my existence.
That's when Andrea walked in.
He took one look at the shattered glass, the half-empty bottle, and me slumped in my chair like a goddamn wreck, and he didn't say a word. He just grabbed a glass from the cabinet, poured himself a drink, and took a seat across from my desk.
"I guess I don't need to ask what happened," he said, his voice calm, like he was used to walking into scenes like this. Maybe he was. Maybe I was that predictable.
"Why aren't you asleep? It's past fucking midnight," I snapped, not in the mood for company but too tired to kick him out.
"I knew you needed company," he said simply. "Did you go see her today?"
I nodded, my throat tight. "We had an ultrasound appointment," I said, the words bitter on my tongue. "We're having twins."
Twins. The word echoed in my head, over and over, like some kind of cruel joke. Twins. Two lives I was responsible for. Two lives I was probably going to ruin, just like my father fucking ruined mine. I didn't know how to feel. Happy? Terrified? Guilty? All of the above? It was too much. Too fucking much.
"What if we have a boy?" I muttered, more to myself than to Andrea. "Or worse, two? How would I treat them? The same way my sick, sadistic father treated me? What if I hurt them the way he hurt me? What if I can't love them the way he couldn't love me? What if I break them the way he fucking broke me, Andrea?!" My voice rose, desperate, like I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn't come back from.
