Before She Became Moretti Again

I barely slept that night.

The next morning, Valerie brought the divorce agreement and Lucian's latest movements.

"Madam, Mr. DeLuca has signed the Raven Street building over to Clara Voss. It used to be a private dental center, but it has been converted into a trauma recovery clinic. Today is the opening."

"The Voss family has moved into protected townhouses in Bell Harbor. Their living fund is three hundred thousand dollars, and DeLuca security is covering the rest."

My pen hovered above the signature line. "What else?"

"The tabloids are still running stories about you and Clara. We contacted public relations, but the stories haven't come down."

They had not come down.

Years ago, a magazine caught me losing my temper at an auction and ran an ugly headline. The article was gone in less than five minutes, and Lucian's lawyers buried the entire magazine. The editor later knelt outside the Red Room and begged for mercy.

Now my name had been dragged through the tabloids for three days, and Lucian had done nothing.

It was not that he could not stop it. He had chosen not to.

I signed my name. The ink dried fast, like a cord finally cut.

"Do not report his schedule to me again," I said, closing the file. "He and I will not be connected for much longer."

That afternoon, I went to Raven Street.

Black SUVs lined the curb outside the new clinic, and DeLuca men stood at the entrance. The white sign read Voss Recovery Center in clean, gentle lettering. Compared with Clara's old emergency clinic in the Lower Ward, the place looked polished enough for politicians and made men with expensive secrets.

Clara stood at the entrance in a pale gray suit, her blond hair pinned at the nape of her neck. Lucian was beside her.

He straightened the name badge on her lapel with a practiced, natural ease. Clara looked up at him, and the dependence in her eyes was almost too obvious to be an accident.

Conversation thinned when I arrived. Clara saw me first. "Mrs. DeLuca, you came."

She took a small box from the reception desk and offered it to me with both hands. "This is a commemorative pin for the opening. About the old clinic, maybe I did not explain things clearly enough and caused a misunderstanding. I prepared this one specially for you. I hope you and Lucian won't keep fighting because of me."

Inside lay a silver brooch. It was not badly made, but it looked like a performance staged for everyone watching.

I looked at it for a moment, then dropped the box into the trash.

"I don't like cheap kindness bought with my husband's money."

The room sucked in a breath.

Lucian's expression darkened. He caught my wrist. "Evelyn, today matters to Clara. She saved my life. I am only helping her get back on her feet. Can you please stop turning everything into a fight?"

I looked up at him.

So he knew this day mattered. What about my dignity? What about my marriage? What about the three days I had been left for the tabloids to chew up?

I did not pull away. I took the document from my bag and handed it to him.

"Fine," I said. "Sign this, and I will leave."

Lucian frowned. "What is it?"

"A gift. Every time we fought, you used to buy me something to make it up to me. This time, this is what I want."

Before he could speak, reporters flooded through the clinic doors. Flashbulbs burst white across the room, and questions flew like bullets.

"Mr. DeLuca, is Miss Voss really only your lifesaver?"

"Mrs. DeLuca, are you here to apologize or confront her?"

"What is the real relationship between you and Miss Voss?"

The crowd surged. Clara stumbled back, one pale hand catching the doorframe.

Lucian's attention snapped to her. Without even looking down, he signed the last page and shoved the file back into my arms. Then he turned and placed Clara behind him.

"Move," he ordered coldly. "Get them out." His men cleared a path at once.

I lost my footing in the crush. My back slammed into a glass display case, pain ripping from my shoulder blade down my spine. I called his name on instinct.

"Lucian!"

The shutters swallowed my voice.

All I saw was Lucian guiding Clara into the black Cadillac, shielding her from every camera. He closed the door and left without looking back.