Chapter 53 Lorenzo

Chapter 53 Lorenzo
I step out of her room and ease the door shut behind me before either of them can snap at me to stop calling her my Doña. Ivy hates it—I saw the correction forming on her tongue.

But I needed to say it.

The hallway is dim and cool, the air still with the quiet of the old house. Shadows stretch long across the wooden floor, but I feel warm—too warm—as I move down the stairs. My pulse hasn’t settled. It still pounds with every memory of the last few minutes.

She didn’t want me.
That part stung like a blade slipped between ribs.

But she took the gift.
She took it.

The moment replays in my mind with perfect clarity. Her fingers brushing the handle. The tiny pause—barely a heartbeat—before she committed.

She didn’t throw it at me.
She didn’t burn it to ashes like she did the roses.

She held it.
She kept it.

And that… that changes everything.

By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, the smile pulling at my mouth is impossible to fight. It starts small, cautious, but it spreads until it aches. I try to wipe it away but it clings stubbornly.

Outside, the evening air hits me—cool and crisp, laced with pine from the surrounding trees. The porch light casts a soft glow over the gravel driveway, where Enzo stands leaning against the black SUV. Arms crossed. 

He straightens the moment he sees my face.

“Well?” he asks, eyes sharp, reading me like a book he’s memorized.

I attempt composure. Truly, I do. But the corner of my mouth betrays me, twitching upward despite myself.

“She accepted it,” I say, quiet but unable to hide the pride beneath the words.

Enzo’s brows lifted in shock because we were only going to check on her. He did not know I would seize this opportunity to give her my gift. “The cardigan?”

I nod, and the memory flashes again—her hand, that moment of choice. The way her disbelief softened into something else, something I can’t name yet.

“Yes. The cardigan.”

Enzo exhales, a low sound that sits somewhere between relief and disbelief that she would take it since I told him about what she did to the roses. “Better than the roses, then.”

I wince. The roses—dozens of white blooms, each stem perfect, arranged exactly how I thought she’d like. Instead, she rejected them without hesitation.

I can still see it—her and Luca burning every last petal in her bedroom fireplace. A clean, elegant refusal.

That’s why I put more thought into this one.

Why I spent hours explaining exactly what I wanted to the designer—dark green like the deep forest, long and warm, the kind of thing she could wrap herself in. Knitted with ivy leaves twining along the sleeves and down the hem because… because she reminds me of them. Resilient. Graceful. Able to grow even through cracks in stone.

A gift she couldn’t mistake for some empty attempt to buy forgiveness for whatever I may have done.

And she took it.

“She had to have opened the bag,” I murmur before I can stop myself. The words come out soft, almost reverent. “She didn’t toss it aside.”

Enzo rubs the back of his neck, tension pulling at his shoulders. “Be careful, Lorenzo.”

I know what he means.
I know Ivy’s anger.
Her hurt.

The danger in pressing too hard against a door she’s already slammed on me once.

But the warmth in my chest won’t let me consider backing off. Not tonight.

“She took it,” I say again, quieter this time, like a truth I’m still absorbing. “That means something.”

Enzo doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. He simply opens the SUV door, letting the night air rush in.

I slide inside, and as the door shuts, the last image burned in my mind isn’t her anger.

It’s her holding that black bag like she wasn’t ready to let it go.

It’s not much.
But it’s more than I had yesterday.

And for the first time in far too long, hope flickers stubborn and bright in my chest.

The SUV hums quietly as it pulls onto the road, but my thoughts are louder—sharper, more unsettled than before. The hope is still there, warm and persistent, but it’s tangled now with something else.

Confusion.
Ivy’s reaction upstairs… her words still ring in my head.

“You say I’m the only woman, but I know there are others you would rather favor.”

As if I’ve ever looked at anyone the way I look at her. As if she isn’t the only person who has been in my mind from the moment I wake until the moment I finally force myself to sleep.

I run a hand across my jaw, frustration clawing at me.

Why would she think that?
Where would she even get such an idea?

Enzo shifts in the front seat, glancing back. “You’re frowning.”

“I’m thinking,” I mutter.

“That usually leads to trouble.”

I ignore him and stare out the window instead. The trees blur into dark streaks, lit by passing headlights. 

“She thinks I’m interested in someone else,” I say finally.

Enzo pauses. “And you’re… not?”

I shoot him a look.

He lifts one hand in surrender. “I had to ask.”

“There is no one else,” I say, sharper than intended. 

He considers me for a moment, then nods slowly. “So she believes a lie.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “But why?”

The question burns.

Because Ivy is perceptive—too perceptive sometimes. She notices details others ignore. But this? This assumption is so far from the truth that it knocks the breath from me every time I remember the way she said it.

Like she already resigned herself to losing me to someone else.
Like she thinks she’s replaceable.

My hands curl into fists on my lap.

“That’s the part that bothers you,” Enzo says quietly. “That she thinks you’d choose someone over her.”

“It’s not possible,” I say, voice low. “She doesn’t understand that.”

Enzo sighs through his nose, thoughtful. “Maybe she saw something. Or someone said something.”

“I don’t care what she saw,” I snap, then force myself to breathe. “I care that she believes it.”

Because if she thinks I have someone else…
Then nothing I say will matter.

Every apology, every gift, every effort—she’ll think it’s all temporary. Or manipulative. Or worse… meaningless.

“Ivy assumes the worst of me.”

“Can you blame her?” Enzo asks.

The words land hard, but true.

No. I can’t blame her. Not after everything she’s endured. Not after how deeply she’s been hurt. 

But I won’t accept her believing this lie.

I lean back, exhaling slowly. “I need to know who she thinks it is.”

“And what will you do once you know?” Enzo asks.

I look at the passing road ahead, determination settling in my chest like iron.

“Prove her wrong,” I say. “Every single day, if I have to.”

The car falls silent again, but it’s different now. The hope is still there—steady, stubborn—but now there’s purpose beneath it.

Because if Ivy thinks my heart belongs anywhere else…

Then she doesn’t understand me at all.

And I intend to change that.