The Slave of Pleasure
Chapter 36

Vincenzo

I closed my eyes inside the limousine, taking a deep breath as I tried to release the accumulated tension. Finally, a moment of calm. But as soon as I let it out, I heard in unison: "Wife???"

Rachel and the driver asked at the same time, taking me out of my brief state of peace. I opened my eyes and looked at both of them, not understanding what I did wrong. Why were they so agitated? Rachel, visibly stressed, stared at me with wide eyes and blurted out, almost shouting:

When did we get married? Weren't we engaged?

I was silent for a moment, trying to process her question. Of course she was nervous, but I had the situation completely under control. I gave her a slight smile, trying to reassure her.

-Everything is under control. I said with all the confidence I could muster. I only gave the paparazzi a few crumbs. Now, I have the situation in my hands. I'm the one who decides when our engagement goes public, not them. But Rachel didn't seem convinced at all. She looked at me with an expression that mixed frustration and concern.

"Vincenzo... you said wife." She said, this time in a softer tone, almost as if she was warning me of something serious.

I laughed, trying to break the tension that was growing between us.

"You don't have to be in such a hurry to marry me." I joked, with a smirk. "We still have the engagement to explore before we jump to the wedding."

I was about to continue with the jokes, but the driver interrupted me, speaking seriously and even a little worried.

"You said wife... in all letters, sir."

Now it was his turn to look at me, as if he was genuinely worried about me. I looked at him, confused, and then at Rachel. What the hell was going on? Of course I knew what I had said, or at least I thought I did.

"I waited for you to confirm the joke, Rachel. I said, trying to keep control of the situation.

But she wasn't joking anymore. Her look was one of pure concern, and she nodded.

You really said wife, Vincenzo... it seems you forgot.

My heart raced for a moment. How did I forget? The confusion was immediate. My mind, which until now seemed so clear and calculating, began to short-circuit. I looked ahead, as if searching for something that could help me understand what had just happened. My memory has always been impeccable, especially in moments of crisis like this.

But there it was, the doubt planted. If I had really said wife, what did that mean? Memory lapses? I couldn't afford to lose control, not now. I looked back at Rachel, who continued to watch me with that look I hated of concern, as if I were the fragile one in the story.

I took another deep breath, but this time the air didn't ease at all. Something was wrong. I knew it, and apparently Rachel knew it too.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to erase whatever was happening to me. This lapse in memory made no sense. I was always precise, calculated. What could this mean? My head began to throb with questions I didn't want to answer. Then the driver, aware of my discomfort, asked,

"Sir, should we return to the hospital immediately?"

Before I could answer, Rachel stepped forward.

"Yes, I think we should go back."

I felt the car slowing down, as if it were about to make a U-turn. I opened my eyes and exclaimed,

"No!"

Rachel looked at me with that worried expression I hated so much.

"We need to go back, Vincenzo," she said, her voice soft but firm. "You forgot something simple and... made jokes. That's not like you."

My patience was starting to wear thin. What? Now she was telling me what was and wasn't like me? My blood boiled. The fact that I was being contradicted only made things worse, but before I could shout or say something to cut the conversation short, I heard Rachel mumble something barely audible.

"Y... your nose is bleeding."

What? Those words barely reached my ears, but they rang out like a gunshot. Instinctively, I raised my hand to my face, touching my nostril. When I looked at my finger, it was smeared with blood. It wasn't much, but enough to make me even more disconcerted.

The driver was already getting ready to turn around and go back to the hospital when I shouted:

"I said no!"

My voice echoed through the interior of the limousine. Rachel looked at me, her eyes now full of tears, but I couldn't afford to give in to fear or worry. I needed to stay in control, I needed to show her that everything was okay, even if it wasn't. "We're not going back to the hospital," I said, now calmer, trying to regain my composure. I'm not going to deal with those paparazzi again. We need to go home. Call Dr. Afolse. He'll see me at home, in private.

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.clearly hesitant, but after a brief moment, he accelerated. I felt the car picking up speed, and suddenly, the hospital and the photographers' flashes were behind me. The pressure began to ease, but something was still wrong.

I looked at Rachel. For the first time since all of this began, the worry on her face seemed real, deeper than just the lie of the engagement or the gossip in the press. And as much as I tried to hold myself together, something inside me gave in when I saw those tears forming in her eyes. She was scared. Maybe as much as I was.

Should I say something? Try to calm her down? I've never been the type of man to give in to these moments of fragility, but something inside me changed. Rachel was worried not only about me, but about what might be coming. And for the first time in a long time, I felt the weight of vulnerability.

The car continued to accelerate toward the mansion, but in the silence between us, something else was being revealed. Something I couldn't ignore anymore.