Chapter 7
1195 Words
Ryan’s POV
The gates were taller than he expected.
Black iron, sharp-tipped, impossible to see through fully because of the trees and stone walls stretching beyond them. Security cameras watched from discreet angles. Even the silence outside the estate felt expensive.
Ryan sat in his car gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary.
He had never been invited here.
That fact now gnawed at him.
Six years married to Isabella, and he had never once asked to meet the family she barely spoke about because he assumed there was nothing worth knowing.
He had believed what she let him believe.
Middle-class. Estranged father. Old money stories exaggerated by gossip.
Not this.
Not Moretti.
A guard approached his driver’s side window. Earpiece. Dark suit. Expression carved from concrete.
“State your business.”
Ryan lowered the window halfway.
“I’m here to see my wife.”
The guard didn’t blink. “Name.”
“Ryan Cole.”
The man touched his earpiece, listened for a second, then said, “Wait.”
Ryan clenched his jaw.
He was being handled like a delivery.
He checked his reflection in the mirror. Fresh shirt. New tie. Expensive watch—different one now. He had chosen the grey suit Isabella once said made him look trustworthy.
He hated himself for remembering that.
Minutes dragged.
His phone buzzed repeatedly on the passenger seat.
Daniel. Two missed calls.
CFO panic could wait.
Then Chloe.
He silenced it.
Finally the gates opened slowly, deliberately, revealing a long drive lined with trees and fountains that looked older than his entire company.
Ryan drove forward, every metre making him feel smaller.
The estate came into view.
It was less a house than a statement.
Stone frontage, sweeping steps, tall windows, columns, security positioned discreetly enough to seem decorative until one noticed they never stopped watching.
He parked where directed and got out.
A butler met him before he reached the door.
“Mr. Cole.”
“Yes.”
“This way.”
No handshake. No welcome.
Inside, the entrance hall alone was larger than Ryan’s first flat. Marble floors, chandeliers, paintings that were probably originals. Quiet staff moving with effortless precision.
Wealth that did not need to announce itself because it had nothing to prove.
Ryan was led into a study.
Dark wood shelves. Leather chairs. Fire lit despite the mild weather.
Matteo Moretti stood by the mantel, hands clasped behind his back.
Isabella sat on a sofa nearby wearing cream loungewear, hair loose, looking softer than yesterday and infinitely further away.
Ryan’s chest tightened at the sight of her.
“Bella.”
She did not stand.
She did not smile.
She merely looked at him as one might look at weather passing the window.
“Sit,” Matteo said.
Ryan remained standing.
“I’m here to speak to my wife privately.”
“No,” Matteo replied.
Ryan forced calm.
“This is between us.”
Matteo’s gaze was cool. “You lost the right to define boundaries when you brought another woman into your marriage.”
Ryan looked to Isabella.
“I made mistakes.”
Her expression did not move.
“Mistakes repeat,” she said quietly. “Choices repeat.”
He stepped closer.
“Please. Let me explain.”
“You explained enough with Chloe’s phone call.”
Shame flared hot in his throat.
“That meant nothing.”
“Interesting,” Matteo said mildly. “You destroyed your marriage for something meaningless.”
Ryan ignored him.
“Bella, I was stressed. The business has been intense. I handled everything badly.”
“Everything?” she asked.
He hesitated.
The room felt suddenly dangerous in its stillness.
“Yes.”
She studied him.
Then asked the question he dreaded.
“How long?”
He had rehearsed answers in the car.
A month. A mistake. It’s over.
But looking at Isabella now, lying felt impossible and truth felt fatal.
“Three months,” he said.
Her face changed almost imperceptibly.
Not pain.
Closure.
Ryan felt it like a door shutting.
“I see,” she said.
“It wasn’t serious.”
Matteo gave a low laugh.
Ryan turned sharply. “Do you mind?”
“I mind very much,” Matteo said. “Continue.”
Ryan dragged a hand through his hair.
“Bella, listen to me. We can fix this.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
“You and the woman you spent the night with?”
His jaw tightened.
“She means nothing.”
“Then why did you choose her repeatedly?”
No answer came.
Because Chloe was easy.
Because admiration without accountability was intoxicating.
Because he liked being wanted by someone who asked for nothing real.
Because somewhere along the way he had mistaken loyalty for permanence.
Ryan looked at Isabella and hated himself for realising her value only once it was gone.
“I was wrong,” he said.
The words tasted foreign.
“I know,” she replied.
He moved closer again.
“I love you.”
Silence.
Then Isabella said, very softly, “No. You loved being loved by me.”
The truth of it struck harder than anger would have.
Matteo walked to the desk, opened a folder, and placed papers on the table.
“Legal separation. Asset protections. Temporary residence restrictions. Sign acknowledgment of receipt.”
Ryan stared.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“I’m not signing anything.”
“You misunderstand,” Matteo said calmly. “Refusal delays paperwork. It does not stop it.”
Ryan looked at Isabella.
“Tell him.”
She held his gaze.
“I want a divorce.”
The words hit like physical force.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You’re emotional.”
Her eyes hardened.
“And you are unemployed in ten minutes if I make one call.”
Ryan blinked.
Matteo almost smiled.
Interesting.
So she did know more than she’d shown.
“Bella,” Ryan said, lowering his voice. “Don’t do something permanent because of temporary anger.”
She stood then.
For a second hope rose in him.
Then she walked to the door and opened it.
“Please leave.”
“Isabella—”
“Leave before I remember every humiliation and become less kind.”
He stared at her.
This woman was not the wife who waited with candles.
This woman had inherited steel.
Matteo slid a pen across the desk.
Ryan signed acknowledgment with a vicious stroke.
Then he looked at Isabella one last time.
“Chloe means nothing.”
She nodded once.
“So does that apology.”
The butler appeared beside the door.
Ryan walked out burning with humiliation.
As the front doors closed behind him, his phone rang.
Daniel again.
He answered sharply. “What?”
Daniel sounded pale.
“The bank froze the expansion credit line.”
Ryan stopped on the stone steps.
“What?”
“And there’s more.” A pause. “Three board members just requested an emergency meeting.”
Ryan looked back at the estate towering behind him.
Then at the signed papers in his hand.
For the first time in years, he felt fear.
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