Chapter 4 : His Biggest Mistake

Fayre 

The doors of the Vance penthouse closed behind me, shutting out the storm.

I stood in the grand, vaulted foyer of my family’s ancestral home, my wet clothes clinging to my shivering body. For 7 years, I had lived in a cramped penthouse, counting pennies for Phoebe’s medical bills, completely isolated from the trillions of dollars my family controlled. All for a man who let my daughter die.

"My sweet girl."

The deep, trembling voice echoed from the top of the marble staircase.

I looked up. Lord Vance—the most feared financial titan in the global underground, and my grandfather—was hurrying down the steps. 

"Grandpa," I choked out.

I collapsed against his chest. The unbreakable, icy wall I had built at the hospital finally shattered. I screamed. I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and sobbed until my throat bled, the agonizing reality of Phoebe's death tearing me apart from the inside out.

"Let it out, my precious bird," my grandfather whispered fiercely, holding me so tight I could feel his own heart breaking. He stroked my wet hair, rocking me back and forth. "I have you. You are home now. No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it on my life."

I cried until my legs gave out. My grandfather caught me, gently lifting me into his arms, carrying me into the parlor just as he did when I was a little girl.

He placed me on the plush velvet sofa, signaling for the maids to bring blankets.

"Fayre."

I lifted my tear-stained face. Standing in the archway of the parlor was a man I hadn't seen in years. He wore a damp trench coat over a suit, his broad chest heaving as if he had sprinted the entire way here.

Matteo Zelda.

He was the son of my father's best friend, the current CEO of Zelda International, and the boy who had practically grown up by my side before I threw my life away to marry Mitchell.

"Matteo?" I whispered.

"What are you doing here?"

He crossed the room in three long strides, falling to his knees right in front of the sofa.  He reached out, taking my freezing, trembling hands in his warm, calloused ones.

"I heard what happened," Matteo said, his dark eyes searching my face with a terrifying intensity. "I just got back from Geneva. My plane touched down  minutes ago. I ran here as soon as I heard the news."

"She’s gone, Matteo," I sobbed

 "My baby is gone."

Matteo’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked beneath his ear. He looked up at my grandfather, who gave a slow, solemn nod before quietly exiting the parlor to give us privacy.

"Come on," Matteo said softly.

He stood up, gently pulling me to my feet. "You’re freezing, Fayre. Let's get you upstairs."

He led me up the staircase and down the long corridor to the master suite that had been kept pristine for me all these years.

A roaring fire was already burning in the hearth. Matteo guided me to the edge of the massive canopy bed.

"I’ll have the kitchens bring you something," he murmured, reaching up to gently wipe a tear from my cheek with his thumb. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," I whispered, staring blankly at the flames in the fireplace. "I don't think I'll ever be hungry again. It hurts, Matteo. It hurts so much I can't breathe."

Matteo froze. He stared at me, the raw devastation in my voice finally breaking whatever restraint he had left.

"Fayre," he breathed.

He suddenly stepped into my space, wrapping his strong arms around my waist and pulling me flush against his chest. I gasped softly at the sudden, overwhelming heat of his body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, sending a dangerous, illicit shiver down my spine. "But this is my way of sharing your pain."

Before I could even process his words, Matteo tilted my chin up and crashed his lips against mine.

It was desperate. Consuming. His mouth moved over mine with a fiery, dominating possession that completely hijacked my senses. He tasted like rain, mint, and pure, unfiltered desire.

My breath hitched, my hands instinctively sliding up the lapels of his coat to grip his shoulders. The friction of his body pressed so tightly against mine created a blinding, dizzying heat that temporarily drowned out the agonizing grief in my chest.

Matteo groaned deep in his throat, his tongue parting my lips, deepening the kiss until I was entirely breathless, entirely his. His hands slid down my spine, pulling my hips flush against his, letting me feel exactly how much he wanted me.

When he finally pulled away, we were both panting, our foreheads resting against each other.

"Please don't feel guilty about this," Matteo whispered, his dark eyes blazing with an intensity that made my heart race. "I’ve always wanted to do this. I love you, Fayre. I always have. Since we were kids."

I stared at him, my lips still tingling and swollen from his kiss. "Matteo..."

"Shh," he hushed me gently, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. "Please, take your time. I'm not rushing you. I just needed you to know that you are not alone. And I am never letting you out of my sight again."

Matteo stood up abruptly, clearing his throat and taking a step back to give me space to breathe.

Right at that moment, the door cracked open. My personal maid, Elara, stepped inside, bowing respectfully.

"My Lady," she said softly. "I apologize for the intrusion, but your grandfather has filed the emergency divorce and asset-seizure injunctions. The private magistrate is waiting at the High Court. You need to get ready."

I looked down at my hands. Mitchell thought he could throw me out on the streets with nothing. He thought I was just a helpless housewife.

"I'm coming with you," Matteo said, his tone leaving absolutely zero room for argument.

We arrived a bit late, the High Court lobby swung open.

The paparazzi hadn't caught wind of this yet. It was a closed, VIP session.

Standing near the magistrate's office was Mitchell. He was wearing a sharp designer suit, his lawyers flanking him. He was already loudly complaining about the sudden legal summons, completely unbothered by the fact that our daughter’s body wasn't even cold yet.

But then, Mitchell’s arrogant gaze shifted toward the entrance.

His eyes landed on Matteo, who was walking slightly ahead of me.

Mitchell’s entire posture immediately shifted. The annoyance vanished, replaced by an eager, desperate greed. He shoved past his own lawyers, practically sprinting across the floor to intercept Matteo.

"Mr. Zelda!" Mitchell exclaimed, extending his hand with a sickeningly charming smile. "What an absolute honor to see you here. I’m Mitchell, CEO of Mitchell Corp. My company has been trying to book an appointment with you for over a year to discuss the medical patent buyouts."

Matteo stopped. He looked at Mitchell’s outstretched hand, his expression turning into absolute disgust. He didn't take it.

"I know exactly who you are," Matteo said.

Mitchell blinked, confused by the blatant hostility. He awkwardly lowered his hand. "Oh. Well, I know this is a courthouse, but if you have just five minutes

Mitchell’s words died in his throat.

His eyes drifted past Matteo’s broad shoulders, landing on the woman standing directly behind him.

Me.

I was wearing a flawless, custom-tailored black dress that cost more than Mitchell’s entire penthouse. My chin was high, my eyes completely empty of the pathetic, subservient love I used to hold for him.

But what made Mitchell’s face drain of all blood wasn't just my clothes.

It was the fact that Matteo Zelda the untouchable billionaire he had been desperately trying to network with was holding my hand. Our fingers were tightly intertwined.

Before Mitchell could even open his mouth, the two heavily armed Vance guards flanking us stepped forward. They bowed in perfect unison.

"The magistrate is ready for you, Lady Fayre."

Mitchell staggered back, his eyes darting frantically from the guards, to Matteo, and finally to our intertwined hands. His face twisted into an ugly, furious mask of pure jealousy and shock.

"Fayre?" Mitchell choked out.

 "What... what the hell is the meaning of this?!"