Chapter 1

My flight to Aspen was canceled. It was Christmas Eve.

A blizzard had just buried the entire state of Colorado under three feet of snow. So, I dragged my luggage back home.

I pushed open the heavy oak door of my Manhattan penthouse, and the scene hit me like a physical blow.

A candlelit dinner for two on the dining table.

A trail of discarded clothes snaking its way toward the master bedroom. A silk shirt here, a pair of custom-tailored trousers there.

This wasn't the first time I'd walked in on my husband, Alessandro, and his girl, Ava. I’d lost count of how many times it had happened.

Muffled sounds drifted from the bedroom—a man's deep groans, a woman's sharp gasps—cutting through the dead silence of the foyer.

But this time, I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I just calmly set my suitcase by the door, sat down on the velvet sofa in the living room, and waited for the pathetic drama to end.

…

The sounds from the bedroom stopped abruptly, as if someone had hit a mute button.

I sat perfectly still as Alessandro walked out. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs. He started picking up his clothes from the marble floor.

Across the defined muscles of his back, I could see several angry red scratches—the raw marks of their passion, a silent testament to what had just happened.

Ten seconds later, Ava followed him out.

She was completely naked, a triumphant smile plastered on her face as she wrapped her arms around Alessandro's waist from behind. She radiated a happiness that was almost like showing off, pressing her cheek against his back and purring like a satisfied cat. "Alex, thank God you were here with me tonight…"

Alessandro covered her hands with his own and turned to pull her into his arms. His voice was low and teasing. "Anything to make you happy."

Ava stood on her toes to kiss him, but just then, she saw me.

Her eyes widened in terror. She snatched her dress from the floor to cover herself, scurrying behind Alessandro like a frightened mouse.

Alessandro's eyes met mine. A flicker of something complex—annoyance? guilt?—crossed his face before it settled back into the unshakeable authority of the head of the Moretti family. His tone was flat, but it was an order.

"Ava, go back to the room. Don't worry, I'll handle this."

A flash of reluctance crossed Ava’s face. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to protest, but in the end, she fell silent and nodded obediently.

As she turned to leave, Alessandro added, "Close the door."