Chapter 2: The Woman in the VIP Room
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the sound of a machine breathing for me.
The second was the unfamiliar face beside my bed.
A woman in a blue surgical gown was studying my chart.
"Good morning, Mrs. Moretti. I'm Dr. Eleanor Hayes, the pulmonary specialist.""
I tried to speak.
My throat was painfully dry.
She immediately brought a small cup of water.
"Slowly. You've been through quite an ordeal.""
I swallowed.
"How bad?""
Dr. Hayes pulled a chair closer.
"Your oxygen levels were dangerously low when you arrived. We've stabilized you for now, but your lungs show signs of significant inflammation.""
She paused.
"How long have you been experiencing shortness of breath?""
"Three months. Maybe longer.""
"Did you tell your primary physician?""
I shook my head.
"My husband said it was probably stress.""
Her pen stopped moving.
"Your husband is not a physician, Mrs. Moretti.""
I almost smiled.
It was the first sensible thing anyone had said about Vincent in months.
Dr. Hayes continued.
"We also found evidence suggesting possible exposure to an irritant. We need additional testing before reaching any conclusions.""
"An irritant?""
"Certain household chemicals, medications, and environmental substances can cause serious respiratory problems.""
My mind immediately went to the mansion.
The expensive candles.
The scented cleaning products.
The herbal tea Vincent's housekeeper had insisted I drink every night.
I remembered how my breathing had worsened after I started drinking it.
"Doctor, could something I was drinking have caused this?""
"It's possible. Do you have the packaging?""
"I don't know. The housekeeper prepares it.""
Dr. Hayes wrote something down.
"Don't drink it again until we've identified the ingredients.""
I nodded.
Then I looked toward the empty visitor's chair.
"Has anyone come?""
Dr. Hayes glanced at the door.
"Your husband's office called to ask about billing arrangements.""
I stared at her.
"That's all?""
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she gently adjusted my blanket.
"I'm sorry.""
A strange numbness settled over me.
I had spent five years trying to become the kind of wife Vincent wanted.
I learned which wine he preferred.
I memorized his business partners' names.
I attended dinners where men discussed things I wasn't supposed to hear.
I endured the silence when he came home after midnight.
I even stopped asking where he went.
And somehow, I had convinced myself that if I became patient enough, gentle enough, and understanding enough, he would eventually love me.
Now I was lying in his hospital, attached to oxygen, and his office was asking about the bill.
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
A young nurse entered.
"Mrs. Moretti, there's someone here to see you.""
I turned toward the door.
For one foolish second, my heart lifted.
Then Sophia walked in.
She was carrying a bouquet of pale pink roses.
Her designer heels clicked against the polished floor.
"Claire, darling.""
She placed the flowers on the table.
"I heard you weren't feeling well.""
I stared at her.
"You knew I was here?""
Sophia gave me an innocent smile.
"Of course. Vincent told me.""
"Where is he?""
Her expression shifted.
"Oh, he's terribly busy.""
She pulled a chair closer and sat down.
"Actually, he's with my son right now. Little Noah has been having some difficulties at school.""
I looked at her.
"Your son?""
Sophia nodded.
"He's been asking about Vincent. You know how children are.""
I glanced at the flowers.
"Why are you here, Sophia?""
She looked offended.
"To check on you, obviously.""
I said nothing.
She crossed her legs.
"Vincent was worried when he heard you'd collapsed.""
My eyes lifted.
"He was?""
"Well, he was concerned about the hospital paperwork.""
There it was.
I looked away.
Sophia sighed dramatically.
"Claire, I know things between you two haven't been perfect, but you really shouldn't make him feel guilty. He's under enormous pressure.""
I turned back.
"Do you know what he said when I asked him to arrange a doctor yesterday?""
She blinked.
"He said I should wait my turn.""
Sophia lowered her eyes.
"Oh.""
"He knew I couldn't breathe.""
She reached for a tissue.
"Vincent can be very strict about rules.""
I stared at her.
"Not with you.""
Her fingers froze.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she leaned forward.
"Claire, there's something I think you should understand.""
Her voice became quieter.
"Vincent and I have become very close.""
I looked at her without blinking.
She continued.
"He feels comfortable around me. He doesn't have to pretend. He can talk about his business, his worries, his family.""
I almost laughed.
"His family?""
Sophia smiled.
"Yes. Noah adores him.""
My stomach tightened.
"Vincent isn't Noah's father.""
"Biologically, no.""
She shrugged.
"But children don't really care about biology, do they?""
I looked at her hand.
A diamond ring sat on her middle finger.
It was familiar.
I had seen it in a photograph on Vincent's desk.
The photograph he had claimed was from a charity auction.
"Where did you get that ring?""
Sophia glanced down.
"Oh, this?""
She twisted it slowly.
"Vincent gave it to me.""
My fingers curled around the bedsheet.
It was a beautiful ring.
An oval blue sapphire surrounded by small diamonds.
Five years ago, Vincent had given me a nearly identical one on our anniversary.
I had worn it every day until it disappeared from my jewelry box three months earlier.
"That's mine," I whispered.
Sophia looked up.
"What?""
"The ring. It belonged to me.""
She smiled.
"That's impossible. Vincent bought it for me.""
I swallowed.
"Where did he buy it?""
"At a private auction in New York.""
She leaned back.
"He said it reminded him of someone he used to know.""
Someone.
Not his wife.
I looked at the door.
"Please leave.""
Her smile vanished.
"Excuse me?""
"I'm tired.""
Sophia stood.
She picked up her handbag and adjusted her dress.
"Of course. You need your rest.""
She walked toward the door.
Then she stopped.
"One more thing, Claire.""
I didn't look at her.
"Vincent has been discussing the possibility of making some changes to the family estate.""
My eyes shifted toward her.
"What changes?""
She smiled.
"Well, he thinks it's time for the house to feel more like a family home.""
She glanced at my wedding ring.
"Perhaps you should start thinking about where you'll live next.""
The door closed behind her.
I lay still for several minutes.
Then I reached for my phone.
There were no missed calls from Vincent.
But there was one message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
It contained a photograph.
A photograph of Vincent standing beside Sophia in front of a jewelry store.
His hand rested on her waist.
Beneath it was a short message.
*You should know what your husband is planning before you sign anything.*
My heart began pounding.
I typed a reply.
Who is this?
The response came almost immediately.
*Someone who knows why you've been getting sick.*
I sat upright too quickly.
The oxygen monitor began beeping.
A nurse rushed inside.
"Mrs. Moretti, please lie back!""
I held up the phone.
"Someone sent me this. They say they know why I'm sick.""
The nurse glanced at the message.
"Would you like me to contact security?""
I shook my head.
"Not yet.""
I looked at the photograph again.
There was something in the background.
A reflection in the jewelry store window.
A man standing behind Vincent.
An older man with silver hair.
I recognized him immediately.
It was Richard Moretti.
Vincent's father.
The man everyone believed had died seven years earlier.
My fingers went cold.
May you like
Because I had attended his funeral.
And I had watched Vincent lower the coffin into the ground himself.
