Chapter five
1003 Words
Ryan’s POV
The penthouse felt wrong without her.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Too still.
Ryan stood alone in the centre of the living room, staring at the closed elevator doors long after Isabella had disappeared behind them with her father.
He had expected tears.
He had expected screaming.
He had expected one of her emotional speeches followed by forgiveness, because that was how it always worked. Isabella would hurt, retreat, then soften. She always softened.
But this version of her had looked straight through him.
And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
He poured himself a whisky with unsteady hands.
The glass clinked sharply against the marble counter.
Temporary titles are fragile things.
The old man’s words replayed in his head like an insult he could not shake.
Who the hell did Matteo Moretti think he was walking into his home like that?
Ryan swallowed hard.
No.
Not his home, apparently.
He looked around the apartment again.
Could Moretti really have taken the lease that fast?
Maybe. Men like that bought buildings before breakfast.
Ryan cursed under his breath and downed half the drink.
His phone buzzed.
Chloe.
He almost ignored it, then answered.
“What?”
“Well hello to you too,” she said lightly. “I’ve been texting all afternoon. Are we still meeting tonight?”
“No.”
Pause.
“What’s wrong?”
“Isabella knows.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“So?” Chloe said. “You said you were leaving her anyway.”
Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose.
“It’s more complicated.”
“She cried and ran to a friend. That’s not complicated.”
“She ran to Matteo Moretti.”
Silence.
Then, “As in the Matteo Moretti?”
“Yes.”
Chloe laughed nervously. “Why would she know him?”
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
Because apparently his wife had spent six years hiding things from him.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, find out,” Chloe snapped. “And fix it.”
He pulled the phone from his ear, staring at it.
Fix it.
As if this were a delayed meeting or bad press.
He ended the call without replying.
For the first time in years, Ryan felt something unfamiliar pressing at the edges of his confidence.
Uncertainty.
He opened his laptop at the dining table Isabella had decorated the night before. One candle still sat half-burned in the centre, wax hardened down the side.
He shoved it away.
Then he typed:
Isabella Moretti
Search results loaded instantly.
Articles.
Photos.
Business magazines.
A younger Isabella at charity galas in gowns he had never seen. Beside Matteo Moretti. Beside politicians. Beside royalty at one event.
His stomach dropped.
He clicked another link.
Moretti Group Heiress Steps Away from Public Life
Date: six years ago.
The same year she met him.
Ryan read the article twice.
Then a third time.
Only child.
Future successor.
Estimated family worth in the billions.
His wife.
His very ordinary, very simple, very loyal wife.
“No,” he muttered.
He stood so fast the chair tipped backwards.
This had to be exaggerated. Old media nonsense. She would have told him. She would have trusted him.
Wouldn’t she?
Unless she hadn’t trusted him at all.
Unless she had known exactly what kind of man he was before he did.
His phone rang again.
This time it was his CFO, Daniel.
“What now?” Ryan snapped.
“We’ve got a problem.”
“Then solve it.”
“I’d love to. Two investors pulled out in the last hour.”
Ryan went still.
“What?”
“Both cited strategic realignment.”
“That’s rubbish.”
“I know.”
Ryan’s pulse quickened.
“Who were they connected to?”
“Indirectly? Moretti Capital had co-invested in previous rounds.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Anything else?” Ryan asked tightly.
Daniel hesitated.
“Our bank requested an urgent review meeting tomorrow.”
Ryan ended the call before hearing more.
No.
No chance.
This was pressure. Theatre. An old billionaire trying to scare him.
Ryan had built Cole Enterprises from nothing.
He had survived worse than this.
Yet when he looked at the search results again, all he could see was Isabella smiling in photographs from a life he had never been invited into.
How many times had she sat across from him at dinner knowing she could buy the company he boasted about?
How many times had she listened to him complain about powerful men while being daughter to one of the most powerful men in Europe?
Humiliation burned hotter than fear.
A soft knock came at the door.
He opened it to Chloe, dressed perfectly, perfume expensive, expression concerned.
“I came straight over,” she said, stepping inside. “You sounded stressed.”
Ryan looked at her.
At the woman he had risked everything for.
Suddenly she seemed loud.
Shallow.
Small.
“Did you know?” he asked.
“Know what?”
“That Isabella was a Moretti.”
Chloe blinked.
Then scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He said nothing.
Her face slowly changed.
“Oh my God.”
She moved past him into the living room, spinning once as if seeing the penthouse differently now.
“So all this time…”
“Yes.”
Chloe turned back, eyes sharpening with greed before she could hide it.
“Well,” she said carefully, “that doesn’t mean anything. You’re still married.”
Ryan stared at her.
There it was.
Not concern.
Calculation.
And for the first time, he wondered if he had mistaken appetite for affection.
His phone buzzed again.
Email notification.
Subject: Notice of Legal Separation
Sent from Moretti Legal.
Ryan’s grip tightened around the device.
Chloe stepped closer. “What is it?”
He looked at the woman in front of him, then at the empty penthouse behind her.
Then he said the words he never thought he would.
“I think I made a mistake.”
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