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1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me.
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The day I got my terminal cancer diagnosis, I stumbled upon a hidden album on my mafia husband’s phone. One thousand eight hundred and twenty-six intimate photos. All of the same woman. None of me. Three years into our marriage, all of New York still feared Damian Moretti. Even as his only legal wife, I never dared ask about the blood on his cuffs—or the stranger’s perfume clinging to his skin late at night. I used to think he was simply born cold-blooded. Until I saw her on his screen, wearing his shirt in a secret penthouse I didn’t know existed, smiling freely in his arms. The cruelest part? The timestamp on the last photo was from two hours ago—the exact moment I was sitting alone at the hospital, signing my own Do-Not-Resuscitate form. When Damian walked out of the bathroom, he caught me staring at the screen. No guilt. No panic. He just walked over, took the phone from my frozen hand, and hit delete without a flicker of emotion. “Stay out of things that don’t concern you,” he said flatly. “Forget what you saw.” Before the screen could even go dark, it lit up again with a text message: Damian, you left your shirt in my bed again. Whatever was left inside me finally shattered. I pushed the prepared divorce papers toward him. “Sign them,” I said quietly. “I’m setting you free.” Damian’s gaze turned lethal. In one swift motion, he pinned my wrist against the headboard, the heavy Moretti signet ring on his right hand digging brutally into my bone. “Don’t test my limits, Vivian,” he murmured, leaning over me, his voice low and merciless. “Moretti marriages only end with a funeral.” I met his icy stare and didn’t say another word. He had no idea I only had three months left to live. The funeral he asked for was already on its way.
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Chapter 1
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1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me. Chapter 32
With his thumb, he touched the diamond held against his ring finger.Then he pressed play.Wind sounded from the tiny speaker.A different night.The same trees.“Good evening. I’m Vivian.”He lowered his head.“I want to tell you a story.”He knew every pause.The moment she waited for the pain to pass.The slight change in her voice when she said the number of photographs.He knew when she would wipe her face.When she would look away.The recording held things he had not noticed while she was alive.It could show him those things.It could not let him answer differently.From the bench, he could see the white roses beneath the oak.He did not stand.He had once believed every door would open if he wanted it badly enough.A guard would move.A lawyer would withdraw.A wife would come home.Now the cemetery gate stood open behind him, and there was still a place he could not enter.Three steps from a headstone.Ten paces from a bench.The distance was small enough to cross in seconds.
1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me. Chapter 31
Evelyn’s eyes dropped to his hand.The diamond rested against his finger, held there by the tight loops of chain.It was not a ring he could properly wear.He did not try to explain it.“Keep my name out of it,” he said.The documents lay between them.“Don’t put it on her trust.”Evelyn closed the file.He took his coat from the back of the chair, gave a small, courteous nod, and left alone.Outside, Manhattan was still cold.***Three years later, winter came early.In a newly restored gallery at the Met, an exhibition celebrated young women working in painting conservation.The Vivian Hayes Trust had sponsored it.In the quietest corner, several restored nineteenth-century coastal landscapes stood inside a glass case.Beside them lay an open charcoal sketchbook.Rain slanted past Roman columns.A black umbrella stood on the steps.There was no one beneath it.A man in a black coat watched from the other side of the glass.He was thirty-nine.Gray had spread at his temples.His shoul
1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me. Chapter 30
Damian searched the album.The cloud backup.Their messages.He opened every folder he could find.The phone that had held 1,826 photographs of Lina contained a few official images from charity dinners.Vivian beside him.Her hand on his arm.The correct smile for the cameras.Not one private photograph.On their first anniversary, she had lifted her phone and asked for a picture together.He had put a hand in front of the lens.“Don’t waste time on this.”He remembered her lowering it.At the time, he had not thought to look at her face.Now he sat on the bathroom floor, holding half a box of stomach medicine.There was nothing on the screen he could enlarge into the memory he wanted.***After that night, the executives at Moretti Shipping noticed the change.Damian hired data-recovery specialists.He paid them to search the company servers, old security drives, and social media archives for anything showing Vivian.They worked for a week.Most of what they found was news footage fro
1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me. Chapter 29
Fine snow began falling again.Damian followed the stone path toward the oak.Three months earlier, he had crossed it quickly, angry that his wife had made him come.He had ordered her to turn off the livestream.To stand.To go home.Now he walked slowly enough to see where each stone met the next.The black headstone stood in the fading light.The space beneath Vivian’s birth date was no longer blank.January third.White roses covered the ground before it.Three steps away, his knees struck the gravel.He did not reach for the flowers.From the inside pocket of his jacket, he took the diamond ring.The one she had left on the cemetery ground.He held it against his forehead, then against his chest.His body folded forward into the snow.Only then did a sound escape him.Low and broken.There was no one left beneath the oak to hear it.***Three days after the funeral, Damian returned to the penthouse above Central Park.For three months, he had slept in cars or hotel rooms near the
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