His greatest love.

Chapter 23.

"You are almost fully dilated, Dr. Pierce," the attending physician said in a voice that carried both professionalism and warmth.

Diana arched a brow. "You mean to tell me I'm not ready yet?"

The doctor smiled politely. "Don't worry—you'll be ready in no time." He adjusted the sleek touchscreen monitor beside her bed—its soft blue display showing both her vitals and the baby's heartbeat—before slipping out of the private suite.

The silence that followed wasn't the sterile quiet of a typical hospital. This room had been designed for the wealthy, for those who could afford privacy and dignity in the most vulnerable of moments. Soft recessed lights cast a gentle glow, the walls painted in muted ivory. A large panoramic window revealed the glitter of the city skyline, partially softened by motorized blinds. Her bed wasn't the standard issue—it was oversized, with memory-foam cushioning and fresh, crisp linens pressed with the hospital's gold-embroidered crest. To her left, a mahogany cabinet held individually packaged surgical tools, while on the other side sat a recliner designed for long nights, upholstered in plush gray leather.

She swung her legs carefully off the bed, fingers curling around the brushed-steel IV stand. A soft Persian-style rug cushioned her bare feet against the otherwise clinical tile. When the contraction struck, her knees trembled, knuckles whitening against the chrome pole, the muted hum of the air filter her only companion.

By the time she reached the en-suite bathroom, she steadied herself at the vanity. The mirror—rimmed with a soft anti-glare light—reflected a woman drenched in both sweat and defiance. Her hospital gown was silk-blend, a far cry from the paper scrubs issued to ordinary patients. Diamond studs winked faintly from her ears. She splashed cool water on her face, breathing through the pain.

The people that she wanted to be with at that exact moment had betrayed her so drastically. They made her look like a fool and now she was here going through all this by herself. It took a toll on her mental health and now her physical body that she had fully depended on all these years was now vulnerable. Suddenly another contraction wave hit her as she supported herself against the counter as she silently navigated through it. She was already aware that straining too much during these waves was going to tire her for when the baby has to come. She smiled at the mirror her face glittering from the little sweats the thought of having a baby to shower with love and attention that she never had gave her a sense of hope.

"I can do this," She said silently rubbing on to her belly understanding that everything was about to change and she was happy. She rinsed her hands then dried them with the paper towel. She held on to her drip stand and slowly walked back to the suite.

Her gaze froze.

Giovanni stood by her bed. The roses he had brought—blood-red, lavish— her favorite sat neatly on the table in the suite. A velvet bag and a box of chocolates sat neatly beside the large bouquet. He didn't belong here, and yet he filled the space as though the room had been designed for him.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was calm, though her pulse tripped.

"You like them?" His tone was hesitant, oddly vulnerable.

"They're beautiful. Thank you." Her eyes lingered on the roses that magnificently held her eye.

"You haven't been answering my texts. Or my calls," Gio said softly, though his jaw flexed as if every word cost him.

She chuckled faintly, trying to lighten the air. "And how did you know I was here?"

"I pay attention to our conversations, amore." His eyes flicked to the bedside monitor, then back to her, as though the glowing lines of her heartbeat were the only reassurance he had left.