(Third Person Point of View)
After Antoinette left the house, the tension she had stirred lingered in the air like smoke that refused to clear.
Antonio stood still for a moment, jaw tight, fingers flexing at his sides. Then he exhaled.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For what my sister said. And how she said it."
Sofia shook her head gently. "It's fine."
But it wasn't fine.
They both knew it.
Dinner was served, yet neither of them truly tasted the food. Cutlery touched porcelain. Glass met table. The silence between them was not comfortable - it was loaded.
Antonio kept his gaze lowered, rolling the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. Sofia studied him carefully. There was something unsettled behind his calm exterior.
When they were done eating, Sofia finally spoke.
"Antonio... who is Beatrice Coleman?"
The name had been lingering in her chest since he first mentioned it weeks ago. She needed clarity.
Antonio's fingers stilled.
For a moment, he didn't respond. His throat moved as he swallowed. He leaned back slowly in his chair, eyes unfocused, as if staring into a memory he wished he could erase.
"Years ago," he began, voice steady but distant, "I met a woman. We were in our late twenties. I loved her... or at least I thought I did."
He gave a dry, humorless laugh.
"My faith wasn't as strong then. I was still building my career. I saw a future with her. A wife. A family. Stability."
He rubbed his jaw.
"Beatrice Coleman had everything a man could want. Beauty. Charm. Intelligence. Or that's what I believed."
Sofia's heart tightened at the name.
Please don't be the same Beatrice.
He continued.
"Some friends warned me. They said she had two faces. That what she showed me wasn't who she truly was." He shook his head slowly. "But I was blinded. Not by love. By lust."
The word came out heavy.
"She was beautiful. We had chemistry. And I confused desire for compatibility."
He stood and walked toward the window, hands sliding into his pockets.
"When we got engaged, we moved into a penthouse in New York. My podcast was growing. My books were gaining attention. I was about to launch a men's product line. Everything felt... successful."
He paused.
"Then one day, a woman approached me. She said her sister had been bullied in high school. Pushed so far that she took her own life."
His jaw tightened.
"She said Beatrice was responsible."
Sofia felt cold.
"At first, I dismissed it. I thought the woman wanted attention. I didn't want distractions. I was building something fragile. One scandal could destroy everything."
He laughed again, softer this time.
"I was a relationship therapist who couldn't recognize toxicity in his own home."
The self-awareness cut deeper than anger.
"Months passed. Beatrice started changing. Or maybe she stopped pretending. She became aggressive. Irritable. Verbally abusive."
He turned toward Sofia.
"I told myself it was stress. Wedding pressure. Business pressure. I rationalized everything."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"A year later, I tried to fix us the only way I knew how back then. Parties. Travel. Sex. Avoidance."
His voice lowered.
"We covered our problems with pleasure."
Silence stretched.
Then his expression shifted.
"One evening, before my birthday in May, I was driving home and saw a little girl sitting alone near an abandoned building."
His breathing slowed.
"She couldn't have been more than four."
Sofia leaned forward slightly.
"She reminded me of my childhood. The hunger. The instability. My parents working multiple jobs. Nights we didn't know if there would be enough food."
His voice softened.
"I didn't want that for her."
He swallowed.
"I brought her home."
Sofia's brows lifted.
"I took her to the police. No missing report. No identification. I started legal adoption procedures."
His face changed completely now.
"I named her Ivy."
The name trembled out.
"She was mixed race. Like me."
For the first time, his voice carried warmth.
"She barely spoke at first. She flinched at loud sounds. She hid food in her pockets."
His hands clenched.
"It took days before she trusted me enough to hold my hand."
Sofia's eyes shimmered.
"I thought Beatrice was happy about it. She smiled. Said Ivy would be our first child before the wedding."
He inhaled sharply.
"But I was wrong."
His shoulders dropped.
"I became busy. The business needed me constantly. And I assumed... foolishly... that Beatrice, as a woman, would nurture her."
Regret darkened his tone.
"Ivy started acting strange. Avoiding eye contact. Jumping at small movements. Wearing clothes that didn't fit. I noticed... but I didn't investigate deeply."
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes.
"The maid resigned suddenly. Claimed personal reasons. I tried to contact her. She changed her number. Moved."
His breathing became uneven.
"That was the first moment I felt fear."
He looked at Sofia, eyes glossy.
"One evening, I came home early."
His voice broke.
"There were police cars outside."
Silence.
"Ivy was lying on the living room floor."
His chest rose sharply.
"There was blood."
His words became fragmented.
"She was beaten. Severely. Repeatedly."
He struggled to continue.
"She died before the ambulance arrived."
A tear slipped down his face.
"I remember kneeling on the floor. I remember calling her name. I remember my hands shaking so badly I couldn't hold her properly."
His voice cracked.
"It was May sixteenth. My birthday."
Sofia covered her mouth.
"Beatrice was arrested."
He wiped his face roughly.
"I went to see her in jail. I needed to hear it from her."
His expression hardened.
"She told me she was abandoned at birth in an orphanage in Maryland County, Liberia. Adopted by an American couple. Loved - until they had biological children."
He paused.
"They ignored her. Replaced her."
His voice turned cold.
"She said destroying happiness was the only way she knew how to survive. Ivy 'took me away' from her."
He swallowed painfully.
"She said the maid left because she couldn't watch the abuse anymore. Beatrice threatened her family."
Sofia's stomach twisted.
"She said Ivy didn't cry enough. Didn't beg enough. So she hit harder."
The room felt smaller.
"Since that day," Antonio whispered, "I have hated my birthday."
The silence that followed was not empty.
"That day... it was May 16. The day we were to sign that contact at Crystal Hotel" Sofia said softly with recognition.
It was sacred.
Sofia rose slowly and walked toward him.
She didn't speak.
She simply wrapped her arms around him.
Antonio stiffened for a second - a powerful man unused to collapsing - then he folded into her.
Not dramatically.
Not theatrically.
Just quietly.
She rested her cheek against his chest.
"I was in that orphanage," Sofia said softly after a long pause. "In Liberia."
Antonio froze.
"Beatrice made my childhood unbearable."
Their pain connected in a way words could not fully explain.
Two survivors.
Two different scars.
They didn't promise perfection.
They didn't promise forever.
They promised protection.
Weeks passed.
They began therapy - separately and together.
They worked on healing rather than hiding.
When business called, they traveled to East Africa for the hotel construction projects.
But this time, neither of them was running from the past.
They were walking through it - slowly.
Together.
Author's Note
Now we get a clear idea of what really happened to Antonio.
Why he's cold, why he always wants to be in control.
In life some situations change us to different people.
This is my advice to everyone. No matter what happens in life don't allow life to change you into a bad person.
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Xoxo😘
Bella Angel Douglas