The Billionaire's Most Painful Regret

Alessandro POV:

I walked into the penthouse on a wave of pure ecstasy. Twins. Two sons to carry the De Luca name. I had won.

I tossed the bags from the high-end baby boutique onto the sofa. "Sera," I called out, pulling out a pair of tiny, impossibly soft cashmere baby shoes. "You'll need to get used to a new way of life."

I expected a fight. Tears. Accusations. Instead, she was calm. Too calm.

"Where will she live, Alessandro?" she asked, her voice flat.

"I'll send her to a villa in Europe after the birth," I lied easily. "She'll be taken care of." The truth was, I had no intention of letting Aria go. The Como villa was already being prepared for her. For us.

But Seraphina just nodded, her eyes giving nothing away. I felt a flicker of unease, but the euphoria of the twins quickly pushed it aside.

I went to take a shower, washing away the scent of the party, the scent of Aria's cloying perfume. When I came out, I saw my tablet lit up on the kitchen counter. An encrypted email from Capo Giovanni.

I picked it up. It was locked. I typed in the password without thinking. My own birthday. Pathetic. Obvious.

The email opened. It was a private investigator's report.

My blood ran cold.

I scrolled through the pages, my hand shaking. Aria Diaz is not pregnant. The ultrasounds were forgeries, purchased from a disgraced doctor. The blood tests were faked. She was in debt, deep in with loan sharks. Her brother, Rico, was her co-conspirator. It was all a con. A desperate, pathetic con.

The phone almost slipped from my grasp. I had thrown away Seraphina for this. For a lie.

But the report wasn't finished. The investigator had also uncovered my communications about the Como villa. My plan to fake a "miscarriage" of the surrogate pregnancy to Seraphina, to install Aria as my permanent mistress. To betray them both.

I felt sick. The last vestige of any connection I felt to the man I was, the man who could do that, evaporated. I was a fool. A monster.

Seraphina emerged from the bedroom, her face a serene mask. "Will you cook for me, Alessandro?" she asked quietly. "A steak. Like you used to."

Relief washed over me. She was accepting it. She was coming around. This was her way of moving forward. "Of course," I said, my voice hoarse.

As I was pulling the steak from the fridge, my phone buzzed. A text from Aria. Urgent. I need you. Now.

"I have to go," I said, dropping the steak on the counter. "I'll be right back."

I rushed out of the apartment.

I never saw her again.

If I had stayed, if I had just turned around, I would have seen her scrape the raw, bloody steak off the counter and into the garbage disposal. I would have heard the angry growl of the blades chewing through the meat, the only goodbye she would ever give me. I would have seen her grab the one small suitcase she had packed and walk out of my life forever.

But I didn't. I chose the lie, one last time.