Chapter 2
The elevator chimed as it reached the top floor.
The door was slightly ajar.
The decadent, syrupy sweetness of champagne hit me the moment I stepped out.
It drowned out the sharp scent of disinfectant clinging to me and the lingering milky smell on my son.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The once-bustling club fell silent in an instant.
Under the dazzling chandeliers, the scene was scandalous and blinding.
Michael lounged lazily on the sofa.
Ella, stunning and seductive, straddled his lap, her fingers curled around his neck, making their flirtation impossible to ignore.
On the coffee table lay the final transfer document for my father's business empire.
The ink was still fresh.
My family's century-old legacy now bore the Rossi name.
"You're late, Loretta," Michael said.
He glanced up lazily.
His gaze swept over me, finally landing on Lucas, who was wrapped in a white sheet in my arms.
He frowned, his face twisted with disgust. "The celebration's over. You had to bring a corpse here to ruin my mood?"
Corpse. Michael called his seven-year-old son a corpse.
He thought Lucas was a burden and a jinx.
A sharp pain stabbed through my chest. My throat tasted like blood, but I clamped down on every tremor in my body.
"Unfreeze the account," I said. "The payment for Lucas's special medicine has to go through tonight."
This was the last time I begged him.
I was begging a father to save his own child.
I was still foolishly hoping he might show a hint of a father's heart.
But in the end, what I got was something crueler.
Michael shot to his feet and ripped the sheet away.
The white cloth slipped to the floor.
My son's pale, still face was laid bare under the glittering lights.
Michael looked down at him. Not a flicker of grief or a shred of guilt crossed his face. All he showed was endless irritation.
The next moment, he flung Lucas aside casually, like he was tossing out yesterday's trash. He threw Lucas onto the sofa, making a heavy thud.
The dull crash hit me so hard that it felt like my heart shattered.
Lucas's little head bumped against the armrest with a sickening force.
Ella screamed and jumped back, but the triumphant gleam in her eyes was impossible to miss.
I lunged at Michael like a madwoman.
But Michael grabbed my wrist and pinned me down onto the cold coffee table.
The glass pressed against my cheek, its icy chill biting into me.
Ink and tears streaked my face, making me look utterly pathetic.
"Loretta, wake up and see things for what they are," Michael said as he looked down at me, his voice merciless. "Your family's finished. You're worthless now. It's better for that sickly burden to be dead.
"From now on, Ella's the only lady of the Rossi family. She'll give me a healthy heir."
The champagne glass toppled over, icy liquid dripping onto the back of my hand.
I stared at Lucas, who was as still as a statue on the sofa.
I remembered how, when he was barely hanging on, he clung weakly to my clothes and softly whispered the same words. "Mommy, it's so cold. I feel so bad."
I covered him with three blankets.
But no matter what I did, I couldn't warm him up.
It wasn't the illness that made him so cold.
He'd known it all along.
His father never wanted him to live.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let a single sob escape.
Tears and kindness were worthless, and so were seven years of love.
I trembled as I picked up Lucas's stiff body.
His limbs were curled up, the same way he used to curl up in pain before he died.
He used to sleep like that, all curled up, like a little shrimp.
Every night, I'd gently straighten out his little hands and feet, worried he might not be comfortable.
But starting tonight, he'd never fuss over me, cling to me, or call me Mommy again.
The place was still filled with laughter and celebration. I staggered out of that hellhole.
The sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and singing behind me were like knives, carving through my bones.
The elevator descended.
The weightlessness twisted my stomach with pain.
I leaned against the cold wall and slid down, burying my face in Lucas's hair, which was still faintly scented with milk.
The scent was barely there.
It was fading away.
Everything was like my seven years of marriage: ridiculous, heartbreaking, and completely meaningless.
My phone buzzed like crazy in my pocket.
It was a message from Michael's lawyer.