Erasing Mrs. Moretti

Another message followed immediately. It was an ultrasound picture.

A tiny gestational sac was clearly visible on the black-and-white image. In the top right corner, it read: 8 weeks.

[Surprised? You know, when I told Dante the news, he was as wild as an animal.]

[Oh, and by the way, he really is an animal with me. Not so… boring… like he is with you. Is he always so restrained when you two do it? Hahaha, that’s because he doesn’t even want to touch you! But with me… God, I can barely handle his passion!]

I leaned against the window, the world spinning around me.

The child we had hoped for for five years was now growing inside his mistress.

Maybe I should congratulate them.

Another text arrived.

[By the way, he’s taking me to Vegas tomorrow. We’re going to have a romantic little getaway. ~]

I turned off my phone and faced Dr. Ricci. "Doctor, I think I need to leave now."

"But your husband—"

"I'll tell him myself."

I went to my lawyer's office. I needed a divorce agreement.

"Regarding the division of assets, what are your requirements?" Mr. Blackstone asked.

I knew the Moretti family's power. I didn't want a long, drawn-out fight over money. "I only want the legally mandated 50% of our shared assets during the marriage. As soon as the money is in my account, I want you to donate all of it."

All I wanted was my freedom.

A flicker of surprise crossed Blackstone's face before he nodded.

Two hours later, I walked out of the law firm with the divorce papers in my hand. The Chicago sky was overcast, promising a storm.

My phone rang.

Dante.

"Baby, I am so, so sorry. That business took longer than I expected. Where are you now?"

"Home," I lied.

"Okay, I'm on my way. I'll be there soon. But..." His voice turned hesitant. "I might have to go to Vegas tomorrow for some urgent family business. It's complicated, and I might not be back until next week."

His and Jenna's romantic getaway.

"Okay," I replied, my voice so calm it surprised even me.

"You're not mad?" Dante sounded surprised. "I know it's not great timing, but family business... you understand."

"I understand."

"Alessia," his voice suddenly turned tender. "I love you. You know that, right?"

I looked down at the divorce papers in my hand and asked the question one last time.

"Dante," I asked softly, "could you ever love someone else?"

"What?" He laughed. "Baby, what are you worried about? How could I ever love someone else?"

"But if... hypothetically, I'm just saying, if something ever went wrong between us—"

"It won't," he cut me off, his voice laced with a disturbing possessiveness. "Alessia, listen to me. As long as your name is Alessia Moretti, you can never leave me. You are my wife. My woman. In this city, no one would dare touch you, and there is nowhere you could hide from me."

A quiet voice in my head answered: My name isn't Alessia Moretti anymore.

My name is Ava.

"And what if I wanted to leave?"

He laughed again, a sound full of arrogant confidence. "The most I'd give you is a three-day head start. Then I'd come find you. I told you, as long as you're Mrs. Moretti, I will drag you back from wherever you run. You can't shake me, baby. You can never shake me."

I hung up the phone and stood on the Chicago street, looking at the distant skyscrapers.

I didn't know if he could find me in three days.

All I knew was that in three days, I would be free.