Chapter 4

(Celeste Moretti’s POV)

He looked up. "What is it?"

"I think we should—"

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 remembered—it’s 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 immediately, putting distance between us.

He blinked, then pulled back himself, his expression shifting to something closer to irritation. "Celeste, you’re pregnant. Stop wearing so much perfume. It’s not good for the baby."

I looked at him for a moment. I didn’t tell him it was just shower gel. I didn’t tell him there was no baby anymore.

I looked down at the folder in my hands, at the signature that had just ended four years of my life, and felt something loosen in my chest—a knot I’d been carrying so long I’d forgotten it wasn’t supposed to be there.

"Of course," I said pleasantly. "I’ll be more careful. Don’t worry—I won’t let anything happen to your precious heir."

I was drifting into a heavy, uneasy sleep when the bedroom door creaked open. The mattress dipped. A man’s hand slid under the duvet, cold against the warmth of my skin. It moved up my back, presumptuous and familiar.

I sat up instantly, clutching the sheets to my chest.

Stefano sat on the edge of the bed. He was wearing a dark silk robe, the belt loosely tied. He looked at me with a heavy-lidded, suggestive gaze.

"I’m going to take a shower," he said, his voice low. "Then I’ll come back. We can sleep together tonight."

Bile rose in my throat. I pressed a hand to my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.

"Stefano," I managed to say, my voice trembling with suppressed disgust. "I need to rest. Please go sleep in the Guest Wing."

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. He stopped untying his robe.

"Excuse me?"

Ever since I announced the pregnancy, he had insisted on separate rooms. He claimed he didn’t want to disturb me or the baby.

I knew the truth. He just didn’t want to look at me. He was mourning his brother, pining for his sister-in-law, and I was just an inconvenience. Tonight, he was just looking for a release.

"I am very sure," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Get out."

Stefano let out a cold laugh. He shrugged, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips. "Suit yourself. Don’t regret it later."

He stood up and walked out, not looking back. As the door clicked shut, I grabbed the pillow and hurled it at the wood. It hit with a dull thud. I got out of bed and poured myself a glass of water. My hands were shaking. I took a slow sip.

Just a few more hours. This nightmare was almost over.

The next morning, I was jolted awake by rough hands shaking my shoulders.

"Wake up!"

Bianca Conti stood by the bed, hands on her hips. Her face was twisted in a scowl.

"I want Blueberry Crepes," she demanded. "Make them now. Or I’m not going to that stupid kindergarten."

I rubbed my throbbing temples. "I’m not feeling well, Bianca," I said, my voice hoarse. "Ask Mrs. Potts or the chef to make them for you."

She let out a piercing scream. She threw herself onto the carpet, kicking and thrashing. "No! I want you to do it! You’re lazy!"

The door flew open. Adelina marched in, dressed in pristine high-fashion suit. She took one look at the scene and stormed over to me. She got right in my face.

"Look at this," she hissed. "You are absolutely classless. You can’t even manage a simple bonding activity with your daughter? You use this pregnancy as an excuse for everything."

Bianca sat up, tears streaming down her face. "I don’t want her to be my Mom!" she wailed.

My head felt like it was splitting open. I looked at the little girl who looked so much like me but acted exactly like them.

"Fine," I said, a cold smile touching my lips. "Since you love your Mama Tiziana so much, and you have that special iMessage group with her and your father, why don’t you ask her to be your mother?"

Adelina’s eyes widened. She stepped forward and slapped me across the face. The sound cracked through the room. My cheek burned instantly.

"What is going on here?"

Stefano appeared in the doorway. He was in his workout gear, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Bianca Conti scrambled up and wrapped her arms around his leg.

"Daddy! She's being mean!"

Adelina pointed a manicured finger at me. "This woman is out of control, Stefano. She is disrespecting my mother and refusing to care for her child. You need to handle her."

I stared at Stefano Conti. I waited.

He looked at the bright red handprint on my cheek. He didn’t blink. He frowned, looking annoyed rather than concerned.

"Celeste," he said flatly. "She is my mother. You should learn some respect."

The last thread of hope snapped.

I walked up to him. I stood so close I could smell his expensive cologne mixed with sweat.

"She hit me, Stefano," I said, my voice ice-cold. "I don't care if she's your mother or the Queen of Italy. The moment violence starts, respect ends."

I drew back my hand and slapped him. It was hard. My palm stung. The room went deadly silent. Adelina gasped, covering her mouth.

"How dare you!" Adelina shrieked. "You touched my son!"

I straightened my spine. I looked Stefano dead in the eye. "You're her son," I said. "You can take the punishment for her."

I slapped him again. "That settles it. We're even."

Stefano’s face was turning red, his eyes bulging with rage.

"Stefano, we are finished," I said. "Now, all of you, get the hell out of my room."

I shoved Adelina toward the door and pushed Stefano. He stumbled back, clutching his face, too shocked by my words to react physically.

"Get out!"

I slammed the door in their faces and locked it. Silence returned.

I pulled my suitcase from the closet. I realized I didn’t have much to pack. Years in this house, and my life fit into a single carry-on.

I took the envelope from my drawer. Inside were the medical records confirming the miscarriage and the signed divorce agreement. I placed it under the lamp on the nightstand.

I took my bag and unlocked the door. As I walked down the hallway, I heard a voice from the study.

Tiziana.

The door was ajar. I stopped.

Through the crack, I saw Tiziana in a form-fitting silk dress. She held an ice pack to Stefano’s cheek.

"She hit you so hard," she cooed. "Does it hurt?"

She shifted, and her heel seemed to slip. Stefano’s arm shot out. He caught her by the waist, pulling her flush against him. The air in the room charged with electricity.

Stefano stared at her for a second, then crashed his lips onto hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. He kissed her neck, burying his face in her skin. His hands roamed over her body. I watched as his hand moved to her back.

Zzzzp.

The zipper of her dress slid down. The silk fell away, exposing her breast.

Tiziana gasped. She pushed against his chest, but her resistance was feeble.

"Stefano, stop... your brother—"

"He's gone," Stefano muttered against her skin.

I pulled out my phone. I recorded ten seconds of it. The kiss. The zipper. The exposure.

Tiziana looked up and saw me through the crack in the door. Panic flashed in her eyes. She pulled her dress up, stumbling back. I stopped recording and put the phone in my pocket.

Stefano stepped out of the study a moment later. Tiziana trailed behind him, looking flustered.

He saw my suitcase. He saw my coat. He didn’t look worried. He looked amused. There was a smudge of Tiziana’s lipstick on his mouth.

"What?" he sneered. "You slap me and now you’re running away?"

I gripped the handle of my suitcase. "Think whatever you want," I said. "You are truly stupid and arrogant."

I turned toward the stairs.

"Stefano," Tiziana whispered loudly, feigning concern. "Maybe you should stop her? She is pregnant, after all."

Stefano let out a scoff. "No need," he said loud enough for me to hear. "She gave up everything to marry me. No job. No money. She can’t survive a week without the Conti name."

I kept walking.

"Don't worry," Stefano called out. "She’ll come back begging me in a few days."

I walked out the front door. The morning air was crisp and cold. It felt like freedom.

I stood by the curb and opened my Uber app. Then I opened my messages. I attached the video I had just taken.

To: Sebastian

Video Attachment

Mr. Sebastian, is this enough evidence for marital misconduct?