He Called Me Ugly. I Became His Biggest Regret. Chapter 08

He Called Me Ugly. I Became His Biggest Regret. Chapter 08

His hands trembled at his sides. 

The arrogant heir who’d once held court like a prince 

a grown man crying in the middle of a café, coming 

completely apart. 

I won’t lie. Standing there I felt a pang of grief too. 

– 

I found myself remembering the boy he used to be. Before 

Valentina. Before all of this. 

I remembered the year my family moved to the compound. 

My father had just become consigliere. 

We’d come from a small town. The compound kids mocked 

my accent. 

Called me a hick. 

They threw my things in the trash. Pulled my hair until my 

scalp ached. 

Imitated the way I talked. 

– 

Only Marco who lived right across the courtyard – wanted 

to be my friend. 

He fought three kids at once to protect me. Came home with 

a black eye. Held out his hand and said: “You live right across 

from me. 

Our parents work together. 

We’re in the same year. What are the odds? It’s fate. I’m 

supposed to protect you.” 

His smile was so warm. 

The bullying stopped. 

Years passed. I grew. 

My accent smoothed. 

My confidence built. Kind but not weak. 

No one tried to hurt me anymore. 

But the boy who had once protected me – had become the 

man who wounded me. 

The Marco in my memory and the Marco standing in front of me their silhouettes overlapped. My eyes blurred too. 

“Marco. Everything that needs to be said has been said. Let’s stop here. Dragging this out will only make it ugly. I want us to finish beautifully. Maybe then the kids we used to be 

can rest easier.” 

– 

His sobs burst open again. He sank to his knees. Right there 

in the café. 

– 

“Lucia Bianchi. Don’t go. Without you I truly cannot live.” 

“Don’t do this. Do you really want to finish like this? Ugly?” 

He wiped his face with his sleeve. Red–eyed: “Do you truly hate me that much? Is this really final?” 

“Yes.” I nodded. “And it’s not ‘separation.‘ We were never actually together.” 

Silence. He bowed his head. 

The sobs slowly stopped. 

When he looked up again: “Lucy. This is your choice. I’ll 

respect it. I won’t make a scene anymore. I won’t disrespect 

you again. Let’s say a proper goodbye. One last request – can I hold you?” 

My heart softened. I agreed. 

The final embrace. He held me so tight. Like he was trying to 

press me into his bones. In my ear, he whispered: “Lucy. 

Thank you. I’m sorry. Be well.” 

I pulled away. Walked out of the café into the Manhattan 

afternoon. I didn’t look back.