He Chose Another Heir Now He Wants Me Back Chapter 02
The car was oppressively quiet, filled only with the rhythmic sweep of the wipers across the windshield.
Luca hadn’t turned on any music. Every time we stopped at a red light, he would glance at me, then quickly look away.
I stared out the window.
Six years had passed. The corner café was now a private club. A new bridge arched over the old docks. Even the middle school I’d attended had a new facade. It was the same city, but the names controlling its neighborhoods had changed several times over.
My phone screen lit up.
A partner from my firm in Paris was asking when I’d be back.
I typed back: *After my mother’s surgery, once she’s stable.*
Six years ago, I had left with nothing. Now I was a partner at my firm, a certified forensic accountant with my own clients and license. Whether the De Luca family acknowledged me or not, I could support myself and my mother.
“Your room at the old house hasn’t been touched,” Luca said suddenly. “Maria has it cleaned every week. The gardenia on the windowsill is still alive. It’s been repotted four times.”
He paused.
“Your grandfather wants you to come home. After the surgery, if you don’t want to see him, I can handle it for you.”
“No need,” I cut in coldly. “I’ll handle my own business. And I’m staying at a hotel.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he said nothing more.
By the time the car pulled up to St. Agnes Hospital, the rain had just stopped.
“I’ll wait here,” he said.
“Don’t.”
I opened the car door.
“Elena.”
He took a thermal bag from the passenger seat, his fingers gripping the top.
“Chicken soup. For Maria. I’ll be downstairs. Call me if you need anything.”
I didn’t take it. I turned and walked into the inpatient tower.
My mother’s room was on the nineteenth floor.
When I pushed the door open, she was asleep, an oxygen cannula in her nose. Her complexion was sallow, her breathing deep.
Ophelia was sitting by the bed.
She wore a beige knit dress, her hair pinned up loosely as she peeled an apple. Her face was as pale as it had been six years ago, giving her the fragile look of someone who couldn’t bear a single harsh word.
At the sound of the door, she turned. When she saw me, her eyes immediately flooded with tears.
“Elena, you’re finally back. Maria’s been talking about you every day.”
I walked to the bedside and touched the back of my mother’s hand.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m her adopted daughter. Of course I should be here taking care of her.” Her voice was soft. “You were gone for six years. Someone had to shoulder the family’s responsibilities.”
In one sentence, she branded me a traitor for running away and positioned herself as my replacement.
I ignored her, using a tissue to gently wipe the sweat from my mother’s forehead.
“Elena,” Ophelia said again, “I know you resent me for marrying Luca. But what happened that night was an accident, and the child was an accident, too. The Rossi family couldn’t let an acknowledged heir remain illegitimate—”
“How old is the child?”
She stiffened, her face growing even paler.
Footsteps sounded behind me—steady, familiar.
I didn’t turn around. But Ophelia’s eyes lit up, and even the catch in her voice became perfectly timed.
“Luca, why did you come up? I thought you were waiting downstairs.”
His scent—cedar—stopped two steps away.
“You were gone a while, so I came up to check,” Luca said to her. “The air in here isn’t great. You just got over your last asthma attack. You shouldn’t stay too long.”
“I’m fine.” Ophelia smiled and looped her arm through his. “You’re the one who got caught in the rain. You need to change before your stomach acts up again.”
The gesture was practiced, something she had clearly done countless times.
When she lifted her hand, her sleeve slipped back, revealing a black-and-gold signet ring.
Six years ago, that ring was supposed to be mine after the wedding. The woman who wore it could attend formal dinners on behalf of the Rossi family head’s wife and would receive the family’s public protection in this city.
Now it was on Ophelia’s hand.
I stared at my mother’s hand, at the IV taped to her skin, and said nothing.
“I’ll stay with her,” I said, standing. “You two should go. Don’t wake her up.”
“Elena…”
“Quiet.”
I looked over, and the word died on Ophelia’s lips.
Luca frowned, then finally put a hand on her shoulder.
“We’ll go. Call me if you need anything.”
The two of them left side by side. Just before stepping out, Ophelia glanced back at me.
There was no grievance in her tear-filled eyes.
Only the satisfaction of a winner, secure in her position.