Chapter 3
Vincent arrived home at precisely 12:45 in the afternoon.
The heavy front door swung open, and the scent of expensive sandalwood cologne drifted into the grand foyer.
I was standing in the kitchen, carefully arranging a bowl of fresh fruit on the marble island.
"Claire?" his voice echoed through the hallway.
He sounded eager, energetic, and perfectly rehearsed.
I wiped my hands on a linen towel, took a slow breath to steady my pulse, and walked out to greet him.
He dropped his leather duffel bag onto the bench near the coat rack and opened his arms wide.
He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, the top two buttons of his white dress shirt undone, looking every bit the ruthless, captivating businessman Chicago feared.
"Happy belated birthday, beautiful," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around me.
I forced myself not to stiffen.
I let his arms encircle my waist, resting my cheek against his chest.
Beneath the fabric of his shirt, his heart beat with a steady, rhythmic calm that sickened me.
How could a man hold his wife after spending the weekend in the arms of her best friend and not feel a single tremor of guilt?
"You look exhausted," I said, stepping back just enough to look into his dark eyes.
"Three days of back-to-back negotiations with stubborn investors," he said, shaking his head with a tired smile.
"I barely slept four hours all weekend."
"It must have been brutal," I replied with complete sincerity in my voice.
"The sun in Nevada can be draining."
He blinked, a momentary flicker of calculation crossing his gaze, but it vanished instantly.
"It was mostly spent inside air-conditioned conference rooms, unfortunately."
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small, velvet jewelry box from Harry Winston.
"I know I missed your dinner on the actual day," he murmured, his voice softening into that intimate tone he had used to court me four years ago.
"And I know a piece of jewelry can't replace time together, Claire."
"But when I saw this, I thought of you immediately."
He popped open the lid.
Sitting on the black velvet was the diamond necklace.
It featured a teardrop diamond suspended from an intricate platinum chain, brilliant and blinding under the chandelier lights.
It was identical to the photograph Sophia had sent me three days ago with the caption: *Look what I’m obsessed with.*
Did he buy two?
Or did he promise Sophia the world while tossing me the exact same trinket to keep me compliant?
"Vincent," I breathed, letting my eyes widen in simulated awe.
"It’s stunning."
"Turn around," he instructed softly.
I turned my back to him, lifting my dark hair away from my neck.
His cold fingers brushed against my skin as he fastened the clasp, and an involuntary shiver raced down my spine.
"Cold?" he asked against my ear, his breath warm against my neck.
"Just overwhelmed," I lied, turning to face him while touching the diamond resting against my collarbone.
"You spoil me."
"You deserve to be spoiled," he said, kissing my cheek.
He lingered for a second, his hand resting on my hip.
"Where is the birthday cake you mentioned on the phone Friday morning?"
"I gave it to Mrs. Gable next door," I said smoothly.
"I didn't want to eat chocolate cake by myself all weekend."
"Next year will be different," he promised, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzed against his thigh.
He glanced at the screen, and I caught the briefest glimpse of the caller ID: *Sophia R.*
He silenced it immediately and slipped the phone back into his pocket without changing his expression.
"Work?" I asked casually.
"Just the office checking on the closing documents," he replied without missing a beat.
"I need to run downtown for an hour to sign off on the Vegas filings, and then I am all yours tonight."
"We will go to Gibsons. Just the two of us."
"Take all the time you need, Vincent," I said with a warm smile.
"Actually, Sophia called earlier while you were in transit."
Vincent froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers pausing on the cuff of his sleeve.
"Did she?"
"Yes," I lied effortlessly, watching him carefully.
"She said she just got back from a quick trip to Miami and wants to take me out for a joint birthday lunch tomorrow."
Vincent’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he recovered with his usual polished grace.
"That’s nice of her. You two haven't caught up in a while."
"She said she has exciting news to share," I added, stepping closer to him and straightening his silk tie.
"Something about expanding her boutique agency."
"She’s an ambitious woman," Vincent remarked neutrally, though I saw the pulse jump in his throat.
"I've always admired her drive," I replied, looking straight into his eyes.
"And her loyalty."
Vincent held my gaze for three long seconds.
For the first time in our marriage, there was a question in his eyes—a faint, paranoid flicker of doubt.
He was accustomed to reading weakness in other men across boardroom tables, but he had never looked at his wife as an opponent.
"I'll see you at seven, Claire," he said, leaning down to kiss my lips.
I kissed him back, matching his warmth, letting him believe the cage he built around me was still secure.
"At seven, darling."
He grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door, the heavy lock clicking shut behind him.
The second the sound of his Maserati faded down the driveway, I unclasped the diamond necklace and dropped it onto the kitchen counter.
It clattered against the marble, cold and worthless.
I walked to the living room window and pulled out my phone.
I didn't call my mother.
I didn't call my friends.
I dialed the private number of Nora Sterling, the most ruthless forensic divorce attorney in the state of Illinois.
Nora had dismantled three multi-million-dollar corporate dynasties in Chicago over the past decade.
She was famous for leaving cheating husbands with nothing but their pride and a mountain of legal debt.
"Sterling Law," a sharp, composed voice answered on the second ring.
"Nora," I said, staring at the gray Chicago skyline outside my window.
"My name is Claire Montgomery Moretti."
There was an immediate pause on the line.
"Mrs. Moretti. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"My husband believes I am a dutiful wife waiting at home with a diamond necklace," I said evenly.
"In reality, I need you to help me destroy him without leaving a single fingerprint."
May you like
Nora’s voice dropped into a low, predatory hum.
"I have an opening in forty-five minutes, Claire. Bring everything you have."
