Chapter 2 - The Wife He Thought Had NothingRebecca Harrison was waiting when I arrived at her office.
She was forty-two, sharply dressed, and had the kind of expression that suggested she had heard every possible excuse a powerful man could make.
She didn't ask whether I had changed my mind.
She simply placed a folder on the table.
"I reviewed the documents you sent."
"And?"
"Your husband has significantly underestimated you."
I almost laughed.
"That makes two of us."
Rebecca opened the folder.
"Your father's investment company owns a substantial interest in Moretti Logistics Holdings. Your personal trust owns part of the hotel development company. And the original agreements contain provisions your husband may have forgotten."
I leaned forward.
"What provisions?"
"Certain transfers and restructurings require approval from the Bennett interests. There are also personal guarantees and repayment obligations tied to loans made before your marriage."
I stared at the documents.
For years, Vincent had spoken about the Moretti empire as though he had built every inch of it with his own hands.
I had never questioned his ambition.
But I had forgotten how much of its foundation belonged to my family.
"Can I separate my assets without destroying the businesses?" I asked.
Rebecca nodded.
"Possibly. But we need a full accounting. And you must not move or conceal anything that belongs to your husband or the companies."
"I don't want revenge."
"Then what do you want?"
I looked through the office window.
Outside, Chicago continued moving.
People hurried across sidewalks.
Cars waited at intersections.
Somewhere, ordinary couples were planning dinner.
"I want my life back."
Rebecca studied me.
"Then we proceed carefully."
She explained that our prenuptial agreement protected certain assets acquired before marriage and clearly identified my trust interests.
It did not mean I could simply seize Vincent's companies.
Nor did it mean every business connected to my father belonged to me.
But it gave me legal rights Vincent had apparently never bothered to understand.
We spent two hours reviewing the documents.
By the time I left, I had instructions for preserving records, securing my personal accounts, and avoiding unnecessary confrontation.
I also had something I hadn't felt in years.
Direction.
At noon, Vincent called again.
This time, I answered.
"Where are you?" he demanded.
"Out."
"Claire."
"Vincent."
He exhaled sharply.
"Come home. We need to discuss last night."
"I'll be home later."
"How much later?"
"I don't know."
"Since when do you refuse to tell me where you're going?"
"Since I realized you don't tell me where you spend your nights."
Silence.
Then his voice softened.
"Baby, please."
That word used to undo me.
I had once crossed an entire city because he whispered it over the phone.
Now it sounded like a habit.
"I have to go."
"Claire, don't hang—"
I ended the call.
That afternoon, I went to my parents' house.
My mother opened the door and immediately studied my face.
"Sweetheart?"
I smiled.
"Can I come in?"
She pulled me into her arms.
I hadn't cried when I read Sophia's message.
I hadn't cried when Vincent grabbed my wrist.
I hadn't cried in Rebecca's office.
But the moment my mother held me, something inside my chest finally broke.
"Oh, Claire."
She didn't ask questions.
She simply held me while I cried.
My father appeared in the hallway.
His expression changed when he saw me.
"What happened?"
I wiped my cheeks.
"Vincent has been having an affair."
My father's jaw tightened.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, I expected anger.
Instead, he looked exhausted.
"I was afraid of this."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He exchanged a glance with my mother.
Then he sat beside me.
"Six months ago, Vincent asked one of our finance executives whether the Bennett interests could be bought out without notifying you."
My stomach tightened.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because he claimed he was preparing a surprise restructuring that would benefit both families. I refused to discuss it without you."
"Did he contact you again?"
"No."
My mother took my hand.
"Claire, we've been worried about you for a long time."
I looked away.
"I thought if I loved him enough, he'd remember why he married me."
My father shook his head.
"You should never have to earn basic respect from your husband."
That evening, I returned to the mansion.
Vincent was waiting in the living room.
There were flowers on the table.
White roses.
I stared at them.
He followed my gaze.
"I bought your favorites."
"My favorites?"
He hesitated.
"Yes."
I touched one of the white petals.
"I like yellow tulips, Vincent."
His expression changed.
"Sophia likes white roses."
The silence that followed was almost unbearable.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that his mistake wasn't simply buying the wrong flowers.
It was not knowing his wife.
"I can replace them," he said.
"Don't bother."
"Claire—"
"I'm tired."
He stepped into my path.
"Please talk to me."
I looked at the man I had once loved more than anything.
"About what?"
"Us."
I shook my head.
"There hasn't been an 'us' for a long time."
He reached toward me.
May you like
I stepped away.
And for the first time in our marriage, Vincent Moretti looked genuinely afraid.
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