LOGINShe walked out of her husbandâs life, thinking she was free. She was wrong. The moment she crossed paths with his uncle, everything changed. He was danger wrapped in control, untouchable, untamed⊠and obsessed with her. Every look, every touch, every secret night pulled her closer, and no matter how hard she tried to resist, he was already claiming her. Divorce was supposed to set her free. Instead, it chained her to the one man she could never haveâand the one who refuses to let her go.
View More(Author's POV) No one in the Everett family iMessage group noticed when Celeste Moretti quietly left. Not that anyone would have. Adelina used the group maybe twice a week to share videos of Bianca Conti at her riding lessons or ballet recitals, and the rest of the family treated it like background noise, something that existed but was never truly seen. Stefano Conti had not noticed anything at all. The previous afternoon, buried under a backlog of digital files, he had sat with his iPad and batch signed a stack of documents through DocuSign. The label on the folder had read Routine Personnel Changes, and he had clicked through them with practiced indifference, not reading a single line, not pausing long enough to consider what he was approving. The next morning, he stepped onto the executive floor and slowed when his gaze landed on the empty executive assistant workstation. The small vase that always held fresh flowers was gone, and the desk had been cleared so completely
(Celeste Morettiâs POV) The Uber pulled up to the glass tower of Aetheris Biotech at 8:47 in the morning. I walked through the lobby with my carry-on in one hand and a cardboard box tucked under my arm. The receptionist looked up, startled. Ethanâs office was on the fourth floor. I pushed open the door without knocking. He was at his desk, sorting through a stack of folders. He looked up when he heard the door, and his expression shifted the moment he saw me. I dropped the envelope on his desk. It landed with a flat, definitive slap. "Ethan," I said. "That's my resignation." He stared at the envelope, then at me. He picked it up slowly, as if it might bite him. "Mrs. Conti," he said, setting it back down. "Does Stefano know about this?" "No. And it doesnât matter." He straightened in his chair, reaching for the professional tone he kept on standby for difficult situations. "Per the executive contract terms, a resignation of this level requires CEO sign-off before it can be
(Celeste Morettiâs POV) He looked up. "What is it?" "I think we shouldâ" His phone rang. His assistant's name lit up the screen. He held up one finger and answered, already pressing his fingers to his temple as the voice on the other end escalated into obvious crisis. He snapped back at whoever it was, his attention entirely consumed. With his eyes on the middle distance, he flipped to the bottom of the stack and signed quickly at the flagged lines. Three signatures. Then he dropped the pen. I watched Stefano Conti sign his name to the divorce agreement in the same distracted motion he used to sign expense reports. I reached across and pulled the folder back. He hung up. "What were you going to say?" "Nothing. I just rememberedâitâs already sorted." I smiled and tucked the folder under my arm. He leaned forward slightly, and before I could step back, he tilted his head toward my neck and inhaled. His hand came up and brushed my cheek. His throat moved. I stepped back immedia
(Celeste Morettiâs POV) Stefano didnât come home last night. Neither did Bianca. After her husbandâs death, Tiziana had claimed that staying at the Conti estate brought back too many painful memories, so sheâd moved into a luxury penthouse downtown. Where Stefano and Bianca had spent the night, I didnât need to guess. I packed the important documents into my handbag, straightened my coat, and opened the door. Adelina was already in the sitting room. She sat on the sofa with a cup of red tea, one leg crossed over the other, her expression carrying that particular brand of contempt she reserved exclusively for me. âUp so early?â She took a slow sip, watching me over the rim of her cup. âI assumed youâd spend the morning in bed playing the tragic heroine.â I had spent years stopping in my tracks whenever she spoke, lowering my eyes, waiting for the lecture to end. Years of absorbing her disapproval because I knew what she thoughtâthat I was a housekeeperâs daughter, common and un












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