Chapter 4

I returned to the estate that afternoon with the signed lease on my phone.

No one in the family chat had asked what happened at court. The last message was still Mom's from the night before.

[Tomorrow is Elena's day. No one leaves early.]

Beneath it sat six promises, neat as a punch line.

The west wing had already been restored to Sofia. Studio lights stood by the windows, rolling racks lined the hall, and trays from her jewelry collection covered the long worktable. Marco, the estate manager, shifted awkwardly when he saw me.

"Mrs. Moretti decided not to clear the suite yet," he said. "Miss Sofia needs a stable environment."

"Understood."

I went to the guest room where I'd slept for three years.

Everything in it was expensive, but almost nothing belonged to me. The clothes in the closet were samples from Sofia's label and cut to her measurements. The espresso machine had been a duplicate gift Luca didn't want, although I never drank coffee. Matteo had once given me a luxury sleep spray full of lavender, unaware that strong perfume triggered my migraines.

Nico had never given me anything. The first time we met, he had warned me, "Sofia's health is fragile. Don't use blood to make her feel unsafe."

I didn't pack any of their gifts.

One suitcase held my documents, laptop, a few suits, and the tin box of letters my adoptive mother had left me. My first twenty-five years fit inside it. After three years at the Moretti estate, there was almost nothing I wanted to add.

At the bottom of the letter box lay the lease from my first studio apartment. The rent had eaten half my salary, the radiator clanged all winter, and the downstairs neighbor played saxophone at two in the morning. I had still felt safer there than I did in a mansion where every kindness could be reassigned without warning.

I handed my key card to Marco. "You can turn this back into a guest room."

"This is your room, Miss Hart."

"My name isn't on the door. Nothing in the closet fits me, and someone else chose every detail down to the curtains." I took one last look. "It's a room I slept in. That's all."

As I rolled my suitcase downstairs, a black Range Rover stopped beneath the portico.

Sofia stepped out surrounded by the family, a cherry soda in one hand. Her color was back. The moment she saw my suitcase, she stopped cold.

"Elena, where are you going?"

"I'm moving out."

Mom hurried over and grabbed the handle. "Because we didn't stay to finish the court appointment?"

I eased her hand away. "No. Because of the dinner, three birthdays, the bracelet, the west wing, and the promise you made last night. Every incident came with a good excuse, but every excuse ended with me behind Sofia."

Her eyes turned red. "Why didn't you tell me how much this hurt?"

"I did. You called me difficult."

Luca blocked the front door. "Stay. We'll clear the west wing tonight, and the bracelet will be returned."

"Why wouldn't you do either one yesterday?"

He looked away.

"You're offering now because I'm holding a suitcase," I said. "Not because you've decided a promise matters, but because you've finally learned what breaking it will cost you."

Dad came around the car, his expression thunderous. "Don't use leaving as leverage. Outside these gates, nobody steps aside because your last name is Hart."

"I'm not bargaining. The lease is signed. I'm giving you notice."

"How long do you think you'll last without a Moretti account, driver, or security detail?"

"I lived alone in Manhattan for six years before you found me."

He stared as if it had never occurred to him that I hadn't spent those years frozen in place, waiting to be rescued by a man with an armored car.

Sofia approached and reached for my hand. "Don't leave because of me. You can have the west wing and the bracelet. I don't need either one."

"When you say 'because of me,' you're admitting you know this has something to do with you."

She snatched back her hand. Mom stepped between us on instinct.

The second she did it, she looked startled by her own body.

For once, I didn't ask her why. I already knew.

The rideshare I'd ordered pulled up outside the gates. Luca stayed in the doorway until I wheeled my suitcase around him and loaded it into the trunk myself.

Dad followed me onto the front steps. “If you walk out today, don't expect a Moretti car to pick you up again.”

“Deal.”

I got in and shut the door.

The rideshare rolled through the gates. In the rearview mirror, I saw Mom take a step after us. Dad caught her by the arm.

“Let her go,” he said. “She wants us to chase her. Give her two days without the Moretti name or our money, and she’ll come back.”

I looked down at my phone. The email from the courthouse was still open.

NAME CHANGE PETITION WITHDRAWN

Applicant will remain Elena Hart.

Before the car reached the highway, Dad’s phone rang.

It was the family attorney.

“We’ve received notice from the court. Elena withdrew the petition.”

“Then reschedule it.”

There was a brief silence.

“She didn’t miss the appointment, Lorenzo. She withdrew it in person.”

“She chose not to become a Moretti.