Page 24 of Sexted By a Stranger

Luca now it only made me feel suffocated.

I randomly packed a few things, then calmly instructed Ella, the maid who stood behind me with worry written across her face, "Please tell Luca that I've had a surge of design inspiration lately and need quiet and focus.

I'll be staying at the studio temporarily to work. Tell him not to come disturb me."

She seemed to want to say something but ultimately just respectfully responded with a "Yes" and withdrew.

The moment the door closed, the strength I'd been forcing myself to maintain seemed to drain away. I slid down against the door panel and sat on the floor.

Lost.

Yes, I felt utterly uncertain about the future.

The little life quietly existing in my womb no longer brought sweetness, but instead a heavy sense of responsibility.

In the days that followed, I buried myself in design drafts and gemstone catalogs.

Luca came by several times, hoping I would return to the bedroom to rest.

I only refused to share a bed with him under the pretense of "inspiration really has struck—you understand how it is with designers." Otherwise, the pregnancy would definitely be impossible to hide.

It was just that every time I checked his wounds, I couldn't help but soften a little. I decided that once he was completely healed, I would leave this place.

Outside the studio's massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky was lead-gray, heavy clouds pressing low, the air oppressively still without a breath of wind. I gripped my phone, the screen frozen on the dialing interface.

"Call failed. Please try again later."

This was already the seventh attempt this morning.

A week ago at dawn, Leon had hugged me at the estate gates. Behind him was his neatly packed art supply case, like a little bird about to spread its wings, both excited and nervous. Mom stood beside him, carrying a small suitcase filled with Leon's change of clothes and medication.

"Sheila, don't worry. Professor Smith says intensive training works best. Wait till I bring back another trophy to show you."

"Sheila, take care of yourself." Mom squeezed my hand, her eyes filled with concern.

Luca had arranged a driver to take them, even sending along two additional people to accompany them.

I watched the car drive out of the estate, disappearing at the end of the tree-lined avenue, my heart filled with reluctance and some worry.

From that afternoon on, my world felt like a piece had been cut away.

Text messages I sent vanished without a trace. Calling Mom's phone always yielded the same cold female voice, "The user you are trying to reach is temporarily unavailable. Please try again later."

Attempting to contact the two accompanying "security personnel" only resulted in them saying everything was fine, that training was in progress.

Panic crept up my heart like tiny vines.

What had happened to them? Could Leon's body handle high-intensity training? Would Mom be too tired? Was the enclosed place safe? Was the environment good? Professor Smith… was he really just demanding, or was he…?

And lately, even Luca was often away from the estate.

Terrible thoughts kept surfacing uncontrollably. Could this be the work of Luca's so-called opponents? Using the name of intensive training to control them in a place more convenient for surveillance, to use against Luca?

I paced restlessly around the studio.

To support me, Luca had created a perfect creative space here—soundproof, fully equipped, even with a comfortable rest area and private bathroom.

But at this moment, it felt like a cold, ornate island.

I walked to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass, futilely gazing toward the direction of the estate gates, as if this could somehow make me see the car carrying Mom and Leon return.

A familiar churning in my stomach—morning sickness struck at the worst possible moment.

I rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved, but nothing came up except bitter bile burning my throat. Tears flowed uncontrollably.

The intense physical reaction combined with enormous mental pressure nearly crushed me.

"Leon… Mom…"

I murmured to myself, tears constantly sliding down my cheeks.

Just then, my phone rang.

It was Mom.

I hastily wiped away my tears and answered frantically.

"Mom, are you and Leon okay? When are you coming back? Why can't I even contact you? How's Leon's health…?"

Before Mom could speak, I'd already fired off a string of questions.

"Relax, sweetheart, relax," Mom sensed the panic in my voice and quickly soothed me. "I'm taking care of him personally, so contact isn't very convenient. Don't worry, we're both fine. Professor Smith has been praising him constantly."

"Then, Mom, when are you coming back?" I couldn't wait to see them.

"Sorry, sweetheart, Leon has to go straight to the competition after training. It'll take about another month. We'll come back immediately after the competition. Oh, let me tell you something really funny that Leon did…"

After connecting with Mom, the anxiety in my heart finally eased somewhat. I could finally sit down and properly handle my work.

Two days later.

My design sketch was stuck on a connection structure. I got up irritably, planning to go to the library to find a reference book on vintage setting techniques, when the corner of my eye caught sight of a figure in the courtyard.

It was Luca—he had finally returned.

I hadn't seen him for several days. I had to admit, I missed him.

I was about to go find him when I noticed he was having a low conversation with Ragnar, his expression cold and stern. Ragnar said a few more words, Luca nodded slightly, then turned to leave.

The moment he turned, on the right side of his shirt near his waist, there was an irregular, crimson stain. It looked exactly like a bloodstain.

My breathing stopped instantly, my stomach cramping.

He was moving normally—that blood definitely wasn't his, but rather…

I almost fled back to the studio, locking the door behind me, my stomach churning violently.

I rushed to the sink and dry-heaved, but nothing came up. Despair flooded over me.

Was it splashed on during a "cleanup"? Or left behind while "disciplining" a disobedient subordinate?

No matter whose blood it was, it proved only one thing: he had just returned from that world of violence and death.

The stench of that world clung to him like a disease, and it could spread to me and my child, even to Mom and Leon, at any moment.

I gripped the window frame tightly, my nails nearly embedding into the wood.

Luca's injuries had long since healed; he moved normally.

It was time for a confrontation.

Luca

The study was somewhat dim. I was speaking quietly into my phone, issuing orders.

"Watch the docks closely. Any suspicious vessels, better to kill by mistake than…"

Before I could finish, I heard the door open. I spun around sharply—it was Sheila.

"Sheila?" My heart started pounding, an ominous feeling creeping over me.

I hung up the phone and looked at her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm leaving, Luca." Her voice was perfectly calm. "Now. Immediately."

My heart clenched.

"Sheila, what the hell are you talking about?" As I spoke, I moved to pull her into my arms.

Just as my fingertips were about to touch her skin, she jerked back a step, avoiding my touch.

"What did you do last night, Luca?"

I withdrew my hand, shoving it into my pants pocket, my fingers unconsciously curling tight.

After several seconds of silence, I spoke in a low voice.

"There are some things I have to handle."

Sheila took a deep breath. Then she raised her head, her gaze no longer evasive, meeting my eyes directly with a sense of burning bridges.

"You're still hiding it from me, aren't you? I know who you are, Luca Bellomo." Her voice wasn't loud, but each word hammered against my heart. "You're the head of the mafia. That's what you wanted to tell me, isn't it?"

My pupils contracted sharply.

She knew.

I quickly regained surface calm, even stepping forward to close the distance between us.

"When did you find out?"

"I overheard your conversation by accident." She bit her lower lip, her eyes slightly red.

"My family, Soprano," I didn't want to lie to her anymore. "Drugs, weapons, casinos… whatever you can think of, I've done it."

Sheila's body trembled slightly, but she tried to keep herself composed. "So the shootings these past days, the injuries, those bodyguards… all because of your identity?"

"Yes. Connor is my enemy. He wanted to hurt me by targeting you. Recently, I completely destroyed his operation, but he escaped."

"I thought I'd only fallen in love with a mysterious businessman. Turns out I fell in love with a cold-blooded mafia boss." Her voice began to choke.

"I didn't want you caught up in danger, but now…" I said gravely, "Connor won't let you go. I'll protect you, but you need to be prepared too, Sheila."

"Prepared?" She acted like she'd heard the most absurd joke, the corner of her mouth twisting into a mocking arc. "What if we had children?"

My breathing stopped. My gaze unconsciously swept over her flat stomach—there were no visible signs. But the hypothesis itself was enough to shake my soul. The family needed an heir; this was a responsibility carved into my blood and bones. But a child…

"If we really had a child… stellina," I tried to convey my determination, "I would protect you both with my life, with all my power. I wouldn't let anyone have the chance to harm either of you."

"Protection?" Sheila repeated the word, the fury in her eyes ignited by my words.

She stepped closer, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Is this what you call protection? Letting our child grow up with guns pointed at them from the moment they're born?

Hearing explosions instead of lullabies?

Watching betrayal and death become everyday occurrences? "

Her voice trembled. "Luca, you looked me in the eyes and promised you wanted a normal life with me. Were those just... lies?"

Her accusations became sharp weapons, stabbing at the protective umbrella I was trying to build.

I was burned by the disappointment in her eyes. Frustration and anger at being misunderstood surged up.

"This is my world. At least for now." My voice rose too, trying to suppress her hysteria.

"This isn't a fairy tale, Sheila. What do you want me to do?

Take you and hide at the ends of the earth?

Would Connor let us go? Would Soprano's enemies let us go?

Reality is this cruel. All we can do is face it, control it. "

"This is the best you can give a child? Luca, you really disappoint me."

"Enough." I barked. I suddenly reached out and gripped her slender wrist, stopping any movements that might hurt her in her agitation, also trying to use force to calm her down. "Cool it. Listen to me."

"Let go of me." The pressure on her wrist caused her pain, further provoking her fierce resistance.

Her cries tore at my nerves. Her reddened eyes were like a mirror, reflecting what I looked like at this moment—a tyrant returning with the scent of gunpowder and blood, a man trying to imprison her with force, the culprit who would drag both her and the child into the abyss.

Overwhelming helplessness washed over me. Finally, I gradually loosened my grip.

With the restraint on her wrist gone, Sheila stepped back twice. Without another glance at me, she quickly wiped away the messy tears on her face, then turned and rushed out of the study without looking back.

The study's gentle lighting now felt ice-cold. I stood in place like a stone statue forgotten on a battlefield.

The hand that had just gripped her wrist now hung powerlessly at my side, fingertips trembling slightly beyond my control.

I mechanically walked back to my seat and opened the files on the desk.

New territories urgently needing integration, plans for hunting down Connor's remnants, mountains of weapons and drug transaction records… countless matters awaiting handling crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I tried to focus my attention, fingers tapping the keyboard, issuing orders:

[Ragnar, expand the lockdown zone to ten blocks. Monitor all hospitals, clinics, and underground doctors for gunshot wounds. I want him found alive or dead.

Lennox, all of Connor's known mistresses in the city, secret accounts, gray market operations—dig them all up. Before dawn, I want a detailed report on my desk.]

The orders went out. However, the characters on the screen looked like twisted tadpoles, a complete blur.