The room was silent for a long time.
Only the sound of Elena's quiet sobs filled the air. Lorenzo's face was unreadable—cold, broken, lost between love and betrayal.
"Leave," he finally said.
Elena lifted her head, her eyes swollen with tears. "What did you just say?"
"I said leave my house," he repeated firmly. "And never come back."
She took a step closer, trembling. "Lorenzo, please… I know I hurt you, I lied, but I've changed. I love you. I didn't plan to fall in love with you—it just happened."
He turned away, clenching his jaw to stop his own tears from falling. "I don't want to hear any more lies from you, Elena."
She reached for him, desperate. "Please, Lorenzo—"
But he stopped her cold. "Elena, I don't want to do something stupid I'll regret later. Just leave, okay? Get out of my life."
Her heart shattered. "What about our baby, Lorenzo?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
He looked at her, eyes filled with pain and rage. "How am I even sure the baby is mine? You've been lying since the first day we met."
The words hit her harder than a bullet. She froze, unable to breathe for a moment, then slapped him across the face with tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I know I lied. I know I faked everything at the beginning," she cried, voice shaking, "but I would never do something so stupid as to sleep with another man, Lorenzo! Never!"
He said nothing. He just stood there, staring at her with empty eyes.
Elena grabbed her small luggage, tears falling freely as she headed for the door. Before she left, she turned one last time to look at him—the man who taught her what love truly meant.
"This house was once my peace," she whispered. "Now it feels like my grave."
She walked out, the door closing softly behind her.
Lorenzo stood there for a long time, staring at the spot she'd just been. He tried to drink away the ache, but no amount of whiskey could drown her voice in his head. He kept seeing her tears, hearing her words.
By midnight, the guilt had taken over. He dropped the empty glass and ran his hands through his hair.
"What if something happens to her?" he muttered. "And our baby… oh God."
He grabbed his car keys and stormed out, shouting orders. "Find her! Now!"
His men scrambled as he jumped into his black BMW, driving fast through the quiet streets. He tried calling her over and over again, but her phone was unreachable.
He drove to her favorite park—the place she always said helped her think. The moonlight shone dimly over the trees.
"Elena!" he shouted, running through the park.
No answer.
Then he saw it—her phone on the ground, her hairband beside it, her small luggage scattered across the grass.
His chest tightened, and his hands shook as he fell to his knees.
"No… no, please…" he whispered, gripping her phone. "Elena…"
He looked up at the sky, his voice breaking for the first time since he was a boy.
"God, please protect her for me. Protect my child. Please, I beg You…"
For the first time in years, Lorenzo prayed—his voice weak, trembling, desperate for mercy.
But all he could hear was the wind.
And somewhere, far away from him… Elena was gone.