His First Love Came Back, So I Left

"Answer me. Are you taking it or not?"

I shook my head again.

Another strike. And another. Each one landed harder than the last. My body trembled, my hands pressing against the floor as I tried to stay upright.

Through the glass window, I could see outside. Domenico was there. Standing in the garden of the estate, past the stone balustrade where two soldiers stood at their posts. His back facing this room. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His posture relaxed, like nothing in the world could touch him.

Then he laughed. Low, soft.

"…Ambra," I heard faintly through the glass.

Of course. Who else?

"Since you don't understand," Donatella said coldly behind me, raising the strap again, "then I'll beat it into you."

The leather cut through the air and landed again. My vision started to blur. Pain spread everywhere, hot and overwhelming. I could feel something wet soaking through my clothes but I didn't look. Somewhere in the house a clock was ticking, steady and indifferent, counting out every second Donatella's arm kept swinging.

"I w-won't," my voice came out weak, barely there. "I won't take it…"

Another strike. My body gave out and I collapsed forward, barely able to hold myself up. The gold crucifix at Donatella's throat caught the light each time she drew back. She hadn't adjusted it once. She'd already decided my fate before she walked in.

Through my fading vision, I saw him again. Still standing there. Still talking. Still not turning around. Not even once.

A small, broken thought crossed my mind. Was I ever anything to him? Or was I just… someone he could lose without noticing?

Everything started going dark. And just before I lost consciousness, I felt something strange.

Relief.

Maybe… this was good. Maybe after this, I wouldn't feel anything for him anymore.

…

When I woke up, I was already in a bed at the Family's private clinic. Everything felt heavy, and my back burned the moment I tried to breathe a little deeper.

"Don Valente, the injuries are quite severe," someone beside me said. "The leather strikes cut deep. Some areas reached the dermis. It'll take time to heal."

"Then use the best damn medicine," Domenico's voice came, low and cold. "I don't care what it costs. Get the best doctors and make sure she doesn't get scared."

"Yes, of course."

Footsteps faded, and the room went quiet. The kind of quiet that only settles in rooms where the Don has spoken and no one dares fill the silence after.

I slowly opened my eyes.

He was there.

Standing beside the bed, looking down at me. He wore his sleeves rolled to the forearm, his father's silver ring catching the dim overhead light as he shifted his weight. When he realized I was awake, he moved closer, his brows slightly furrowed. "You awake? How are you feeling?"

I tried to shift, but the pain hit instantly, sharp and burning. I sucked in a breath and forced a small voice out. "I'm fine, there are people here to take care of things. If you've got something to do, you should go."

I expected him to leave.

He didn't.

Instead, he sat down beside the bed, his gaze staying on me like he was thinking about something he couldn't say. His thumb turned the silver ring once, slow, before his hand went still on his knee.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked after a moment. "When she was doing that to you… why didn't you call me?"

My fingers tightened slightly under the blanket. The skin of my left wrist was bare. I felt for the place where my grandmother's bracelet used to sit, then stopped myself.

I remembered him outside.

Back turned. Laughing softly into his phone.

"I saw you were busy," I said quietly, a small bitter smile slipping out.

Then I looked at him. "If I called you, would you really come right away?"

"Of course I would," he said without hesitation.

I froze.

That wasn't what I expected.

Not at all.

"I've already handled it," he continued, his tone calmer now. "No one's going to bother you about having a child again. That shit's over."

The Don had spoken. Which meant Donatella would obey. For now. Because in this house, even the Matriarca bent to the seat, not the man, and Domenico still held the seat.

"…I understand." I lowered my eyes. "Then you should go. You don't have to stay."

He frowned slightly. "Why do you keep pushing me away?"

I blinked, a little confused. "Aren't you busy?"

Busy with everything. Busy with her.

"I'm not busy lately," he said. Then he reached out and adjusted the blanket around me, his movements careful, almost gentle. "I'll stay here for a few days. Take care of you."

I didn't know what to say to that. It felt wrong. Like something that didn't belong to me. But he really stayed.

…

The next few days, he didn't leave the clinic.

He adjusted my bed when I couldn't move, fed me when my hands felt too weak, even helped with my dressings like it didn't bother him at all. The Don of the Valente Family, a man whose word could end lives with a nod, changing gauze on his wife's back like it was the only task in the world. The soldier posted outside the door stood straighter every time Domenico passed, but Domenico didn't notice. He only noticed the bandages.

Sometimes I caught myself just staring at him. Was this real? Or was I dreaming again?

One night, the pain got so bad I couldn't sleep. It kept spreading across my back, making every breath feel heavy.

He noticed.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly.

I didn't answer, just closed my eyes tighter.

Then I felt it.

His hand, slow and steady, lightly patting my back. Careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid to hurt me more.

"It's alright," he murmured. "Just sleep."

Again and again, the same rhythm.

That kind of warmth, it felt so familiar. Like those rare moments before everything broke. For a second, I almost wanted to believe it again. But I didn't. I couldn't. I already decided. I was leaving. And this time, I wouldn't look back.

A week passed, and the marks on my back finally started to fade. Not gone, but lighter.

When he was applying the medicine that day, his fingers brushed too close and I let out a small sound before I could stop it. He froze. I turned, confused, and saw his eyes on me, dark and heavy, his throat moving slowly like he was holding something back.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, but his voice sounded rough, not like before.

"No… I just—" I tried to speak but he moved closer. Too close. His hand settled on my waist, firm, like he wasn't even thinking anymore.

"Domenico…" I whispered, my heart starting to race.

He didn't answer. His breathing got heavier, his gaze dropping to my lips. His face leaned closer, slow, like he was about to cross a line—

Smack!

We both turned.

Ambra stood at the door, her eyes red, the fruit basket already on the floor, everything scattered. One hand hovered near her left ear, a strand of hair half-tucked, trembling there like a reflex she couldn't complete. Her lips trembled. "Did I come at the wrong time? I didn't know you two were…" She bit her lip, like she couldn't even finish.

Domenico pulled away from me instantly. "Ambra, stop thinking nonsense! It's not what it looks like. I was just helping her with the medicine, that's it."

Before I could react, he shoved me away.

Hard.

I lost balance and fell straight off the bed, the back of my head hitting the sharp edge of the table with a dull crack. Pain exploded and something warm started running down.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to ruin your moment." Ambra's voice broke as she turned. "I'll go, you don't have to explain…"

"Ambra!" Domenico didn't even hesitate. "Wait, listen to me. Don't run off like this." His voice turned urgent, almost angry. "Damn it, stop right there."

He ran after her.

Didn't look at me.

Not once.

The door slammed and everything went quiet again. The clinic room. The antiseptic light. The soldier outside who must have heard everything and would say nothing, because that was omertà, and silence protected the Family even when the Family didn't deserve protecting.

I stayed on the floor, my vision slowly blurring. Blood slid down past my temple, warm and sticky. I stared at the ceiling and suddenly laughed, soft and broken.

Why did I even hope?

Tears slipped into my hair. Wasn't I used to this already?

My left hand lay open on the cold tile, fingers curled toward the bare wrist. I wasn't reaching for anything anymore.

By the time the nurse found me, everything was fading. Voices sounded far away.

"Head injury! She's bleeding a lot, call the doctor now!"

Then darkness.