Chapter 2 - The Woman He Chose AgainAt 3:06 in the morning, Vincent Moretti walked into the Lake County Sheriff’s Department believing he could still control the disaster unfolding around him.
He was wrong.
Sophia Reynolds sat in a private interview room wearing the same midnight-blue dress she had chosen for her thirty-second birthday celebration.
Her makeup was smudged.
Her eyes were red.
A detective stood outside the door.
Vincent’s attorney, Richard Fallon, met him in the hallway.
“What happened?”
Richard lowered his voice.
“Security logs place Sophia at your property shortly before the fire.”
Vincent stopped.
“That’s impossible.”
“She says she went there.”
Every muscle in Vincent’s body tightened.
“Why?”
“She claims she wanted to speak to Claire.”
“About what?”
Richard glanced toward the interview room.
“You.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
He suddenly remembered Claire gripping his sleeve.
Blood on her nightdress.
Her voice telling him something was wrong.
He had walked away because Sophia was waiting.
Except Sophia hadn’t been waiting.
She had been driving toward his house.
“What happened inside?”
“Sophia says she entered through the west service corridor. She says she never saw Claire.”
“She was locked upstairs.”
Richard’s expression changed slightly.
“You locked Claire upstairs?”
Vincent looked away.
“That’s irrelevant.”
“It may be extremely relevant.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Tell me what Sophia said.”
According to Sophia, she had entered the house because she wanted to retrieve a bracelet she had supposedly left there during a dinner several weeks earlier.
Vincent knew immediately that it was a lie.
Sophia had not been inside their home in months.
Not because she wasn’t invited.
Because Claire had finally demanded one boundary Vincent had reluctantly respected.
Sophia was not welcome inside their marital home without Claire present.
Vincent had called the request childish.
Now he felt sick remembering it.
“What caused the fire?” he asked.
“Investigators think an accelerant was used near the service staircase.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“You think Sophia set it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But they do.”
“They’re investigating.”
Vincent looked through the glass.
Sophia lifted her head.
The second she saw him, relief transformed her face.
She stood.
That expression once would have triggered something protective inside him.
Tonight, it made his stomach turn.
He entered.
Sophia rushed toward him.
“Vincent.”
He did not embrace her.
She stopped.
“They’re treating me like a criminal.”
“Why were you at my house?”
Sophia blinked.
“I explained that.”
“Explain it again.”
“I left a bracelet—”
“No.”
Her mouth closed.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Do not lie to me tonight.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I wanted to talk to Claire.”
“About what?”
Sophia hesitated.
“You.”
Vincent felt cold.
“What about me?”
“She keeps turning you against everyone.”
His jaw tightened.
“She almost died tonight.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She lost our child.”
Sophia froze.
For one horrifying second, Vincent saw something in her expression.
Not grief.
Not surprise.
Calculation.
It disappeared almost immediately.
But he saw it.
“You knew she was pregnant?”
“No.”
Vincent stared at her.
Sophia shook her head quickly.
“Of course not.”
“What did you say to Claire?”
“I never saw her.”
“What did you do inside the house?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why was there a fire twenty minutes later?”
Sophia’s face crumpled.
“You think I did this?”
“I asked you a question.”
“You came here because you believed me.”
Vincent almost laughed.
He had come because that was what he always did.
Sophia called.
Vincent came.
Sophia cried.
Vincent protected.
Sophia needed something.
Claire waited.
Only now did he understand the pattern.
And only now, when the consequences had become irreversible, did he understand the price.
“I came because you called.”
“That’s what people do when they care about each other.”
Vincent looked at her.
“No. That’s what I did.”
Sophia stared.
Past tense.
She heard it too.
Her expression changed.
“You can’t blame me because Claire jumped out a window.”
The room became silent.
Vincent moved so quickly that the detective outside straightened.
“What did you say?”
Sophia paled.
“I didn’t mean—”
“How did you know she jumped?”
“I heard someone say it.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“I don’t remember.”
Vincent stared at her.
The hospital had not released details.
The family had not released details.
Miguel, the firefighters, medical personnel, and law enforcement knew.
Sophia had been detained before the Morettis arrived at the hospital.
“How did you know?”
“I told you, someone—”
Vincent turned toward the door.
“Richard.”
His attorney entered.
“Get me out of here.”
Sophia’s eyes widened.
“Vincent.”
He stopped but didn’t turn.
“You’re leaving me?”
“You’re under questioning, not dying.”
Her face twisted.
“That’s cruel.”
Vincent finally faced her.
He heard Claire’s screams in his memory.
He saw the red lock light.
He heard his voicemail.
Stay in the room.
Calm down.
I’ll deal with you when I get home.
“No,” he said quietly. “Cruel is something else.”
He left.
At the hospital, he discovered Claire had already made her decision.
A security guard met him near the elevator.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Moretti has asked that you not enter her room.”
Vincent stopped.
“My wife is injured.”
“I understand.”
“I need to see her.”
“She has specifically withdrawn permission for you to visit.”
Vincent stared at the closed hallway doors.
Then Isabella appeared.
His mother had never looked at him the way she did that morning.
“Go home.”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t have one.”
The words cut deeper than Vincent expected.
“The west wing is damaged, not the entire house.”
“I’m not talking about the building.”
His jaw tightened.
“Mother.”
“Claire filed for divorce.”
The hallway seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“She signed the preliminary papers twenty minutes ago.”
“No.”
“She did.”
Vincent shook his head as though denial could change it.
“She’s medicated. She’s grieving. She isn’t thinking clearly.”
Isabella slapped him.
The sound echoed through the corridor.
Vincent stared at her.
His mother had never hit him.
Not as a child.
Not once.
“She is thinking more clearly than you have in three years.”
Vincent’s cheek burned.
Isabella stepped closer.
“That woman begged you to take her to a hospital.”
His eyes closed.
“Stop.”
“No.”
“Mother.”
“You locked your pregnant wife inside a bedroom because another woman was celebrating a birthday.”
“I know what I did.”
“Do you?”
Her voice broke.
“Because you still left this hospital to answer Sophia’s call.”
Vincent looked away.
That was the part he could not defend.
Not even to himself.
“She was being questioned.”
“And Claire had just learned her baby was dead.”
His chest tightened.
“I thought—”
“Your thoughts have destroyed enough.”
Isabella walked away.
Vincent remained alone in the hospital corridor.
At 7:30 that morning, Claire’s attorney arrived.
Her name was Evelyn Hart.
She was fifty-four, sharp-eyed, and one of the most aggressive family-law attorneys in Chicago.
Vincent recognized her immediately.
More importantly, he recognized what her presence meant.
Claire was serious.
Evelyn approached him.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Tell Claire I need to speak to her.”
“No.”
“She’s my wife.”
“For the moment.”
His eyes hardened.
“Be careful.”
Evelyn didn’t react.
“That tone is probably very effective in your usual business environment. It will not be useful here.”
Vincent stared at her.
“What does she want?”
“A divorce.”
“I heard.”
“Exclusive possession of any undamaged personal property she identifies as hers. No contact except through counsel. Preservation of all security footage, access logs, phone records, and communications involving Sophia Reynolds.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Why Sophia?”
Evelyn studied him.
“You truly don’t know yet.”
“Know what?”
She handed him an envelope.
Inside was a copy of the estate security report.
Sophia Reynolds.
Credential entry: 8:18 p.m.
West service corridor.
Exit: no electronic record.
Vincent stared at the page.
His phone rang.
Detective Warren.
He answered immediately.
“Moretti.”
The detective’s voice was controlled.
“We found something in the remains of your west service hall.”
“What?”
“A disposable ignition device.”
Vincent’s grip tightened.
“And?”
“There’s a partial fingerprint.”
His pulse slowed.
“Whose?”
“We’re still confirming.”
Vincent looked through the hospital glass toward the hallway leading to Claire’s room.
Detective Warren continued.
“But you should know something else.”
“What?”
“Someone disabled two smoke detectors seven minutes before the fire started.”
Vincent’s stomach turned.
“That required access to the security system.”
“Yes.”
“How many people had that access?”
“According to your records?”
The detective paused.
“Two.”
Vincent already knew.
May you like
Himself.
And Sophia Reynolds.
Related Stories
