Page 68 of The Billionaire's Destiny

“I can’t, Adelina. I can’t handle anyone being cruel to you.”

Rocco had hurt me with his distance, and I forgave him. Yet, with everyone else, all I could feel was disdain for the lack of privacy in our lives. “It’s so unfair.” If the public turned on him, would he lose his celebrity and the reputation he worked so hard to build?

“Bella, I feel you’re worrying. Please don’t. You’re safe in my arms, and that’s all that matters to me.”

I shifted back on the bed and curled onto my side for sleep. He settled behind me, his hand sliding around my waist to rest gently on my stomach.

“So, we’ll know if I’m pregnant soon?”

“We will, and we’ll figure it out together.”

I let myself relax into the warmth of his embrace, feeling his steady heartbeat against my back. Rocco pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder and whispered, “I’m here. Always.”

I reached for his hand resting on my stomach, lacing my fingers through his. In that quiet, gentle moment, all the fear faded to a future with love and hope.

I woke up in the middle of the night and checked online. Rocco’s movie was still getting press, though there was a headline that caught my attention.

Rocco Marini Crashes Out. Brawling at Nightclub Sparks

New Pregnancy Rumors

Rocco’s night at the club with his wife spiraled into chaos when he lunged at a man dancing with her. Adelina unleashed her own fury, tearing a shirt in the fray.

I stared at the screen in disbelief. The glow from the monitor made my eyes burn as my heart pounded in my chest. That’s a complete lie.Why would the press print such lies?

“He came out of nowhere, grabbing and punching,” recalls Louis Staton, the unfortunate owner of the ruined shirt. And yes, readers, it’s that Louis Staton, fresh off his win at Milan’s Strut Your Stuff. Louis claims he was injured, though he wasn’t admitted to the hospital. Rocco’s team refused to comment, but his twenty-two-year-old bride had already let slip her secret pregnancy last week. Was Rocco defending his wife or just another privilegedhothead losing control? Leave your take in the comments.

My stomach twisted, warning me to look away, but I scrolled through the comments anyway.

RoccosSexyAbs: Luv the guy, but he shouldn’t have taken his pregnant wife to a nightclub. It’s on him.

Mindy232: exactly! He shouldn’t have taken her there or went to the VIP lounge. I can’t believe he bodied a man in public. What happened to him?

EvelineWalks: Adelina is the problem. Rocco never had bad press until he ended up with her. Look what she did to her own dad? He’s homeless with a pregnant wife because of her violence. Save your sympathy for them.

In a matter of minutes, this narrative was clipped, edited, and looped across gossip sites, transforming the incident at the club into sensational headlines, and each comment stung more than the last. Do they really see me as violent? What do they know about my life?

I did a quick search online with my name. Sure enough, there was a photo of me from the police agency as a teen. There I was with the skull haircut, sunken cheeks red with bruises, a black eye, and a cut lip. I knew it was leaked by my father, showing off his power to control the narrative, trying to get my attention. It was clear the public didn’t question or care why I was hurt. Yet, behind the bruises, there was another story in my face: my wild expression, the light in my eyes, the smirk on my lips. I was proud I stood up for Mama and me. Back then, I’d even been happy to spend time in juvie because it meant I hadn’t let myself be weak. I fought back for both of us. But the public read me as a bad seed. Judge Colby really believed I’d run and pay him overit. And just what was he up to? I typed my father’s name into the search bar.

Judge Eric Colby stepped down from New York City’s 2nd Circuit.

Judge Colby, Billionaire Adelina Marini’s father, puts house up for sale to pay his legal bills.

Eric Colby, Father of Adelina Marini, HelpFund

I pressed my hand to my mouth.Is it true?Could I sit by and leave his pregnant wife to struggle like we had to?That would be cruel.The words buzzed in my brain, lifting a memory. I was standing with Mama by the refrigerator in a dilapidated rental in Queenstown…

“Can you get me a piece of meat from the refrigerator?” Mama calls from her side of the table in the kitchen.

I cross the room, open the fridge, and hand her a hamburger patty. She presses it to her swollen face, the bruise darker than before. She can’t hide it.

“But you have a job at the bank. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll call out sick.”

But we both knew her boss’s warning: no more sick days, not while she’s on probation. He would fire her.

“I’m calling the cops,” I hiss.