Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 56

Chapter 56

VALENTINA

The vow I had made to Adrian—to never switch rooms no matter what storms brewed between us—echoed relentlessly in my mind, now sounding less like a promise and more like a cruel jest. Doubt gnawed at me; I wasn’t sure I wanted to hold onto that pledge anymore.

For the first time since we had exchanged vows, a heavy weight of fear settled deep in my chest. I never imagined I’d be afraid of my own husband, but there it was—an undeniable, chilling truth.

Suddenly, Stefan’s piercing cries shattered the thick silence that had wrapped the house like a suffocating blanket. Instinct took over, propelling me to my feet. I hurried down the dimly lit hallway, the boy’s wails guiding me like a lighthouse piercing through fog.

In Stefan’s room, Adrian was struggling. His broad frame was awkwardly bent over as he wrestled with getting Stefan into his pajama bottoms. The boy was kicking and squirming, his small face flushed and streaked with tears. Adrian’s patience was fraying; I could see it in the tense set of his shoulders and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

At last, with a low, frustrated sigh, Adrian gave up and released Stefan, who immediately darted toward me, clinging to my legs like I was his anchor in a storm.

Adrian straightened slowly, a hurt expression clouding his features. “Can you—?” His voice faltered, edged with exhaustion and something almost like defeat.

I simply nodded, wordless, and gathered Stefan into my arms. The boy nestled against me, his tiny fingers clutching my shirt as if to ensure I wouldn’t disappear. Adrian stood frozen, watching us with a sorrow so deep it sliced through the silence sharper than any spoken words could.

Once Stefan calmed, I dressed him in his soft blue pajamas, pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and tucked him beneath the blanket. Adrian bent down and brushed a tentative kiss against Stefan’s hair—hesitant, almost ashamed—before we left the room together. I switched off the light, and the hallway was swallowed again by quiet, thick with unspoken tension.

Back in our bedroom, I finally broke the silence. “Tell me the truth,” I said softly, though the tremor in my voice betrayed the turmoil beneath. “If you want this marriage to survive… if I still mean anything to you, you need to tell me what happened tonight.”

Adrian’s gaze drifted to the bandage wrapped around my arm, then slowly returned to my face. His shirt hung open at the collar, his tie loosened, and fatigue was etched deep into every line of his face. “I need a drink,” he murmured. “Will you have one with me?”

I hesitated for a heartbeat. Part of me longed to refuse, to let him drown in his silence alone. But the pain I saw in his eyes—the raw, aching regret—pulled me toward him. I reached out and took his hand. His fingers were warm, rough, and trembling with tension.

Together, we descended the stairs. Near the lobby, Sybil lingered, nervously twisting her wedding ring. “I made some soup,” she offered softly. “It’s in the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if you two would be eating…” Her gaze flicked between us, probably having heard the shouting—or maybe even seen Marco storm out.

“We’re not hungry,” Adrian said curtly. “You should go home.”

Sybil paused, looking to me for guidance. I forced a small smile. “Thank you, Sybil. That’s very kind of you. Please, enjoy your evening.”

She nodded once and slipped away, her footsteps fading down the corridor. Adrian’s grip on my hand tightened as he led me into the living room. A fire roared in the hearth—the same fire that usually filled the room with warmth and comfort. Tonight, though, its glow barely reached me.

Adrian moved toward the liquor cabinet while I sank into one of the armchairs. The flickering flames cast amber light across the floor, and I stretched my legs toward the warmth, hoping it might thaw the chill settling inside me. “Pour me a drink too,” I said quietly.

He let out a low, reluctant sound but obeyed, pouring a small measure of amber liquid into a tumbler and handing it to me. Our fingers brushed briefly—an electric touch heavy with unspoken tension. I took a sip and winced as the alcohol burned its way down my throat.

He settled into the armchair opposite me, rolling the ice in his glass. “I knew it would come to this,” he murmured. “There was no other way. It had to end like this.”

“This isn’t the end,” I said firmly. “Not if you don’t let it be. Do you want to lose me?”

Adrian’s lips curled into a bitter, hollow smile. “Haven’t I already?”

A sharp ache tightened my chest. “No, Adrian. But you will, if you keep shutting me out. What happened tonight… what you did… I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen unless you help me understand.”

He took a shaky breath, eyes flicking to the fire. “I needed that,” he murmured. “One last kiss before you look at me like that again… like you did when I attacked Marco.”

My pulse quickened. “What are you talking about?”

His jaw tightened as he stared into the flames. “Because, Valentina… I killed my first wife.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath me. My throat dried, my mind went blank. Breathing felt suddenly difficult, as if the air had thickened.

Adrian gave a dark, bitter smile, watching my reaction as if he had expected it. “Not with my hands,” he said quietly. “She took her own life. But it was because of me.”

Inside me, relief and horror collided violently. My heart pounded painfully. Suicide—not murder. It was a distinction, but one that still carried a heavy, painful weight.

In our world, such tragedies weren’t unheard of, but they always meant something had gone terribly, irreparably wrong. What had he done to her? The same man who gently tucked his children into bed, who kissed their hair with tenderness—could he truly have broken someone so completely?

Even now, looking at him, I wanted to believe the warmth I had glimpsed was real. But then I remembered the blade in his hand, the way he had pinned my brother to the floor like a threat. The cut on my arm still throbbed painfully.

“Why?” I whispered, barely audible. “Why did she do it?”

Adrian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. The firelight carved harsh lines across his face, making him look like a man haunted by his own reflection.

“Because,” he finally said, his voice low and hollow, “she believed I killed the men she loved.”