Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 94

**Through Shadows We Painted Our Forever by Erynn Vel Coren**

**VALENTINA**

The boutique was a glaring spectacle for a Saturday morning, its glossy white floors and gold accents reflecting the light in sharp, unforgiving angles that felt almost blinding. I stood at the counter, my mother’s claim ticket gripped tightly in my fingers, trying to ignore the dull pressure building just behind my eyes. Sleep had become a distant memory for me; restless nights had become my unwelcome companion.

The sales associate emerged from the back, a garment bag draped over her arm, her polite, professional smile a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside me. She set the bag down on the counter with a practiced grace.

“Mrs. Romano’s jacket,” she announced, her tone light. “Freshly tailored. Would you like to take a look?”

I shook my head, the weight of my emotions too heavy to bear. “No, it’s fine.”

With a swift motion, the woman wrapped the receipt around the bag handle and slid it toward me, her cheerful tone lingering in the air. “Have a lovely day.”

A lovely day.

That felt like a cruel joke.

I picked up the jacket, my fingers brushing against the fabric, and turned toward the entrance, weaving through displays of winter accessories that felt oddly out of place. Suddenly, my phone buzzed insistently inside my coat pocket—once, twice, then a rapid-fire series of vibrations that jolted me to a halt.

Pulling it out, I half-expected a message from Stefan or Sofia, or maybe even my father checking in.

Instead, my lock screen exploded with notifications, mentions, and tags. A single username dominated the screen, appearing over and over again.

Frowning in confusion, I unlocked my phone, my heart beginning to race.

The first image loaded slowly, pixel by pixel, until it finally revealed itself in full clarity. The blood drained from my face, leaving me cold and shaky.

It was a photograph of Adrian.

He stood in a tuxedo at some kind of event, a gala or dinner, his presence commanding yet distant beside a woman I didn’t recognize. Her long auburn hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her hand rested on his arm in a way that suggested intimacy. Adrian wasn’t smiling, but neither was he recoiling from her touch.

The caption beneath the post felt like a dagger to my heart:

“Adrian DeLuca steps out with a mystery woman at the ANEURIS Charity Dinner last night. The question on everybody’s lips though… Where is his wife?”

The boutique seemed to tilt around me, as if the very ground had shifted beneath my feet. My thumb trembled as I tapped the image, desperate for clarity. New comments were still flooding in, and someone had even tagged me directly.

Strangers who knew nothing about my marriage were dissecting it like it was mere gossip, a form of entertainment for the masses.

My chest tightened painfully, constricting around my heart.

I clicked on another photo. This time, the same woman leaned in, whispering something into Adrian’s ear. He didn’t look at her the way he looked at me—not even close—but it didn’t matter. The damage was already done. The narrative was unfolding, and the world was eager to devour it.

My breathing became erratic. I glanced around the boutique, panic rising within me as if someone might be watching, recording my reaction for all to see.

My hands shook too violently to keep scrolling.

I needed to escape, to find some semblance of privacy.

The nearest restroom sign glimmered like a beacon at the far end of the hall. I hurried toward it, almost tripping over my own boots in my haste. As soon as I pushed the door shut behind me, I locked it, leaning against the cool wall as I slid down until I was sitting on the unforgiving tile floor.

My pulse thudded in my ears, a frantic rhythm that drowned out all rational thought.

Air felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford; my throat constricted, refusing to let oxygen pass through.

I pressed a hand over my sternum, rubbing in small, frantic circles as if that could summon the breath back into my lungs.

“Breathe,” I whispered to myself, though the words felt hollow and unhelpful.

My breaths came out shallow and rapid, each inhale sending a chill through my fingertips.

I stared at my phone again, the image of Adrian standing beside another woman, dressed in the suit I had meticulously ironed for him before everything spiraled out of control. He looked fine—more than fine. He looked capable of smiling stiffly at a camera, of walking into a ballroom and pretending that nothing in his life was amiss.

My throat tightened further.

I covered my mouth with both hands, fighting the overwhelming urge to scream.

When the tears finally came, they were not the dramatic kind. They fell quietly, warm drops that landed on my knuckles as my body shook with the effort to remain silent.

I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t drive like this.

I blinked hard, my vision blurred, and opened my contacts, my fingers moving on autopilot. I didn’t think; I just tapped my father’s name.

He answered on the second ring.

“Valentina?” His voice shifted instantly to serious. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

I swallowed hard, the words lodged painfully in my throat. “Dad… can you pick me up?”

“Of course. Right now. Tell me the address.”

I gave it to him, my voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. Before he hung up, he added, “Sit somewhere safe. I’m on my way.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. After he ended the call, I remained on the bathroom floor for another minute, forcing my breathing to slow. When I finally stood, my legs felt unsteady, but I managed to splash water on my face, checking my reflection to ensure I didn’t look like I had just crumbled in a boutique restroom—though I certainly felt that way.

Outside, I kept my head down as I exited the store.

My father’s car pulled up just as I stepped onto the sidewalk. He got out before the driver could, meeting me halfway with a look that spoke volumes.

He didn’t ask anything at first. He didn’t need to. One glance at my tear-streaked face, the faint redness around my eyes, and the way I clutched the garment bag too tightly told him everything he needed to know.

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