CHAPTER 7: THE UNKNOWN

The Maybach came to a smooth stop in front of the Moretti mansion just past midnight. The grand iron gates slowly closed behind them, sealing in the silence that had hung between Eva and Jeremi since they left the gala.

 Eva stepped out first, clutching the hem of her gown to avoid tripping. Her heels echoed faintly against the marble as she made her way inside, her heart still heavy from the evening’s encounters the probing journalist, Maya’s presence, and that almost-moment on with Jeremi.  He followed a few steps behind, but she didn’t wait for him.

 “I’m going to bed,” she said quietly over her shoulder.

 Jeremi’s footsteps paused behind her.

 “I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” he said.

 She stopped mid-step. “Where to?”

 “Upstate. There’s a private summit with the governor and a few senators. Just for the weekend.”

 She turned slightly, meeting his gaze. “I see.”

 He studied her face for a moment. “You’ll be fine without me?”

 “I always have been.”

 The words came out colder than she intended, but she didn’t take them back. She resumed walking, the silence echoing behind her like unfinished thoughts.

 Jeremi gave a small nod. “Good night, Eva.”

 She didn’t respond.

 The gala had drained her. The lights, the questions, Maya’s presence everything had left Eva feeling like a fragile ornament about to crack. 

 Inside her room, Beatrice was already waiting, helping her unzip the gown and placing her jewelry back in its velvet box. Eva’s movements were quiet, methodical.

Just before Beatrice turned to leave, Eva spoke up.

 “Please arrange for the driver to take me to my father’s house tomorrow morning. I need to pay him a visit.”

 Beatrice looked surprised but nodded. “Of course. Early morning?”

 “Yes. I’ll leave before breakfast.”

 As soon as the door shut behind her assistant, Eva walked over to the drawer by her bedside and pulled it open. Her fingers brushed over the edge of the envelope she had slipped into her bag earlier that night. It had been addressed to her .

 Her pulse quickened.

 she stared at it, feeling a lump rise in her throat.

What could have written to Ellen, did you write to me, Jeremi? Was he suspicious?

 She closed it.

 Instead, she slid it back into the drawer, then changed her mind. She walked over to the vanity, opened a small wooden trinket box she had brought from the convent something no one would think to check and carefully placed the envelope inside. She closed it gently, as though sealing away more than paper.

 Then she exhaled, at her vanity, removing her makeup slowly, stroke by stroke as if wiping away the version of herself she'd worn like a costume. The way Jeremi had looked at her on that balcony haunted her. There had been something in his eyes... longing, maybe. Or was she imagining it?

 She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, asking God to keep her heart from wandering. But even as the words left her lips, the image of Jeremi's hand brushing her lower back lingered like a ghost.

 She switched off the light and tried to sleep but her eyes and mind keep betraying her . She stood up to takes a walk around the house instead 

 Eva walked into the library and saw Jeremi seated at the piano fingers gliding across the keys in a melody so sad it stopped her in her tracks.

 “You play?”

 He nodded. “Only when I’m thinking too much.”

 “What are you thinking about?”

 He didn’t look at her. “That maybe... I’m too good at hiding things.”

 Eva didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. Her heart was hiding too.

 As she turned to leave, he called out, “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like… if we met differently?”

 She paused. “Yes.”

 And then she left, her footsteps echoing in a house full of unanswered questions.

 He still hadn’t brought up the last situation he and Ellen had before the wedding day . And with her not addressing it he just couldn't do it himself. And the best he could do was distant himself from her.

 Jeremi stood in the dimly lit hallway for a moment, his jaw clenched and hands buried deep in his pockets. The house, quiet in its post-gala hush, echoed with the weight of unspoken emotions. He had told her he would be away for a few days business, of course. But in truth, it was an escape. An escape from her eyes, her voice, her growing presence in a life he had long sealed behind iron doors.

 He made his way up the private staircase the one only he and one other soul ever used. At the top floor, past a secured entryway fitted with fingerprint recognition, lay his sanctuary.

 Jeremi’s bedroom was more than just a place of sleep . it was his citadel. Vast and imposing, the walls were clad in deep oak panels with subtle gilded accents.

A long glass window stretched from one end to the other, offering a panoramic view of the city lights, though he rarely opened the thick velvet drapes. A king-sized bed with dark navy sheets rested at the center like a throne, surrounded by minimal yet exquisite furniture. His late mother’s portrait hung above the marble fireplace stern, watchful, elegant. No one entered this room except Abrams Eliot his head of security, a man who had been with him since he was sixteen.

 

When the room needed cleaning, Abrams stood watch, scanning the maids like a hawk while monitoring the cameras that lined every angle. It was a space untouched by casual footsteps, a world where Jeremi allowed no weakness to seep through.

 Jeremi moved toward the desk beside the fireplace, where a small locked drawer seemed to whisper his name. He opened it slowly. Inside, among other private papers, was the letter creased and slightly smudged from his repeated readings.

 It was dated three days before the wedding.

 Jeremi,

 I can’t go through with this. I’m pregnant. And I won’t be at the wedding.

 You may never forgive me, but I had to do what I thought was right.

 Ellen

 Jeremi exhaled slowly, the familiar ache settling once again in his chest. He had read those words so many times they were etched in his memory. But it never made sense. Ellen if that was who Eva truly was had shown up. Beautiful, composed, almost too perfect.

 

So why the letter?

 Why the pregnancy claim?

Why lie... or worse, why change her mind without explanation? Did she hate him that much to lie about being pregnant?

 He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the dull throb building in his temples. Was it guilt? A trap? Or a cruel joke she never got the chance to explain?

 Or… was she never Ellen to begin with?

 He leaned back in his leather chair, eyes fixed on the letter like it might morph into answers. Something wasn’t right. And he was going to find out no matter how deep he had to dig.