Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the Past
For the next three weeks, my life became a blur of ledgers, shell corporations, and high-stakes finance.
Working for Dominic Moretti was nothing like working for a normal corporate firm. There were no office politics, no passive-aggressive emails from middle managers, and certainly no gossip. Everyone in the building moved with quiet, disciplined efficiency. Dante, the enforcer who had been standing guard at the garden gate, doubled as head of corporate security and occasionally dropped off thick stacks of international shipping receipts on my desk with a polite nod.
Mia became my favorite part of the day. Whenever her nanny had a dentist appointment or needed an afternoon off, Mia would be brought to my office. She would sit quietly in the corner coloring, or occasionally crawl onto my lap to ask why my calculator made funny clicking noises.
Slowly, the gaping wound left by Ryan and Amber began to scab over. I hadn't spoken to my mother since the night of the engagement party. She had left two voicemails asking if I "came to my senses yet" and reminding me not to make a fuss about the wedding invitations, which she claimed had already been reprinted with Amber's name. I deleted both messages without listening to the second one.
Then came a rainy Tuesday afternoon in downtown Los Angeles.
I was deep into a spreadsheet tracing a series of real estate transactions through a Delaware shell company when my office door pushed open without a knock.
I looked up, expecting Dante or Dominic.
Instead, standing in the doorway was Ryan Caldwell.
He looked rattled. His expensive suit was slightly rumpled, his hair damp from the rain, and his eyes darted around my spacious, sunlit office with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"Evelyn," he breathed, taking a step inside. "I can't believe I finally found you. Your mother wouldn't give me your new address, and your old firm said you resigned."
I didn't stand up. I placed my pen deliberately down on the desk, folding my hands over the keyboard.
"You're trespassing, Ryan," I said, my voice as cold as liquid nitrogen. "Security will be happy to escort you out if you don't use the door you came in through."
Ryan winced, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Come on, Ev. Can't we talk? The wedding is in two weeks, and... well, things have been a bit chaotic."
"Is that why you're here?" I raised an eyebrow. "Did Amber send you to apologize for stealing my fiancé, or did you guys run out of champagne money already?"
"It's not like that!" Ryan snapped, a flash of his old arrogance breaking through his desperate veneer. He stepped closer to the desk, leaning over it. "Look, Amber is stressed. Wedding planning is harder than she thought, and she’s been... well, she’s been calling off the caterers, fighting with the florist, and crying every night. My parents are furious with the bad press from the engagement party. People are talking, Ev."
I stared at him, genuinely bewildered. "And what does this have to do with me? You made your bed, Ryan. Now lie in it. Preferably with my sister."
"She wants you to come back," Ryan blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush.
I blinked. "Pardon?"
"Amber wants you to coordinate the final week of the wedding," Ryan said, running a hand through his damp hair. "She realized she's in over her head. She needs someone organized, someone dependable... she needs you. She said if you agree to take over the planning, she and my parents will make sure you get a public apology in the society columns."
A cold, dark fury started bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. Not heartbreak—not anymore. Just pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Let me get this straight," I said slowly, standing up from my chair so I towered over the desk. "You cheated on me with my sister, humiliated me in front of two hundred people, let my mother blame me for the scandal, and now—because my sister is throwing tantrums over linen napkins—you expect me to step in and plan your wedding?"
"We're family, Ev!" Ryan pleaded, reaching across the desk to grab my wrist. "Just help us get through this—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence.
The heavy oak office door swung open with a resounding bang that rattled the picture frames on the wall.
Dominic Moretti stepped into the room.
He had taken off his suit jacket; his white shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his dark eyes were locked onto Ryan with a terrifying, absolute stillness. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees in a single second.
Ryan froze, his hand still hovering near my wrist. He pulled back as if he had touched a live wire.
"Mr. Moretti," Ryan squeaked, recognizing him immediately from the Newport Beach estate. "I—I didn't realize Mrs.—err, Ms. Vance was in a private meeting."
Dominic didn't look at Ryan. He walked slowly across the concrete floor, his massive frame coming to a halt directly beside my chair. He placed one hand on the back of my leather seat, creating an invisible, impenetrable barrier between Ryan and me.
"You're touching my Chief Compliance Officer," Dominic said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made blood run cold.
Ryan swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. "Chief... Chief Compliance Officer? I thought she was an accountant."
"She is," Dominic replied smoothly. "And currently, her most important audit is figuring out why an absolute clown has wandered into a secure building without an escort."
Dominic turned his head slightly, his dark gaze locking onto Ryan. "Dante."
From the hallway, Dante appeared instantly, materializing like a shadow in the doorway.
"Boss?"
"Take Mr. Caldwell down to the lobby," Dominic instructed quietly. "If he ever steps foot in this building again, or if he or his fiancée contacts Ms. Vance within the next hundred years, ensure he understands the concept of permanent relocation."
"Gladly," Dante said, stepping forward with a grim smile. He grabbed Ryan firmly by the collar of his expensive suit jacket.
"Wait—you can't do this! Do you know who my father-in-law is?" Ryan protested, thrashing uselessly as Dante hauled him toward the door. "Evelyn, tell him! Tell him to let me go!"
I didn't say a word. I simply picked up my pen, looked down at my ledger, and watched as Dante dragged my ex-fiancé out of the office, closing the heavy doors behind them with a satisfying, final click.
The office fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Dominic remained standing beside my chair. Slowly, the terrifying tension in his shoulders relaxed, though his dark eyes remained fixed on my face.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softening.
May you like
I looked up at him, feeling a strange, unfamiliar flutter in my chest—not fear, but a sudden, overwhelming sense of safety.
"I'm more than alright, Dominic," I said, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across my face for the first time in months. "In fact, I think I've finally balanced the books."
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