Chapter 8 - The Morning After
By noon the following day, the entire city was reeling from the news.
Front-page headlines across every major newspaper and news channel broadcasted the stunning downfall of the Cole family and union boss Julian Vance. The scandal of the fake pregnancy at the Moretti engagement gala had become the most talked-about story on the East Coast.
The Cole family’s assets were seized by federal authorities, and Vanessa Cole was forced into hiding to avoid public disgrace and potential fraud charges.
Meanwhile, inside the warm, sunlit breakfast room of the Moretti mansion, a very different atmosphere prevailed.
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the lush green gardens outside, still glistening from last night’s rain.
I sat at the long mahogany dining table wearing a simple, beautiful cream-colored dress that Alessandro’s personal stylist had delivered to my room earlier that morning.
Emma sat beside me in a velvet high chair, happily eating fresh pancakes covered in strawberries and whipped cream, her face smeared with red syrup.
Alessandro walked into the room wearing a relaxed dark blue sweater and dark trousers, looking handsome, rested, and completely at peace.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Alessandro said, walking up to Emma and gently wiping a dollop of whipped cream off her nose with a napkin.
Emma giggled brightly. “Good morning, Mr. Alessandro! Look! I made a strawberry mountain!”
“It’s a very impressive mountain,” Alessandro agreed with a warm laugh, sitting in the chair right next to me.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with a deep, quiet warmth that made my heart flutter.
“How are you feeling, Elena?” he asked softly.
“I feel... like I can finally breathe for the first time in three years,” I admitted, offering him a small, sincere smile. “I still can’t believe it’s really over.”
“It is over,” Alessandro affirmed. “And today, things change.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a clean leather document folder, laying it on the table in front of me.
May you like
“What is this?” I asked, looking at the folder with curiosity.
“Open it,” he said gently.
