From Ex-wife to his Uncle's Obsession

(Celeste Moretti’s POV) I woke to the steady, mechanical beeping of the hospital monitors and the sharp scent of disinfectant that made my stomach twist. My head throbbed violently, every pulse reminding me of the fall. For a fleeting moment, I tried to place myself, but my mind was a haze until the memory hit me: I had slipped down the stairs. The world spun around me, and suddenly I knew why I was here. Then the words came, shattering everything. “Signora Moretti, I’m so sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.” I froze. The sound seemed to come from somewhere far away, as if someone else’s nightmare had invaded my life. I lay still on the hospital bed, numb from more than the anesthesia, trying not to process the weight of what I’d lost. The doctor’s voice droned on about recovery and procedures, but I couldn’t hear it. All I could hear was couldn’t save. I stared at the white ceiling above me, counting the tiles one by one. One, two, three… anything to keep myself from thinking. My

(Celeste Moretti’s POV) Stefano didn’t come home last night. Neither did Bianca. After her husband’s death, Tiziana had claimed that staying at the Conti estate brought back too many painful memories, so she’d moved into a luxury penthouse downtown. Where Stefano and Bianca had spent the night, I didn’t 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. “Up so early?” She took a slow sip, watching me over the rim of her cup. “I assumed you’d spend the morning in bed playing the tragic heroine.” 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 thought—that I was a housekeeper’s daughter, common and un

(Celeste Moretti’s 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. Ethan’s 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 doesn’t 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 Moretti’s POV) His voice echoed up the stairwell. I felt nothing. I looked down at him. He was kneeling on the landing below, Tiziana pressed tightly against his chest, his hands trembling as they cupped her face like she might slip away if he let go. My mother shoved past me and grabbed my wrist with both hands, her nails biting deep into my skin. “What did you do?” Her voice cracked against the narrow walls, sharp and accusing. “What is wrong with you? She came here to talk, and you pushed her down the stairs? After everything she’s done for this family? After everything I sacrificed to give you a decent life? How did I raise someone like you?” I lowered my gaze to her fingers digging into my wrist, then slowly lifted my eyes to her face. For the first time in my life, I did not look away. I grabbed her wrist and squeezed. Hard enough to make her flinch. “I didn’t touch her,” I said, my voice steady. “Do you believe me?” She just stared at me. A short, cold laug

(Celeste’s POV) I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in the hotel suite, staring out at the skyline. Everything about it felt cold and distant, like I was looking at a world I no longer belonged to. “Celeste, pack your bags,” Carmelita said, pacing the room restlessly. She kept glancing toward the window, her expression tight with concern. “This security is a joke. It won’t stop the paparazzi, and it definitely won’t stop Stefano’s people.” She stopped in front of me and grabbed my hand, her grip firm, grounding me when I felt like I might drift apart. “You need a fortress,” she insisted. “Move into my penthouse downtown. Twenty-four-hour security, private elevator, and a concierge who knows how to keep his mouth shut. My family doctor can come to you there.” I lifted my eyes to the mirror across the room. My reflection stared back at me, pale skin, hollow eyes, lifeless. I barely recognized the woman sitting there. “Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s go.” Carmelita was right. I wa