Chapter 6 - The Penthouse Reminiscence
The Maybach glided smoothly through Midtown traffic, climbing northward before turning smoothly toward the familiar gates of the Moretti Tower.
Inside the cabin, the silence was thick enough to cut with a knife. Adrian sat beside me, keeping a respectful distance of a few inches, though his dark eyes tracked my every movement. When I unconsciously placed a hand over my stomach—a nervous tick I couldn't break—his gaze locked onto my fingers with an intensity that bordered on obsessive.
"You didn't answer my doctor's question," I broke the silence, staring straight ahead at the partition glass separating us from the driver.
"Which question?"
"How you found me."
Adrian let out a slow, heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. "You think I wouldn't notice when my former wife—who worked as my senior marketing director and managed half my philanthropic portfolio—suddenly vanishes into thin air, switches her phone carrier, and rents an apartment in Brooklyn Heights within forty-eight hours?"
I turned my head to glare at him. "You had me watched?"
"Not watched," he corrected smoothly, though there was no denying the underlying surveillance. "Monitored for your safety. When you walked out of my life, I made sure you were settled. I needed to know you were safe, even if you wanted nothing to do with me."
"That's creepy, Adrian. That's stalking."
"Call it what you want," he said evenly, his voice devoid of defensiveness. "It kept you safe. And today... Marco happened to be at Manhattan General picking up cardiology reports for Vanessa Russo when he spotted you walking into maternity."
Ah, Vanessa. The ghost reappeared.
"How is she?" I asked, my voice dripping with a cold, sarcastic neutrality that I couldn't quite mask. "Your first love. Must have been stressful for you, rushing to her bedside."
Adrian turned his head sharply, his dark eyes locking onto mine with sudden intensity. "Vanessa is a business associate's daughter, and her father was a close ally of my uncle. She has a severe congenital heart condition. When she collapsed last week, her family reached out to Moretti Capital because of our medical foundation funding. I arranged her care out of professional obligation and human decency. Nothing more."
"You whispered her name in your sleep during our first year of marriage, Adrian," I whispered, the old pain finally slipping out through the armor of my anger.
Adrian froze. The color drained from his face, his lips parting in shock.
"You heard me?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Once. After we signed the marriage registry," I said, looking out the window as the skyscraper of Moretti Tower loomed overhead. "I knew I was a convenient choice, Adrian. A quiet, respectable match to appease your board of directors and give the Moretti name a clean image. I accepted that. But I won't accept being dragged back into your orbit now just because an heir conveniently appeared."
The car came to a smooth, silent halt in the underground private parking garage of Moretti Tower.
Before the driver could get out, Adrian reached across the seat and caught my wrist. His grip was firm, warm, and entirely gentle—not the grip of a captor, but of a man holding onto the last fragile thread of his sanity.
"Look at me, Claire," he commanded softly.
I turned my head slowly, meeting his gaze.
"You were never a convenient choice," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register so raw and unfiltered that it knocked the wind right out of my lungs. "I married you because from the moment you walked into my office three years ago, you were the only real thing in a world full of sharks and sycophants. I pushed you away because I didn't know how to love someone without destroying them. That was my failure, not yours."
I stared at him, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.
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"And this baby," Adrian continued, his thumb gently stroking the inside of my wrist, "is not a corporate asset, Claire. It's my child. It's our child. And I will move heaven, earth, and every mountain in New York before I let you raise my child alone."
Before I could formulate a reply, the private elevator doors opened directly beside the car, ready to swallow us up into the penthouse skies.
