Chapter 3 - The Lie Hidden in the Marriage
The next morning, Dominic asked for a lawyer.
Not a divorce lawyer.
His corporate lawyer.
He came to the apartment at 10:00 a.m. carrying a leather folder and wearing the careful smile of a man who believed he could turn disaster into paperwork.
His name was Richard Hale.
I knew him.
He had handled our prenup.
He sat across from me while Dominic paced.
“Mrs. Caruso,” Richard said, “there are some misunderstandings we should resolve before they become unnecessarily complicated.”
I almost smiled.
“Misunderstandings?”
“Yes.”
“Like my husband hitting me?”
His face tightened.
“That incident was regrettable.”
“Regrettable.”
Dominic stopped pacing.
“Nora, I said I was sorry.”
I looked at Richard.
“Does your client also regret the theft?”
Richard’s eyes moved to Dominic.
“What theft?”
I reached for my folder.
Dominic stepped forward.
“Nora, don’t.”
That single sentence was enough.
Richard closed his briefcase.
“Perhaps we should reschedule.”
“No,” I said.
I opened the first file.
“This is my original sketch from 2022.”
Then the second.
“The same design in Caruso’s current collection.”
Then the manufacturing records.
Then the email.
Then the financial transfer.
Richard’s face changed with every page.
Dominic finally sat down.
“Where did you get these?”
“I kept them.”
“You were supposed to destroy that material.”
My heart stopped.
“Supposed to?”
Dominic realized his mistake.
Richard immediately stood.
“Dominic.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He turned to me.
“Nora, I can explain.”
“You just did.”
Richard collected his papers.
“This discussion is over.”
“Why?”
“Because I am no longer comfortable representing the company if these documents are authentic.”
Dominic stared at him.
“You’re firing yourself?”
“I’m protecting my license.”
After Richard left, Dominic closed the door.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
I stayed calm.
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“You’ll destroy the company.”
“You destroyed your company.”
“It’s my family’s company.”
“No.”
I stood.
“It was my designs.”
His jaw tightened.
“You think fashion is just drawing pretty dresses?”
“No.”
“Then you have no idea what I sacrificed.”
I laughed softly.
“You want to talk about sacrifice?”
He stared.
“I gave up my career because you told me our son needed me.”
“He did.”
“I gave up my studio because you said we couldn’t afford it.”
“We couldn’t.”
“I gave up my degree program because you said it was the wrong time.”
“It was.”
“And while I was doing all that, you were taking my work and selling it.”
His voice rose.
“Because you weren’t ready!”
I stared at him.
The silence afterward was complete.
Dominic seemed to hear himself.
He lowered his voice.
“Nora…”
“No.”
I pointed toward the door.
“Leave.”
“I live here.”
“Then I’ll leave.”
His expression changed.
“You’re taking Eli?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t just take my son.”
“I’m his mother.”
“I’m his father.”
“Then act like one.”
He flinched.
That afternoon, I called Daniel.
He answered on the second ring.
“He confessed.”
“To the theft?”
“Not directly.”
“But enough.”
Daniel exhaled.
“That may be useful.”
“There’s something else.”
“Tell me.”
“Dominic said my files were supposed to be destroyed.”
Silence.
“That changes things.”
“What does it mean?”
“Someone inside the company knew you retained evidence.”
“Vanessa?”
“Possibly.”
“You’re not sure.”
“No.”
“Who else?”
Daniel paused.
“Your mother-in-law.”
I froze.
“Isabel?”
“Yes.”
I had always treated Isabel Caruso with polite distance.
She had never liked me.
At our wedding, she had told Dominic, within earshot, “You could have married someone who understood the family.”
I had never asked what she meant.
Now I was beginning to.
That evening, I visited her apartment.
Isabel opened the door herself.
For a second, she looked surprised.
Then she smiled.
“Nora.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
Her apartment smelled of roses and expensive candles.
I sat.
She poured tea.
“I heard about the gala.”
“I’m sure everyone did.”
“I told Dominic not to bring Vanessa.”
I looked up.
“You knew she was there?”
“She had been working on the collection.”
“With my designs.”
Isabel lowered the cup.
“So you know.”
“I know enough.”
She sighed.
“Then I suppose the time has come.”
“For what?”
She walked to a cabinet.
From a locked drawer, she removed a small envelope.
She placed it in front of me.
“Arthur wanted you to have this.”
My hands went cold.
“When?”
“Before he died.”
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
Nora,
I failed you.
I knew what Dominic was doing. I thought I could control it. I thought I could force him to honor the work without breaking the family.
I was wrong.
Your talent was never the problem.
My son’s fear was.
He feared that if your work became bigger than the family name, people would remember where it came from.
I stared at the page.
Isabel sat across from me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Dominic threatened to destroy your marriage.”
“He did that anyway.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
“There’s more.”
She reached into the cabinet again.
This time she pulled out a folder.
Inside were photographs of a private meeting.
Dominic.
Vanessa.
Arthur.
Marco.
And another person.
I recognized him immediately.
Richard Hale.
The lawyer.
The same man who had come to my apartment that morning.
I looked at Isabel.
“What is this?”
“A meeting from five years ago.”
The date was six weeks before my wedding.
I stared.
“What were they discussing?”
She shook her head.
“I never learned everything.”
“But you knew.”
“I knew Dominic had plans.”
“Plans involving me?”
“Yes.”
“What plans?”
She looked at me.
“He married you for three reasons.”
My chest tightened.
“First, because he loved you.”
That surprised me.
“Second, because your talent could save the company.”
And third?
Isabel’s eyes filled with regret.
“Because Arthur had promised you a controlling stake in a new design subsidiary after your marriage.”
I stopped breathing.
Dominic had never told me.
“Why would he marry me if the goal was to take my work?”
“Because he believed he could make you dependent on him.”
I looked down at the papers.
“Did he ever love me?”
Isabel’s answer took too long.
“Yes.”
I looked up.
“But love was never enough for him.”
I closed the folder.
“Where is Marco?”
She stared.
“How do you know Marco is involved?”
I put the photograph on the table.
“Because I know more than you think.”
She whispered an address.
“Brooklyn.”
That night, I found Marco Caruso in a small apartment overlooking the river.
He was older than the photographs suggested.
He opened the door and stared at me.
“You’re Nora.”
“Yes.”
“Come in.”
His apartment was modest.
Books everywhere.
No guards.
No luxury.
He made coffee.
“You look like your mother.”
I frowned.
“You knew my mother?”
“Yes.”
That was unexpected.
“How?”
“Before you met Dominic, your mother worked with Arthur.”
“My mother designed?”
“No. She negotiated.”
I sat.
He leaned back.
“She knew what Arthur wanted.”
“What did he want?”
“To build a design house that belonged to the creators, not the family.”
I absorbed that.
“And Dominic?”
“Dominic wanted the opposite.”
He handed me a photograph.
Arthur stood beside a much younger Dominic.
“We fought over it for years.”
“What happened?”
“Arthur died before he could finish.”
“Did Dominic kill him?”
Marco’s eyes sharpened.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I looked at him.
“You thought it.”
“I thought many things.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
Marco studied me.
“Your husband didn’t start this theft five years ago.”
“When?”
“Before your wedding.”
My stomach dropped.
“Dominic had already filed a provisional ownership claim on your sketches before he married you.”
I stared.
“He couldn’t.”
“He did.”
“Under what name?”
Marco answered softly.
“His.”
I closed my eyes.
All those years.
Every drawing.
Every late night.
Every promise.
The truth had been there from the beginning.
Dominic had not simply stolen my future.
He had built his future on convincing me it was mine.
On my way home, Daniel called.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Vanessa knows we’re investigating.”
“How?”
“She contacted the bank tied to Bellmont.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they’re moving the money.”
“And the designs?”
“They’re trying to transfer everything by morning.”
May you like
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
“Then we stop them tonight.”
