Page after page told the same story: Sophia beaming, reaching for him, leaning into his space – while he remained rigid, distant, his attention always elsewhere. Business calls during their honeymoon. Missed anniversaries. Empty promises whispered in the dark.
Now the album’s spine cracked under his grip. Every photo was a knife twist, each captured moment proof of how thoroughly he’d failed her. How many times had she tried to reach him? How often had he turned away?
His pulse spiked.
The master bedroom door swung open with too much force, cracking against the wall.
Empty.
Not just tidy-hollowed out. The walk-in closet gaped like a wound, bare hangers dangling where Sophia’s dresses used to sway. All traces of her had been erased, not so much as a bobby pin left behind.
James’ breath came too fast. He’d faced down rival mob bosses without blinking, but this-this absence-sent ice flooding his
veins.
His phone was in his hand before he realized it. Sophia’s number rang once, twice, then clicked to voicemail. “You’ve reached—
”
He redialed. Same result.
Chapter 8
+15 Bonus
Third try.
Nothing.
James pressed his palms to his eyes. This was temporary. It had to be. Sophia was just upset about Vicky’s constant presence, about the hospital visit she’d misinterpreted.
He’d explain everything. Tell her Vicky’s baby wasn’t his just the result of her disastrous Parisian fling. Assure her he’d keep his distance from now on. Sophia would understand. She had to.
Four years together. Four years of her quiet strength, her sharp mind, the way she arched into his touch like a flower seeking sunlight. She wouldn’t just-
“James?” Vicky’s voice interrupted his thoughts. She held out a manila envelope. “Courier dropped this off earlier.”
He nearly dismissed it—then froze. The return address was from the courthouse.
The envelope tore like tissue paper in his hands.
A single sheet fluttered to the ground, landing face-up on the polished hardwood.
DIVORCE DECREE
James Moretti vs. Sophia Moretti
Finalized.
His knees buckled. The world tilted on its axis.
His signature stared back at him. The ink looked freshly dried, but the memory hit him like a bullet:
That afternoon in his study. Sophia’s trembling hands as she slid the “university form” across his desk. Vicky’s laughter distracting him. The fountain pen scratching across paper without a second glance.
The realization detonated in his chest.
He’d signed his own divorce.
Vicky was saying something, but all James could hear was the roar of blood in his ears.
“She outplayed me at my own game.”
