Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO WAS NEVER INTRODUCED|
By noon, Vincent Moretti had discovered three things he hated.
His wife had hired an attorney.
She had refused to answer his calls.
And nobody in his household could tell him where she was.
He stood in the center of his penthouse living room while two security men waited near the entrance. Beyond the windows, Chicago glittered beneath a cold autumn sky. The city belonged to men like Vincent—or so he had always believed.
“Find her,” he ordered.
His head of security, Marco Bellini, did not move immediately.
“Sir, Mrs. Moretti is an adult. If she doesn't want to disclose her location—”
Vincent turned.
“Did I ask for a lecture?”
“No, sir.”
“Then find her.”
Marco lowered his eyes, but something in his expression made Vincent pause.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You've known me for fifteen years, Marco. You don't look at me like that unless you have something to say.”
Marco hesitated.
“Maybe she finally reached her limit.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Her limit?”
“She spent five years living by rules nobody else had to follow.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You're forgetting who pays you.”
“No, sir. I'm remembering who she is.”
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Then Vincent dismissed him with a sharp gesture.
Alone, he walked into his private office and opened the drawer where he kept the few photographs he allowed himself to display. Most showed his father, his late mother, or men who had helped build the Moretti organization.
At the back was a photograph of Claire.
She was twenty-five, standing beside a lake in a simple white dress, her dark hair lifted by the wind. She was laughing at something outside the frame.
Vincent remembered that afternoon.
He had taken her to a secluded house after a particularly dangerous week. She had cooked pasta, burned the garlic, and insisted the meal was still perfect. When he asked why she wasn't frightened of him, she had answered that she was frightened of what he might become if nobody loved him.
He had married her six months later.
He had also asked her to keep the marriage secret.
At the time, he called it protection.
The truth was more complicated.
His father had taught him that love created weaknesses. His mother had died believing her husband cared more about power than family. Vincent had sworn he would never allow another person to use someone he loved against him.
But there had been another fear he never admitted.
If the world knew he had a wife, people would expect him to choose her over business, over family, over the organization that had shaped his life.
He had not wanted to make that choice.
So he had made Claire invisible instead.
The arrangement had seemed manageable until Sophia arrived.
Sophia Reynolds had been hired eleven months earlier. She was competent, ambitious, and possessed a smile that reminded Vincent of Isabella Hayes, the woman he had loved before Claire.
Isabella had died in a car accident years earlier. Vincent had never forgiven himself for not answering her final call. He carried that regret like a private punishment.
When Sophia smiled, he sometimes saw Isabella.
When Sophia was in trouble, he rushed to help her.
He told himself it was guilt, nostalgia, or simple responsibility.
He had never asked why he could remember Sophia's favorite coffee but had forgotten the date of his wife's last medical appointment.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Sophia appeared.
I hope Claire isn't making things difficult for you. You deserve peace after everything you've done for her.
Vincent stared at the screen.
For the first time, the message sounded less like concern and more like an accusation directed at his wife.
He deleted it.
Then he called his attorney.
“I want to know how difficult a divorce would be.”
“From Claire?” the attorney asked.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Legally, we can advise you, but we cannot force her to remain married to you.”
Vincent's expression darkened.
“I'm not asking you to force her.”
“Good. Because if she has retained counsel, any attempt to intimidate her could make matters worse.”
Vincent ended the call.
He looked again at Claire's photograph.
For five years, he had convinced himself that keeping her hidden was an act of love.
May you like
Now she had left without asking permission.
And for the first time, he wondered whether the woman in the photograph had ever truly belonged to him—or whether he had simply mistaken her patience for possession.
