The Double Life of My Pregnant Ex-Wife (Carmen and Marco) novel Chapter 28

The rain fell steadily that evening, a rhythmic drumming against the roof of Vincent’s countryside estate. Carmen sat at the writing desk in the guest room, a single lamp casting a faint pool of light over the paper in front of her. Her hand trembled as she hovered the pen over the parchment, the weight of her words pressing harder than any storm outside.

How did you speak to a man who had built walls so high you could barely see the other side? How did you reach someone who refused to listen?

She took a steadying breath, her thoughts narrowing to Marco—his face, the sharp lines of his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her once upon a time. Those eyes felt a lifetime away now.

Slowly, deliberately, she began to write:

Marco,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I need to try. I know you’ve shut me out, and I know you have every reason to doubt me after everything that’s happened. But what’s happening now—what Arianna is doing—will destroy you, your family, and everything you’ve worked to build.

She’s not who you think she is. She’s not loyal to you. She’s never been. Everything—the fires, the betrayals, the attacks—it’s all her. She’s been playing both sides, feeding the De Lucas just enough to keep you chasing ghosts while she positions herself for the kill.

You don’t have to take my word for it. I know I’ve lost your trust. All I’m asking is that you look closer. Look at the evidence, the documents, the people whispering in your ear. Ask yourself who stands to gain the most if you and the De Lucas destroy each other.

I’m not asking you to believe in me. I’m asking you to believe in yourself, Marco—the man you were before all of this. The man who built an empire with his own hands, who could see through lies no matter how pretty they were wrapped. That man wouldn’t let anyone blind him, not even someone he cared for.

I don’t expect forgiveness, but I hope you can see the truth before it’s too late. I hope you realize who your real enemies are.

Take care of yourself, Marco. Please.

Carmen.

The ink blurred faintly at the edges where her hand had lingered too long. Carmen sat back, her chest tight as she reread the words, looking for some way to make them hit harder, to make them reach him.

There was no mention of the baby. No mention of the life growing inside her that tethered her to Marco more than he could ever know. Telling him now would only give Arianna more ammunition. No, this letter had to be about him—about the truth.

Carmen folded the paper carefully, sliding it into an envelope and sealing it. She held it for a moment, staring at her own handwriting on the front: Marco Venetti.

________________

Sofia De Luca entered Vincent’s estate through the back entrance later that night, dressed in a long coat that shielded her from the rain. Carmen met her in the hallway, the letter already clutched tightly in her hands.

“You’re sure you can get this to him?” Carmen asked, her voice low and urgent.

Sofia tilted her head, eyeing Carmen carefully. “He doesn’t trust me much these days, but he still listens. I’ll deliver it.”

Carmen hesitated, searching Sofia’s face. “Don’t let Arianna see you.”

“She won’t,” Sofia replied simply, reaching for the envelope. “I’m not new to this game.”

Carmen held the letter for a second longer before finally releasing it into Sofia’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Sofia glanced at her, curiosity flickering in her sharp gaze. “You could have said more. About the baby.”

Carmen shook her head, her expression hardening. “No. If Arianna finds out, she’ll use it against me. Against Marco. This has to be about her—not me.”

Sofia studied her for a moment before tucking the letter safely into her coat pocket. “You’re stronger than I thought, Carmen.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Carmen replied softly.

Sofia gave her a small nod before turning and disappearing back into the storm. Carmen stayed in the hallway for a long time after she was gone, her fingers brushing over her stomach as she whispered into the silence.

“Please, Marco. See the truth.”

________________

Marco sat in his study, a half-empty glass of whiskey beside him as he skimmed through old reports—shipments, ledgers, casualty numbers. His empire had always been built on precision, but lately, cracks had appeared in places he couldn’t seem to mend.

His eyes burned with fatigue, but sleep wasn’t an option. Not when everything he had spent years building felt so precariously close to slipping through his fingers.