Chapter 2: The Quadruplets' Assessment

Marco's POV

Being one of four identical Moretti quadruplets meant I was always being watched by the public eye. My brothers—Massimo, Michele, Matteo, and I—shared the exact same face. We all had the same towering height, the same broad shoulders, and the same dark, piercing eyes. But that was where the similarities completely ended.

I was the careful one. I was the intensely image-conscious heir apparent to our family's massive corporate empire, spread across Milan's bustling financial district and our private estates on Lake Como. I calculated every risk. I protected our legacy. So, when our father, Bruno Moretti, summoned all of us into the grand waiting room to deal with this morning's sudden, viral marriage scandal, my mind immediately went into ruthless damage control.

I crossed my arms and slowly looked at the girl standing in the corner. Demi Rossi.

She wore cheap, faded jeans and an oversized sweater. She had zero makeup on her pale face, her dark hair was a messy tangle, and her wide, terrified eyes darted around the room. She looked prim, entirely natural, and completely out of her depth. I immediately ruled her out as a match for any of us. Especially Matteo. Matteo preferred aggressive, high-maintenance supermodels who knew how to play dirty games. He did not go for trembling, innocent little mice who looked like they were going to pass out from fear.

Her aunt, Elisabetta, stepped forward and began her theatrical performance. She clutched her chest, acting like a devastated mother.

"My poor, sweet niece was completely taken advantage of by your family," Elisabetta cried loudly, her voice echoing off the gold-trimmed walls. "She is an innocent young woman. A good girl! And one of you rich monsters got her heavily drunk and forced her into signing this legal paper. She was abused! We demand full financial compensation right now to protect her ruined reputation!"

I let out a harsh, freezing laugh. My brothers stood beside me, our expressions turning dangerously cold as we united in immediate denial. We knew this game perfectly. It was the same boring, familiar pattern we dealt with every single month. Desperate women trying to exploit our massive wealth and untouchable status through wild, false claims.

Massimo stepped forward, cracking his large knuckles. His face flushed with open, violent hostility. "We get gold-digging trash in here trying to scam us all the time," Massimo growled, his voice a lethal threat. "You think you can walk into our home and demand cash? I will throw you straight into the lake myself."

Matteo suddenly reached out and caught Massimo's arm, pulling him back.

I glanced at Matteo in surprise. Instead of being repulsed or angry, Matteo looked deeply intrigued. His dark eyes were fixed heavily on Demi, burning with a strange, possessive heat that made my stomach tighten.

"Wait, Massimo. Don't be so rough with our guests," Matteo murmured. He took a slow step toward Demi. A dirty, teasing smirk crossed his perfectly handsome face as he looked her up and down, making her shiver under his heavy gaze. "Did your aunt just say you were innocent? An untouched, pure little virgin sneaking around a bar in the dark? That makes things much more interesting, doesn't it, sweetheart? I like a good girl who knows how to be bad when a real man tells her what to do."

Demi blushed a deep, frantic red, looking away from him. Her chest heaved with panicked breaths.

"Watch your mouth, Matteo. This is not a game," I snapped sharply, stepping in front of him to block his view. I turned my freezing glare back to the aunt. "Listen carefully, signora. If you do not drop this absurd, fake claim and leave our property right now, our legal team will destroy you. I will ruin your lives. I will drain your bank accounts, take your home, and make absolutely sure you never find a single job in Italy again."

"I don't want your money!"

Demi's soft, shaking voice suddenly cut through the heavy, toxic tension in the room.

We all froze, looking at her. Her aunt whipped around, her face twisting with pure rage. "Shut your mouth right now, Demi!"

Demi shook her head, tears shining bright in her big eyes. She didn't look at her aunt. She looked right at my father, stepping forward with her hands clenched tight by her sides. "I swear to you, Mr. Moretti. I do not want a single euro from your family. I don't want to be part of this fraudulent claim. I just want an annulment. Please. I just want to sign the papers and go home."

Her request completely shocked me. It directly contradicted her aunt's greedy scheme. For a split second, I wondered if this girl was actually a victim of her own family.

Aunt Elisabetta grabbed Demi's arm violently, her sharp nails digging into the girl's skin. "She is deeply confused! The trauma from last night has made her totally hysterical! We need a massive settlement for her pain!"

My father, Bruno, slammed his large hand down on the solid marble table. The sharp crack sounded like a gunshot.

"Enough!" Bruno roared. His face was dark red with absolute, terrifying fury. He despised liars more than anything in the world. "I will not tolerate these cheap, opportunistic rats in my home for one more second. Security!"

Two massive guards in black suits immediately stepped into the room.

"Drag these lying women out of here," Bruno commanded coldly. "Take them to the back and teach them exactly what happens when you try to run scams against the Moretti family. Use force. Make them a warning to anyone else who tries this."

The guards lunged forward.

"Wait, Papa. Stop," I said loudly, holding my hand up. I stepped between the guards and the women.

My father glared at me, his chest heaving. "What are you doing, Marco? Get out of the way."

"Think about this strategically," I cautioned him, keeping my voice low and totally calm so the women couldn't hear my exact words. "If we hastily throw them out and physically punish them, it will severely backfire on us. The entertainment blogs already have the picture of that marriage certificate. I saw it online ten minutes ago. It looks incredibly genuine. If we mishandle this situation publicly, the press will paint us as the cruel villains who beat up an abused young wife. The media will eat us alive. It will cause our company's stock prices to crash by tomorrow morning."

My father clenched his jaw tightly, his dark eyes narrowing at me. He knew I was right. Business always came first. "So what do you suggest we do, Marco?"

"Let me take control of the interrogation," I said confidently. "I will expose her lies right now and force them to confess on camera. Then we can toss them out without any public risk."

I turned slowly, putting my full, intimidating attention entirely on Demi. She was trembling badly, looking between the four of us with sheer panic.

"Tell me the truth, Demi," I demanded, taking a slow, predatory step toward her. "If you really married one of us last night, you need to give me specific details. Where exactly did it happen? Who did you meet?"

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "I... I went to a club called the Blue Cove. Right in the heart of Milan. I sat in a dark, private booth in the back. I drank whiskey with him."

I stopped walking. I stared at her, an arrogant, mocking smile pulling at my lips.

Blue Cove? That was one of the most exclusive, fiercely guarded underground clubs in all of Milan. You needed a billionaire's black card and high-level security clearance just to walk past the front doors. I looked at her cheap, worn-out sneakers and her plain sweater. There was absolutely no way in hell she could afford a glass of water there, let alone gain entry.

"You expect me to believe someone of your obvious economic background got past the velvet ropes at the Blue Cove?" I asked, my voice dripping with harsh sarcasm. I dismissed her words instantly as insufficient proof. "That is a pathetic, desperate lie. You clearly read about our family's favorite, private spots in some cheap gossip magazine. You have no real proof. You don't even know which one of us was supposedly holding you in that dark booth last night."

I turned away from her, completely done with this boring game. I waved my hand toward the large security guards.

"Get them out," I ordered coldly. "She is lying. Make an example out of them. Make sure they fully understand the severe consequences for daring to target the Moretti name."

The heavy guards stepped forward, their massive hands reaching out violently for Demi's thin arms.

"Don't touch me!" Demi suddenly screamed.

Her voice rang out through the large room with unexpected, fiery resolve. She ripped her arms away from the guards with shocking strength and stepped right into the center of the room. The terrified trembling completely vanished from her small body. The fear disappeared from her wide eyes, instantly replaced by a blazing, defiant heat that stopped all four of us in our tracks.

She stood tall, glaring right into my face.

"I am not lying," Demi declared loudly, pointing a steady, furious finger directly at our identical line. "And I know exactly who my groom is."