The Ruthless Vegas King Discarded His Pregnant Wife for Her Best Friend—Until the Medical Reports Arrived

Weeks bled into months. The glitz of Las Vegas continued to churn out fortunes and ruin souls, but the apex predator of the city was withering away in plain sight.

Vincent barely slept. When he did close his eyes, he was haunted by the image of Claire’s pale face on the kitchen floor, her throat swelling, her fingers coated in sticky mango cream, calling out for help to an empty home while he laughed upstairs. Every corner of the penthouse was a tomb of his own arrogance.

He had spent millions on private investigators, but Claire had vanished completely. Her attorney, Evelyn Vance, was a stone wall. When Vincent personally stormed Vance’s office with three bodyguards, the ruthless attorney didn't even flinch. She simply pointed a security camera at him and placed a signed restraining order on the glass desk.

"You touch this firm, Mr. Moretti, and the federal task force investigating your casino concessions gets the full audio recording of your wife's 911 dispatch call," Evelyn had stated with razor-sharp composure. "You think you run this town? Try explaining to the gaming board why your wife was left to suffocate while you entertained your mistress."

Vincent had backed down. For the first time in his ruthless life, he had no leverage. He was powerless against the law, powerless against the truth, and powerless against the absolute silence of the woman he loved.

Then, a breakthrough came from an unexpected source.

It was late October. Vincent sat in his penthouse office, staring at a framed photograph he had retrieved from Claire’s nightstand—the only photo she hadn't taken. It was from their honeymoon in Amalfi. Claire was laughing, her chestnut hair whipping in the Mediterranean breeze, looking at him with eyes full of pure, uncomplicated adoration.

A knock sounded at the door. Marco stepped inside, holding a thin leather portfolio.

"Boss. We didn't find Claire through bank wires or surveillance."

Vincent shot up from his chair, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. "What did you find?"

"A flower shop order," Marco explained, opening the folder. "Every year on October 24th, your late mother-in-law's birthday, Claire orders two dozen white hydrangeas to be placed at her memorial plaque in Reno. She used cash through a proxy courier service. We traced the courier's routing slip to a small logistics hub outside Duluth, Minnesota."

Vincent snatched the file from Marco’s hands. His eyes scanned the small receipt: Delivery confirmed. Sender location: Whispering Pines Lakehouse, Bayfield County.

"Duluth," Vincent whispered, his chest heaving. "She’s in the northern woods."