Vivian Caldwell gave up everything for Luca Moretti—her dreams, her independence, and ten years of her life. As the heiress to the Caldwell fortune, she built his empire, enduring his family’s abuse and his emotional neglect. But when she catches him red-handed with his first love, her world shatters. Confronting him only leads to more heartbreak when Luca cruelly throws her from a balcony, leaving her for dead. But Vivian wakes up in the past, years before her death, with one clear goal—revenge. This time, she won’t be the naïve woman sacrificing everything. She’ll take back her power, her fortune, and her life. The elusively attractive Dante Moretti, Luca's uncle, becomes her greatest ally—but on one condition: she must marry him.
view moreA week passed in something resembling a routine. I continued working at Tom's warehouse, gradually bringing order to his chaotic business operations. True to his word, Dante arranged for visible security—a woman named Ria who looked like she could snap a man's neck without breaking a sweat, but who also had a surprisingly dry sense of humor."You don't look like a typical bodyguard," I'd told her on the first day.She'd smirked. "That's the point. The ones who look the part are the first to get taken out."Ria shadowed me discreetly, always within sight but never hovering. She accompanied me to and from work in the car Dante continued to provide despite my insistence that I could pay for my own transportation once I received my first paycheck."Consider it part of the security package," he'd said, smoothly overriding my objections.I hadn't seen any more threatening notes, and Luca had stopped calling, which should have been a relief. Instead, the silence made me uneasy, like the calm
The next morning, I woke to the sound of someone in the apartment. I froze, panic surging through me until I heard Marcus's voice calling out. "Ms. Caldwell? It's Marcus. I've brought your things from the hotel." I relaxed, wrapping a robe around myself before emerging from the bedroom. "You could have called first." "My apologies," he said, looking genuinely contrite. "Mr. Moretti suggested I come early so you'd have everything before work." Several bags sat by the front door—all my belongings from the hotel, plus some shopping bags I didn't recognize. "What are those?" I asked, pointing to the unfamiliar bags. "Mr. Moretti took the liberty of having some professional attire sent over. He thought you might need more options for your new position." I bristled at the presumption, then reminded myself that I had, in fact, been lamenting my limited wardrobe just yesterday. Still, it was unsettling how Dante seemed to anticipate my needs before I voiced them. "Tell Mr. Moretti than
Vanguard Tower was an imposing structure in the heart of downtown, sleek and modern like Dante himself. The security desk in the lobby stopped me, of course, but one call upstairs had them issuing me a visitor's pass with surprising speed. The elevator whisked me to the top floor, where a receptionist greeted me with a polite smile. "Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Moretti is expecting you. This way, please." Of course he was expecting me. Marcus had probably called ahead the moment I hung up on him. The receptionist led me down a corridor to a set of heavy wooden doors, which she opened with a respectful knock. "Ms. Caldwell to see you, sir." Dante's office was exactly what I'd expected—spacious, tastefully decorated, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a commanding view of the city. He sat behind a massive desk, looking up from some papers as I entered. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to see me. "Vivian," he said, standing. "This is a pleasant surprise." "Is it?" I crossed my arms.
The gravel crunched under the car's tires as we pulled up to James's mansion. Through the windows, I could see the dining room lit up—the same room where I'd once served coffee while Clarissa critiqued my pour. Ten years of memories pressed against the glass."We don't have to do this," I said.Dante switched off the engine. "Yes, we do." He turned to look at me. "They need to see you're still standing."I tugged at my black dress. Twelve weeks, and already nothing fit properly. The fabric clung to the slight curve I was trying to hide."Stop fidgeting," Dante said quietly. "You look perfect."His certainty steadied me, even as my stomach churned—morning sickness, nerves, or maybe both.The butler—not Thompson, they'd fired him last year—opened the door with practiced efficiency. No warmth in his greeting. The Morettis went through staff like other people went through paper towels. I remembered Thompson's last day, how he'd slipped me my favorite tea with trembling hands.Clarissa hel
The buzzing of my phone worked its way into my dreams. I reached for it blindly, squinting at the screen. 6:17 AM. The notifications kept coming, each one lighting up the dim room.27 missed calls. 43 text messages. 15 news alerts. 8 emails marked urgent.I sat up slowly, switched on the bedside lamp. The guest room at Dante's penthouse was still unfamiliar—all grey silk and chrome, nothing personal yet. My finger hovered over the first notification.The image loaded. I blinked, certain I was still dreaming. There I was, outside Provocateur nightclub, my black dress hitched high. A man's arm circled my waist, his face conveniently turned from the camera. The timestamp read March 15th, 2023."That's not..." I scrolled further. More photos. Me at the Four Seasons bar, leaning into another man's space. July 2023—the week I'd been in Hong Kong for the Asian merger. Another showed me getting into a car, a different man's hand on my back. September 2023."No, no, no." I opened my messages.
I stood in Dante's office doorway that morning, watching him read through contracts. He didn't look up, but his fingers stopped moving across the keyboard."About last night," I started.He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. The silence stretched between us like a living thing."Would you like to sit?" he asked finally.I gripped the doorframe. "I need to tell you something."More silence. Patient. Undemanding."I—" The words stuck. "I need to check something first."He looked up then. "Take your time."I retreated to the kitchen. Cooking had always helped me think, even in Luca's house where Clarissa criticized every meal. The familiar motions might help order my thoughts.I found the recipe card while unpacking kitchen boxes. It was tucked into an old cookbook, the paper soft and stained. Sophia Moretti's handwriting flowed across it: Rigatoni alla Vodka. Below, in different handwriting: More vodka. Less cream. - L.Luca had mentioned this dish once. "Nonna taught all the wives to make it
I woke the next morning with a pounding headache and the taste of expensive wine still lingering on my tongue. For a blissful moment, I forgot everything—where I was, what had happened, what I'd done. Then reality crashed back, and I groaned, pulling the thin pillow over my face. I'd kissed Dante Moretti. Luca's uncle. And he'd kissed me back, then offered to help me destroy Luca's life. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I reached for it blindly, squinting at the screen. Three missed calls from Luca and a text message: Where the fuck are you? We need to talk. This ridiculous tantrum has gone on long enough. I snorted and tossed the phone aside without responding. Ten years of marriage, and he still thought he could treat me like a misbehaving child. Not anymore. I forced myself out of bed and into the tiny bathroom, grimacing at my reflection. My makeup from last night was smudged around my eyes, giving me a raccoon-like appearan
Dante's car was a sleek black Aston Martin that purred rather than roared when he started the engine. The leather seats were buttery soft against my skin, and the interior smelled of expensive cologne and new car. "Where are you staying?" he asked as we pulled away from the restaurant. I hesitated, then gave him the name of my modest hotel. His expression remained neutral, but I saw his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel. "That's in a rough area," he commented. "It was what I could afford on short notice," I said defensively. "Someone froze all my accounts today." Dante's jaw tightened. "Luca's doing, I assume." "Who else?" I stared out the window at the passing city lights. "I had some emergency cash hidden away. It'll last me until I figure things out." We drove in silence for a few minutes before Dante spoke again. "I have properties sitting empty. Penthouses, apartments, townhouses. You could stay at one of them while you get back on your feet." I turned to look
The forty-story drop beyond Dante's office windows made the room spin. I gripped the back of a leather chair, my knuckles white against the black surface. Below, cars crawled like insects through the morning gridlock. The sun hadn't properly risen yet—just a grey suggestion of dawn that made everything look slightly unreal.I hadn't slept. The ring box had sat on my nightstand all night, its presence like another person in the room. Every time I'd closed my eyes, I'd seen Luca's face when he realized who exactly I'd kissed at that party. The thought should have frightened me. Instead, I felt a dark thrill of anticipation."Coffee?" Dante's voice came from somewhere behind me.The scent wafted over—rich, dark roast from the small Italian café downstairs. My stomach rolled unexpectedly. "I'm fine."The office breathed wealth, but quietly. No gold-framed paintings or crystal sculptures like the ones Luca collected. Just clean lines of chrome and glass, everything arranged with precision.
The heat of the oven hit my face with a vengeance as I pulled out the chicken that I had spent the entire day preparing. It was seasoned to perfection. I placed it on the kitchen counter and finally took a breath as I wiped my brow. I had finished with today's dinner. Now, I could rest—"Vivian!" Clarissa, my mother-in-law, screamed, making my pulse jump.I ran to where she sat in front of the television."Yes?" I asked.Her cold eyes fell on me, a scowl on her lips. She pushed a plate in my direction. "I need more pie," she said. "It's a bit overbaked, but there's nothing else to eat around here."I picked up the plate and made a beeline back to the kitchen. My heart sank when I saw what was left of the pie. Nothing. Just then, Diane, my sister-in-law, entered the kitchen with another plate and placed it on the counter instead of in the sink."You finished the pie?" I asked.Her gaze hardened. "And? Who told you not to make enough?"She didn’t even give me a chance to speak before sh...
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