He Threw His Devoted Wife Into the Freezing Rain with One Suitcase—5 Years Later, He Begged to Buy Her Billion-Dollar Tech Empire Without Recognizing Her!

At seven o'clock the following morning, the executive boardroom of Moretti Global was in an uproar.

Luciano sat at the head of the forty-foot glass table, his tie discarded, three empty espresso cups resting beside his trembling fingers.

Around him sat eight corporate attorneys, four forensic accountants, and his chief financial officer, Arthur Vance.

"What do you mean the European credit lines are frozen?" Luciano roared, slamming his palm onto the glass.

Arthur flinched, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with shaking hands.

"Deutsche Bank and Credit Suisse issued simultaneous notices of credit suspension at four a.m. Zurich time, Luciano," Arthur stammered. "They cited an anonymous compliance referral alleging systematic money laundering through our Antwerp cargo subsidiaries."

Luciano’s chest constricted violently.

"Who sent the compliance referral?"

Arthur clicked his mouse, projecting a red warning flag onto the central wall display.

The screen displayed the unmistakable geometric logo of a silver falcon perched atop an iron compass: the emblem of Voss Strategic.

"It was an independent risk assessment authored by Voss," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The banks accepted their findings without even requesting secondary arbitration. When Voss Strategic flags an account, the entire continent of Europe stops moving money."

Luciano closed his eyes as a wave of cold nausea washed over him.

It was surgical.

It wasn't a crude retaliation with hired muscle or smear campaigns in tabloids; it was a devastating financial decapitation carried out through the exact channels Serena had managed for him during their marriage.

"She knew," Luciano muttered, running both hands over his face. "She built the Antwerp routing structure herself back in 2021. She knew every single blind spot in the books."

"Who knew, Luciano?" Arthur asked, looking around the room in confusion. "Do you have personal history with Miss Voss?"

"Get out," Luciano whispered.

"Luciano, we have twenty-eight million in customs clearance payments due at the Brooklyn terminal by noon—"

"I said get the hell out! All of you!" Luciano screamed, sweeping a crystal water pitcher off the credenza.

The glass shattered into a thousand pieces against the wall, water soaking into the silk wallpaper.

The attorneys and executives scrambled for their files, fleeing the room in terrified silence.

Only Marcus remained, standing by the double doors with his arms folded.

"You can't shout your way out of this one, Boss," Marcus said quietly. "She isn't the girl who took the rain in her hair. She holds the kill switch to your entire empire."

Luciano walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down at the yellow cabs crawling along Madison Avenue like ants.

Five years ago, he had believed he was an invincible titan, discarding a liability to trade up in society.

He had married Camille for her father's political clout, only to discover that her father’s political clout was a hollow facade built on unpaid loans and social debts.

For sixty months, his business had slowly begun to rot from the inside out because the woman who kept the foundation solid was gone.

Now, she had returned with a sledgehammer.

"Call her office," Luciano ordered, his voice raw.

"She won't take your call, Boss," Marcus replied.

"Tell her I will transfer fifty million dollars in cash to any escrow account in the world for an hour of her time," Luciano said, turning to face his security chief with bloodshot, manic eyes.

"Tell her... tell her I need to apologize."

Marcus looked at him for a long, heavy moment, a faint look of pity crossing his face.

"You don't want to apologize, Luciano. You just want to survive."

"Make the call, Marcus!"

Marcus sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Her executive secretary responded to our inquiry ten minutes ago, Boss. Miss Voss didn't ask for money. She sent an address."