Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Silver Dress
Vincent arrived at the Moretti penthouse at 2:11 in the morning.
The lights came on automatically as he entered.
Nothing had changed.
That was somehow worse.
Claire’s bookshelf still occupied the corner of the living room.
A ceramic bowl she had painted herself sat beside the fireplace.
Her favorite blanket remained folded over a chair.
He walked into the kitchen.
The ring was still there.
Fourteen months.
No one had touched it.
Vincent picked it up.
The metal felt cold.
He remembered putting it there.
He remembered staring at it.
He remembered feeling betrayed.
Now he wondered who had truly betrayed whom.
His phone rang.
“Marcus.”
“We traced the first email.”
“To what?”
“A temporary account created through a private server.”
“Whose?”
“We don't know yet.”
Vincent looked at the ring.
“Find out.”
“There’s more.”
“Go on.”
“The email wasn't sent directly to you.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“It was sent through an internal assistant account.”
“Which assistant?”
“Your executive office administrator.”
Vincent went still.
His office administrator had been Gerald Pike for eleven years.
Gerald knew everything.
Schedules.
Contracts.
Travel.
Personal correspondence.
Family matters.
Vincent had trusted him more than almost anyone.
“Where is Gerald?”
Marcus answered immediately.
“Not at home.”
“Find him.”
“Already trying.”
Vincent put the ring into his pocket.
Then he saw something on the counter.
A photograph.
It had probably been left there for years.
A photograph of Claire and Vincent at their wedding.
Claire was smiling.
Vincent was looking at her instead of the camera.
He had forgotten that.
He had forgotten how completely he had once looked at her.
His phone rang again.
This time it was Celeste.
He stared at the screen.
Then answered.
“Why are you calling?”
Her voice trembled.
“Because you left me in a hospital.”
“You had someone drive you home.”
“You didn't even say goodbye.”
Vincent said nothing.
Celeste inhaled.
“Are you really going after her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at the photograph.
“Because she is my wife.”
“And the babies?”
His silence answered.
Celeste began crying.
“You were happy with me.”
“No.”
“You said you loved me.”
“I said what I thought I wanted.”
“You used me.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“So did you.”
She went quiet.
He ended the call.
At 7:40 a.m., Vincent arrived at Harbor Saint.
Dr. Hale met him in a quiet consultation room.
“I contacted Mrs. Moretti,” he said.
Vincent’s pulse accelerated.
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That she did not want you interfering with her care or the children.”
Vincent swallowed.
“She knows I found out?”
“She knows.”
“Did she tell you why she never contacted me?”
Dr. Hale hesitated.
“She said you should ask yourself that question.”
Vincent looked away.
That sentence cut deeper than any accusation could have.
Meanwhile, Claire sat in Molly’s townhouse, feeding Noah.
Eleanor slept beside her.
Her ten-month-old son had Vincent’s eyes.
That had always frightened her.
Not because she hated Vincent.
Because she remembered loving those eyes.
Molly entered with a stack of mail.
“Three letters came for you.”
Claire frowned.
“One is from your attorney.”
She took the envelope.
“Another one is from Harbor Saint.”
“And this one?”
Claire turned the final envelope over.
Her face drained.
It was from Moretti Holdings.
She opened it.
Inside was a single line.
We need to talk about your children.
Claire closed her eyes.
Molly watched her.
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Claire handed her the letter.
Molly read it.
“This doesn't sound like him.”
“That’s what scares me.”
Three hours later, Vincent was standing in his boardroom.
Everyone had arrived.
Executives.
Legal counsel.
Security.
And Gerald Pike was absent.
That absence became the center of the meeting.
“Open the internal archive,” Vincent said.
His chief legal officer hesitated.
“Mr. Moretti—”
“Do it.”
A technician brought up the records.
Emails appeared.
One by one.
Medical notifications.
Pregnancy records.
Birth records.
Pediatric appointments.
Photos attached.
A sonogram.
Two tiny shapes.
Vincent stared.
He had received none of them.
Every single message had been opened by an internal account before reaching his personal inbox.
Then the screen froze.
Marcus stepped forward.
“We found the access log.”
“Who?”
The technician enlarged the name.
GERALD PIKE.
No one moved.
Vincent’s hands clenched.
Gerald had intercepted everything.
But why?
Before anyone could answer, the boardroom doors opened.
Celeste walked in.
She wore sunglasses and a cream blazer, her expression wounded enough to look convincing.
Vincent stared at her.
“You have ten seconds.”
“I know who Gerald has been meeting.”
The room became silent.
“Who?”
“Richard Vane.”
A name everyone recognized.
Richard Vane had been Vincent’s business rival for years.
Aggressive.
Connected.
Patient.
And obsessed with taking over Moretti Holdings.
Marcus's face hardened.
“How do you know?”
Celeste removed her sunglasses.
“Because Gerald approached me.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted me to keep you distracted.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“And you agreed.”
Celeste looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“For money?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
She hesitated.
“He told me Claire would leave eventually. He said you and I would become permanent.”
Vincent laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“So this entire year…”
“Wasn't entirely my idea.”
“But you stayed.”
Celeste's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Vincent turned to Marcus.
“Get Gerald.”
Then to Celeste.
“Tell me everything.”
She nodded.
“He said Claire was pregnant.”
Vincent stopped.
“What?”
“Before she left.”
“When?”
“He knew before I did.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent stared at her.
Celeste whispered the sentence that changed everything.
“He said the pregnancy had to disappear.”
Claire had left because she believed Vincent had betrayed her.
But perhaps someone had also arranged for her to believe that.
Someone had needed her gone.
Someone had needed Vincent ignorant.
Someone had needed two babies born without their father.
And someone had been making sure that happened for fourteen months.
That someone had not finished.
Because that afternoon, a dark sedan stopped outside Molly’s townhouse.
The driver did not get out.
He simply watched.
Inside, Claire was giving Eleanor a bottle.
Then she noticed the curtain moving.
She froze.
Molly came running.
“What?”
Claire pointed.
The sedan was already gone.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A distorted voice whispered:
“You should have stayed away from Vincent.”
Claire's blood ran cold.
“Who is this?”
The call ended.
She stared at the screen.
Molly took her hand.
“What did they say?”
Claire looked toward the nursery.
Then toward the window.
And understood something terrifying.
May you like
The danger had never been Vincent.
The danger had been whoever wanted Vincent and his children kept apart.
