Chapter 1 - THE BIRTHDAY HE FORGOT
On my twenty-sixth birthday, my Mafia Boss husband told me he was too busy to come home—then I found him at a restaurant with another woman, fastening the diamond bracelet I had once begged him to notice around her wrist. By the next morning, I was walking out of a maternity ward with my pregnancy ultrasound in my hand, and when Vincent saw it, the most feared man in Chicago went completely pale.
My name is Claire Bennett, and for five years, I had been married to Vincent Moretti, a man whose name could silence an entire room.
People saw his money, his influence, his black cars, guarded mansions, and the army of men who obeyed him without question. What they never saw was me behind the scenes, quietly giving up everything I wanted so Vincent could build the empire he dreamed about.
I abandoned my own ambitions. I managed our home, protected his reputation, endured endless nights alone, and convinced myself every sacrifice would eventually be worth it.
But the more powerful Vincent became, the less important I seemed to become.
He missed anniversaries. He canceled dinners. Whenever I asked for a few hours of his time, he barely looked up from his phone.
“I'm busy, Claire.”
On my birthday, I tried one more time.
“Vincent, can you please come home early tonight? Just dinner. That's all I want.”
Hours later, his reply appeared.
“I'm in a meeting. Don't wait for me.”
So I bought myself a small birthday cake and went to a restaurant alone.
That was where I saw him.
Vincent sat in a private corner across from Sophia Reynolds, a beautiful young woman who worked for him. The terrifying, emotionless man Chicago feared was looking at her with a softness I hadn't seen directed at me in years.
Sophia tilted her head. “Isn't today your wife's birthday?”
Vincent barely reacted.
“It's just a birthday. Missing one won't change anything.”
Then Sophia smiled.
“So I'm more important than your wife?”
Vincent nodded.
My fingers went numb, and the cake slipped from my hands, crashing onto the floor.
Neither of them noticed me.
Vincent pulled out a velvet jewelry box and revealed a diamond bracelet—the exact bracelet I had once shown him. When I'd wanted it, he'd said, “If you want it, buy it yourself. I don't have time for these things.”
Now he carefully fastened it around Sophia's wrist.
She kissed his cheek, wrapped her arms around him, and Vincent placed a hand around her waist.
I left before they could see me.
Later that night, a cake arrived at our mansion with a message from Vincent.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart. I bought you something.”
It was chestnut cake.
I was allergic to chestnuts.
“Have you forgotten my allergy?” I texted.
His answer came almost immediately.
“Claire, I'm running an entire empire. I can't remember every little thing.”
Every little thing.
Five years earlier, Vincent had stayed beside my hospital bed for two days after an allergic reaction, holding my hand and swearing he'd never let it happen again.
Now he remembered Sophia's jewelry but forgot what could put his wife in the hospital.
Something inside me finally broke.
“Vincent, I want a divorce.”
His reply was almost insulting in its calmness.
“Stop being dramatic, Claire. We'll talk when you've calmed down.”
He thought I would forgive him again.
He was wrong.
The next morning, my best friend Madison came with me to my prenatal appointment.
I was pregnant.
When we stepped out of the maternity department, I was holding my ultrasound report against my chest when I suddenly froze.
Vincent was standing in the hallway.
And Sophia was beside him.
My husband had been too busy to celebrate my birthday, yet somehow he had time to accompany another woman to the maternity ward.
“Claire?”
The moment Vincent saw me, his face changed.
He hurried toward me. “Listen, I can explain. Sophia and I—this isn't what you think.”
“I don't care anymore.”
I turned away, but his eyes dropped to the papers in my hand.
He stopped breathing.
“Claire... is that an ultrasound?”
His gaze slowly lifted to mine.
“Are you pregnant?”
For the first time in years, I heard real panic in Vincent Moretti's voice.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he demanded. “Claire, why would you keep something like this from me?”
I stared directly into his eyes.
“Because we're getting divorced, Vincent. I don't owe you anything anymore.”
His face went blank.
“Divorced? You weren't serious last night.”
That was when I realized something almost laughable.
He had never believed I could leave him.
“I don't care whether you agree,” I said. “I'm moving out. I'm done with this marriage.”
I turned toward Madison, but Vincent grabbed my wrist.
“Claire, wait.”
His voice had lost every trace of command.
“Where are you going? Where are you planning to live?”
I looked down at his hand, then back into his eyes.
“Somewhere you won't be.”
I pulled free and walked away.
“Claire!”
His footsteps came quickly behind me.
Then Sophia suddenly grabbed his arm.
“Vincent...”
I heard her breathing turn ragged.
“I... I can't breathe.”
Behind me, Vincent stopped.
Sophia collapsed against him as he shouted her name.
For five years, I had always been the woman who waited whenever someone else needed my husband more.
This time, I kept walking without looking back—while clutching the first picture of Vincent Moretti's unborn child against my chest.
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