Married to the Wrong CEO

Chapter 77: Nausea

Dora’s voice didn’t waver as she stood in front of her father. The question had already been asked twice, but she knew she needed to push until she got a real answer. She wasn’t going to let him talk around it or pretend he didn’t understand. Too much had happened, and she was done being kept in the dark.

"What happened?" she repeated, this time slower, each word spaced out as if she wanted to make sure he understood she wasn’t backing down. Her eyes were colder than usual, and even Luca seemed startled by the shift. She wasn’t yelling, but the seriousness behind her tone was sharper than anything she had used in years.

Her father looked genuinely unsettled. The tears in his eyes weren’t enough to soften her mood. She watched him closely, refusing to look away or move until he said something meaningful.

"Your mother was mentally ill," Luca finally said, his voice weak and heavy. "After she had you, she became depressed, and it only got worse."

"It was pretty bad at first and it only got worse from there!"

Dora didn’t react immediately. She just stared at him. Her face didn’t twist or soften or flare up in anger. She absorbed his words in silence, and the longer she stayed quiet, the more tense the room became. It felt like everyone was waiting for her reaction, even the ones pretending not to watch.

"You lied to me," she whispered, still staring straight at him. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it held a weight that made Luca’s shoulders drop. "How am I supposed to believe you’re not lying again?"

The look on his face shifted into something pained and remorseful. He took a step forward and reached out to touch her shoulder. Dora didn’t move away, but she also didn’t relax. She kept her posture stiff. freёwebnoѵel.com

"I promise you," Luca said softly, "you’re my daughter. I would only ever lie if I thought it would protect you—never to harm you."

"I need you to to trust me! I’m your father!"

His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and for the first time since Dora had entered the room, he looked like someone completely vulnerable. Someone who had been carrying something heavy for too long. His hands were trembling when he held her gaze. Even so, Dora didn’t answer right away. She studied him, searching for any sign of deception or hesitation.

Slowly, she let out a breath. She didn’t fully trust the explanation yet, but she trusted the sincerity behind his expression. That alone softened her just a little. She allowed him to take her hands, even though tension lingered in her posture.

"Didn’t she get help?" Dora asked. This time her voice held emotion—a mix of frustration and sadness. "I know there are treatments for things like that. Therapies. Medication. Support."

Thinking about her mother’s death from this new angle was almost unbearable. The version she had believed her entire life—her mother dying while giving birth—was painful but simple. Clean. Now she had to picture something entirely different: a life filled with struggle, not peace. And her father had known all along.

"The drugs weren’t working," Luca said, interrupting her before she could add more. "And it got worse because she couldn’t take care of you. I had to handle work and take care of you at the same time. I should have paid more attention! I should have been there! It’s my fault!" He said his voice cracking as he spoke.

His voice grew steadier as he spoke, almost like confessing eased the weight on him. But Dora didn’t feel eased. She felt the opposite. The more details she heard, the more she understood just how much had been hidden from her.

Still, as she looked at Luca—really looked at him—her anger slowly deflated. He looked exhausted, guilty, and regretful. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he wasn’t cruel. Every memory she had of him confirmed that. He would lie, yes, but only to spare her pain, not to cause it.

So when he stepped forward again and opened his arms, she didn’t refuse. She leaned into the hug, letting him wrap his arms around her. Her breathing slowed a little as she hugged him back. His hand moved up and down her back in slow motions, steady and reassuring.

No one in the room said anything. Maria watched quietly despite her usual tendency to insert herself into every conversation. Elisa stayed still, her face unreadable, though she occasionally glanced at Dora with what looked like sympathy. Rossi stood stiffly, his arms crossed, unsure whether to look away or keep observing. He chose to look away eventually, staring at the floor.

Luca finally pulled back, gently wiping her tears with his thumb. Dora wiped her own as well, taking a few seconds to collect herself. They talked for a bit more—nothing dramatic, just simple clarifications. Enough for Dora to feel a little more grounded and less overwhelmed.

Eventually, she moved away from her father and sat on a small stool near the corner of the room. Everyone returned their attention to Maria, who began discussing her discharge plans. It looked like she would be getting out sooner than expected, which meant there were arrangements to make. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

Dora listened half-heartedly, her mind drifting. The earlier confrontation with Namira, the shock of her father’s confession, her own confusion—it all swirled in her head. She didn’t know how long she had been zoned out until she looked up and saw Rossi approaching.

That alone was enough to make her guard go up. He didn’t usually come near her unless he had something rude or pointed to say.

He stopped beside her but didn’t face her directly. He kept his arms stiff at his sides, staring straight ahead for a moment before finally speaking.

"I still blame you for Elisa’s and my mother’s injury," he said, voice cold and sharp. "If you had quietly obeyed like you were supposed to, none of this would’ve happened."

Dora didn’t even blink. She just watched him with a blank stare.

"Now that you’re married to a billionaire, I expect you to spend the rest of your life making up for—"

She cut him off with a loud, sharp hiss that made him jolt slightly.

She stood up quickly, stepping close enough that he had to look at her. Her eyes held none of the softness she had shown a few minutes earlier.

"I don’t know who you think you are," she said steadily, "but even my father doesn’t speak to me that way."

Rossi looked taken aback—not because she yelled, but because she didn’t back down. She didn’t flinch or apologize or shrink the way she used to whenever he threw accusations at her.

She glared at him one last time before turning away.

"Stay away from me," she muttered under her breath, making sure he heard. The flicker of surprise in his eyes was small, but she caught it before she walked out.

Her bodyguards immediately closed in around her as she headed to the lobby. She didn’t slow down or look back. She was done with the hospital, done with pointless conversations, and done with people projecting their frustrations onto her.

Once she got into the car, she let out a long exhale and leaned back. The day had drained her more than she expected. She hadn’t planned on dealing with Namira or uncovering painful family history. She certainly hadn’t planned on Rossi picking a fight on top of everything else.

She closed her eyes during the ride back to the estate, not sleeping but resting her mind. When the car stopped, she stepped inside and immediately noticed that Dante still wasn’t home. It wasn’t surprising. He had been gone more often lately, leaving early and returning late or sometimes not at all until the middle of the night.

She placed a hand on her belly, rubbing gently.

’Now that I’m pregnant, of course he has no more use for me,’ she thought bitterly.

Still, she smiled softly at the thought of the baby growing inside her. She couldn’t help wondering whether it would be a boy or a girl. Whether the child would look like Dante or take after her instead. The thought gave her comfort in a way nothing else had that day.

She changed clothes, ate a light dinner, and settled onto the bed with a few movies playing. The quiet helped. The tension inside her slowly faded until her body relaxed completely.

Sleep came faster than she expected.

But morning did not bring peace.

She barely opened her eyes before a wave of nausea slammed into her. Without thinking, she jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. She leaned over the sink, gripping the edges tightly as she gagged and threw up what little was left in her stomach.

Her entire body trembled as she tried to catch her breath.

And she realized that the day had started with a new problem.