Chapter 2 - The Envelope in the Fireplace
Dominic did not return to the ballroom floor. Instead, he took the private express elevator to his penthouse suite at the crown of the hotel tower. The city glittered below him through floor-to-ceiling glass, a grid of golden lights and crawling yellow cabs, but Dominic felt entirely disconnected from it.
His head pounded. He loosened his black silk bow tie with a violent tug, tearing the collar button loose.
Oliver and Mia.
He poured three fingers of bourbon into a tumbler, his hands shaking so visibly that amber liquid splashed onto the polished granite counter. He had seen the boy’s eyes. The dark gray, piercing gaze that matched his own reflection in the mirror every morning. And the girl—Mia—with his mother’s wide, open smile, a smile Dominic hadn't seen since the woman who raised him died twenty years ago.
The door to the penthouse clicked softly. High heels clicked against the hardwood.
“Dominic?”
Isabella entered, her silver evening gown shimmering under the soft foyer lights. She had a tight, careful smile fixed onto her face, but her shoulders were rigid, drawn high with an anxiety she couldn't disguise.
“Everyone is wondering where you went,” she said smoothly, gliding across the room toward him. “The board members from Frankfurt are waiting for your toast. Arthur said you vanished without a word. What on earth happened downstairs?”
Dominic turned around slowly. He didn't take a sip of his drink. He just looked at her.
For five years, Isabella had been the steady fixture beside his chair. She managed his social calendar, arranged his charity galas, smiled at his business associates, and gently, persistently pushed toward marriage. Dominic had kept her at arm’s length out of an instinct he had never fully understood—until tonight.
“Natalie is running the gala,” Dominic said quietly.
Isabella didn't blink, but her left eyelid gave a faint, involuntary flutter. “Yes. I saw Collins Events on the roster last month. I tried to replace them, but their portfolio for grand corporate events is unmatched this season. I didn't want to bring old drama into your professional sphere, darling. I thought it was best to simply let her do her job.”
“Did you know she had children?”
Isabella stopped three feet away from him. Her expression tightened. “Dominic, people move on. It’s been five years. Women find other partners. She probably remarried some mid-level consultant and started a family. Why are you letting this bother you tonight?”
“They are five years old, Isabella.” Dominic set the heavy crystal glass down with a sharp thud. “The boy has my face. The girl has my mother’s eyes. And Natalie looked at me tonight as if I were a murderer who walked away scot-free.”
“She’s lying to you!” Isabella’s voice suddenly rose, an octave higher, stripping away her polished veneer. “She’s trying to shake you down, Dominic! Think about it! She knew this was the Moretti anniversary. She deliberately brought those children here to stage a scene! She knows you have no heir. She knows how vulnerable you are about family. Don't fall for this cheap theater!”
Dominic stepped closer to her, towering over her with cold, calculated stillness. “How did you know she hadn't told anyone about the father?”
Isabella went dead white. “I... I just assumed—”
“I didn't say she claimed they were mine,” Dominic whispered, his voice turning deadly. “I asked if you knew she had children. You're the one who just accused her of trying to shake me down for an heir.”
The silence stretched like a tightening wire. Isabella took a slow step backward, her throat moving as she swallowed hard.
“I’ve been loyal to you for eight years, Dominic,” she whispered, her eyes shining with sudden, manic moisture. “I held this company together when you were spiraling after the divorce. I stayed by your side when no one else would touch you. Don’t let a woman who betrayed you destroy what we built.”
“Get out of my suite,” Dominic said.
“Dominic—”
“Get out before I have security take your keycard.”
Isabella turned and fled, her heels clicking rapidly down the marble corridor before the heavy suite door slammed shut behind her. Dominic stood alone for several minutes, listening to the hum of the ventilation. Then, he walked across the living room to his private safe hidden behind the study portrait.
Inside was a single locked fireproof box containing the old files from the day of the divorce. He pulled out the audit reports Isabella had brought him five years ago—the ones that had accused Natalie of selling company secrets.
Underneath the papers lay a half-burned white envelope.
Dominic pulled it out. It was addressed to him in Natalie’s handwriting, postmarked five years ago, pulled from the study fireplace by a housekeeper who had thought it was trash. He had never opened it because Isabella had told him it was an empty attempt at guilt-tripping him.
With trembling fingers, Dominic ripped open the charred flap.
May you like
Inside was a medical ultrasound printout, stamped with the date February 14th. And below the image of two tiny, pulsing heartbeats, Natalie had written four words in ink:
Please just listen once.
