Patricia woke up earlier than usual that Monday morning. The soft sunlight invaded the apartment through the slit in the curtain, and the silence was a painful reminder of Rafael's absence. It was still hard to believe that everything she knew about her own life had crumbled in so few days.
She got up slowly, with one hand resting on her still discreet belly. She was pregnant. By a man who didn't know her. A man who, by coincidence or irony of fate, she had seen twice in less than a week. A man who, even without knowing it, had already changed her life forever.
Enzo Ravary.
The name still seemed unreal.
She spent the day trying to distract herself—she worked remotely, organized documents, cleaned the house—but nothing was enough to contain the turmoil inside her. That late afternoon, she decided to accept the invitation of an old friend from college, Julia, who was organizing a photography exhibition in an open gallery in the historic center of Velaris.
"It will do you good to see other people, breathe some art," Julia had insisted via message.
Patricia accepted. She didn't know if it would be "good," but being in a public and anonymous environment seemed better than another night in silence.
She wore a simple, elegant black dress and took the subway to the gallery. The space was ample, with pendant lights and monochrome photos hung on steel wires on the exposed brick walls. People were talking quietly, glasses of wine circulated in hands, and instrumental music filled the environment.
She was looking at an image of a lighthouse by the sea when she felt a chill on the back of her neck.
She turned slowly.
And there he was.
Enzo.
Again.
He was wearing a dark suit, a shirt without a tie, and an impeccable posture. He had the kind of elegance that couldn't be learned—he was born with it. He was accompanied by a beautiful woman, blonde, with light eyes and a rehearsed smile: Bianca Laurent.
Patricia recognized her immediately. It was her. The same woman who had handed her an envelope with money and said, in a soft voice with venom in her words, that it was better to disappear.
They stared at each other for a brief moment. And Bianca, without losing her composure, wrapped her arm around Enzo's and smiled at the guests, as if everything were perfectly under control.
Patricia tried to turn away, but it was too late.
Enzo's eyes found her. He frowned, clearly surprised to see her there—as if he felt that strange sensation from the coffee shop again. He even took a step towards her, but Bianca pulled him discreetly by the arm.
"Honey, come see this series of portraits I mentioned to you. It's by the French curator," she said, smiling, but firmly.
He hesitated for a second. But he followed her.
Patricia took the opportunity to move away, going to the other side of the gallery. Her heart was beating fast. What was that? What kind of inexplicable connection was this? And, worse: why did Bianca still seem so… threatening?
A few minutes later, Patricia went to the back of the gallery, looking for the bathroom. She entered the dimly lit side corridor, and it was there, away from the hubbub, that Bianca reappeared—alone, impeccable, and with that same icy look disguised as sweetness.
"I thought we had an understanding, Patricia," she said in a low voice, as if it were just a conversation between acquaintances.
Patricia crossed her arms, defensively.
"I didn't look for him. It was a coincidence."
"Too many coincidences for my taste. You know what it looks like? That you're trying to get close to him."
"I don't want anything from him," Patricia retorted, firmly. "I just want to live my life in peace. But I'm not going to disappear. And I'm not going to hide."
Bianca took a step closer, smiling like someone telling a secret.
"If Enzo finds out you're expecting his child, he'll want to take him away from you. He'll use the best lawyers, the best doctors, he'll prove that you're unstable, that you're lying. He'll drag you through the courts and tarnish your image. Do you think you can win this game?"
Patricia took a deep breath. Her voice came out firmer than she expected.
"I'm not afraid of you, Bianca."
"You should be."
"Enzo may be many things, but from what little I've seen… he's smart. And sooner or later, he'll find out. And when that happens, you'll lose everything you're trying to hold onto by force."
Bianca laughed, short and bitter.
"You don't know him. He hates lies. He hates manipulations. That's why I made sure he never found out. If he finds out... he'll never look at you the way he's looking now. He'll see you as a threat. A trap."
She turned around, as if that conversation was over. But before leaving, she issued one last warning:
"If you love this baby… stay away from him."
Patricia stood there, alone in the hallway, with her breathing uneven.
Patricia remained in the hallway for a few minutes, trying to catch her breath. Bianca's words echoed like poison, and, for a moment, she felt suffocated. The woman was not just trying to protect him—she was trying to erase her existence. As if the simple fact that she was carrying that baby was an attack against the luxurious, shielded, and perfectly calculated world that Bianca had built.
But Patricia was not fragile.
She straightened her shoulders, wiped away the tears that barely managed to fall, and returned to the gallery with a serene face, even though her heart was still screaming.
People were still talking, laughing, drinking. The world went on as if nothing was wrong.
Patricia stopped in front of a black and white photograph of a lonely child on the beach, holding hands with her own shadow. There was something in that image that told her so much… an ancestral solitude, like the one she carried now.
"I also found this photo brutally honest," said a voice behind her.
She turned around.
It was him.
Enzo Ravary.
Alone.
Bianca was no longer around.
"Hi," she said, trying to hide her surprise. "Yes. It's... strong."
Enzo observed her for a second longer than necessary.
"We met at the coffee shop, didn't we?"
"We did. Coincidence."
"Two, already," he smiled, with a corner of his lip. "The city is big. But maybe the right paths cross when they need to."
She bit the inside of her cheek. His presence was suffocating and intriguing. More than anything, she needed to maintain control.
"Do you know the artist?"
"No," he replied, his eyes fixed on the photograph. "But sometimes I think I know the pain he's trying to show. This loneliness... is more common than you think. Even among the most surrounded."
"Surrounded people can also be alone," said Patricia, almost without thinking.
His eyes turned to her again. There was a silence between the two, not uncomfortable, but dense.
"I'm Enzo," he said, extending his hand.
She hesitated for a second, as if that gesture carried more than it seemed. But she shook it.
"Patricia."
"Just Patricia?"
She gave a slight, but guarded smile.
"For now, just that."
He laughed, softly.
"Fair enough."
More people began to circulate nearby, and the music changed to something more engaging. Patricia made a move to move away, but Enzo took a step closer.
"Can I ask you a question?"
She nodded, cautiously.
"There's something about you… that intrigues me." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "I can't explain it. But it's like I… already knew you from somewhere."
Patricia's heart leaped.
She looked away.
"Maybe you're just projecting."
"Maybe," he replied, but he didn't seem convinced.
It was then that Bianca reappeared. Her smile returned to her face the moment she approached, elegant and impeccable as always.
"Honey," she said, putting her arm through his, "the curator wants to introduce you to one of the French investors. Shall we?"
Enzo looked at Patricia once more, as if he were about to say something important.
But he didn't say it.
He just nodded politely and walked away with Bianca.
Patricia remained there, standing, trying to keep her heart under control.
She felt like she was at a crossroads. And the worst part: the middle path no longer existed.
She was carrying the child of a man who was starting to look at her like an enigma. And no matter how much she tried to run away, fate seemed determined to tie them together with invisible ropes.
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