The Slave of Pleasure

Rachel

I hung up the phone and for a moment, everything around me seemed to disappear. The sound of the television in the background, Nancy's murmur as she organized something in the kitchen, and even the sound of the rain outside became nonexistent. The only thing that occupied my mind was Vincenzo's phrase: "our son." Those words echoed like thunder in my mind, over and over again, without mercy. I stood there, motionless, with the phone still in my hand, my eyes blank and distant.

"Rachel, what happened?" Nancy's voice brought me back to reality. I blinked a few times, trying to focus on her, but my chest was tight. I couldn't explain exactly what I felt-anger, sadness, confusion? Maybe a mix of everything. "I... I don't know," I said, still looking at the floor. My heart was racing, and I felt small and vulnerable. "He said 'our son.""

Nancy frowned and put her hand on my shoulder. "Yes, I heard it. And?"

I looked at her, trying to formulate my thoughts. "The way he said it... It was like he was... calm. Like he was accepting it, like he was... liking the idea."NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

Nancy sighed and crossed her arms. "Rachel, I think you're going too far with these assumptions. Vincenzo is complicated, but you know he's doing all this to protect you and this child. Maybe he's just trying to deal with the situation the best he can."

I shook my head, refusing to accept it so easily. "I don't know, Nancy. It was the way he said it. It was like he was... happy to have a child with Veronica. Do you think he still has feelings for her?"

Nancy rolled her eyes and sat down next to me. "Girl, listen. Vincenzo, at some point in his life, really liked Veronica. That's a fact. But if he's trapped now and trying to find a way to get back to you, it's because he loves you, not her." "What about the child?" I persisted. "He never told me he wanted kids."

Nancy smiled slightly, as if she were about to share a secret. "Well, maybe he didn't tell you, but he did tell me. Remember when he used to come to the store where I worked? We'd chat a little while he waited for you. One time I asked him about kids, and he said he wanted to have a son."

I was surprised. "Did he say that?"

"Yes. And do you know why? He said he wanted to raise the boy to be better than he was. To have a better life, away from all that darkness he faced."

I swallowed hard, processing this information. Vincenzo had never shared this with me, and I felt torn between the pain of not knowing and the understanding that he carried dreams and fears that he never shared. Maybe I really was being unfair by doubting him.

"Nancy," I began, my voice low. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just being paranoid with everything that's happening. It's a lot to process."

"Of course you are," she replied, hugging me sideways. "And that's normal. But you need to remember who Vincenzo is. He's not perfect, but he's loyal to you. And right now, the focus should be on this child. Finding her and getting her out of Veronica's hands. Everything else can wait."

I nodded, still feeling the tightness in my chest. I knew she was right, but it was hard to control my mind. "I need to get my head together," I murmured.

"Do you want to go to my place?" Nancy suggested. "Maybe some rest will help you. The authorities are taking care of this now, and you've done everything you can for now."

I nodded. Maybe some distance and silence would help me gather my thoughts. Nancy gathered her things, and together we left the hospital. On the way to her house, I stared out the car window, watching the city illuminated by the night lights. Every corner, every shadow seemed filled with memories and assumptions. All I wanted was some peace.

When we arrived, as soon as I entered Nancy's house, I was immediately enveloped by an explosion of colors and objects that seemed to tell stories of several lives. It was as if every corner, every wall and every piece of furniture screamed who Nancy was: a free spirit, full of energy and absolutely unpredictable. Right in the entrance hall, there was a mural of photos pasted in a disorganized but still charming way. They were images of her at parties, traveling and relaxing moments, with friends who were probably as eccentric as she was.

The living room looked like it had come out of a catalog of improbable decorations. Pillows of different patterns were thrown on a sofa that, so large and comfortable, seemed to invite anyone to throw themselves on it without ceremony. A plush rug in vibrant colors covered part of the light wood floor, and a pile of books and magazines was strategically disorganized in the corner. In the center, a glass table held a vase with fresh flowers, some of which were already starting to wilt. Beside it, an old globe It was partially open, revealing a small collection of liquor bottles. Nancy appeared shortly after, holding a tray with two cups of tea and some cookies. "Welcome to controlled chaos!" she said with that mischievous, infectious smile. I couldn't help but laugh. This was so Nancy: a place that reflected her creative soul, but also her inability to follow conventional rules. The kitchen was equally full of life. Pots hung on hooks, magnets covered the fridge with funny sayings and photos, and a shelf full of spices that ranged from common herbs to jars with indecipherable labels. It was almost impossible not to feel a wave of comfort and familiarity here. It was the kind of house that made you feel embraced, even when the chaos was evident. In the backyard, a small, messy garden had plants growing wildly, but at the same time, an almost magical harmony. There was a hammock strung between two trees and an old swing that looked like it had been forgotten by children who never really grew up. This house was, without a doubt, an extension of who Nancy was: a place where chaos and joy coexisted in perfect harmony.

As I walked through the rooms, I felt my mind relax a little. Nancy's house was a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, it was possible to find some peace. And at that moment, after everything that had happened, that was exactly what I needed.

Nancy showed me to a cozy room with clean sheets and an armchair by the window. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll make you some tea."

I thanked her and sat by the window, looking out. The night was peaceful, but my mind was not. I wondered when and how this would all end. And most of all, how Vincenzo and I would get out of this.