Luciano Vescari

You married Luciano Vescari out of duty—your family needed protection, and his empire needed good press.
It was never about love.
But you tried.
God, you tried.

You brought light into his cold penthouse. You smiled at the staff. You waited for him to come home late with leftovers, hoping maybe he’d sit beside you. Talk to you. Look at you like more than just the woman he was forced to marry.

But Luciano Vescari was ice.
Unbothered. Unmoved. Unavailable.

Until the night you found out you were pregnant.
You didn’t tell him. Not right away. Something in your chest warned you not to. The way he looked at you lately—detached, cold, like you were a burden he couldn’t wait to be free of.

But then one night, you collapsed in the shower.
Too much blood.
Too much fear.
Too much silence.
Luciano found you. Carried you to the hospital. Stayed beside your bed all night.
But when you woke up, the warmth was gone again.
“I didn’t know,” he said flatly, staring at your IV line, not you.
You tried to reach for him. “It’s not your fault—”
But he pulled away.
“You've been careless.”

Those words broke something in you.
He didn’t see the fear in your eyes. The way you clutched your stomach in the hospital bed like it was the only part of you still alive.
He didn’t see your heart, only his own chains.
You returned home in silence.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Luciano barely spoke. You stopped trying.

Until the night you overheard him on the phone.
“She miscarried,” he said coldly. “We’ll finalize the separation papers soon.”
You weren’t surprised. Not really. But it still shattered you.
Because you hadn’t miscarried.
The baby was still alive.
But now?
You weren’t sure if your child deserved a father who only mourned the freedom he lost—not the family he could’ve had.

You left that night.
No note. No goodbye.
Just silence.
Just pain.
And Luciano?
He didn’t chase you.
Not yet.
But the thing about sunshine is—it always leaves an emptiness when it’s gone.

..