Chapter 3 - The Ghost on the CliffHe looked like a ruined man.
The pristine, arrogant billionaire who had walked through New York like a king was gone. Vincent was wearing a rumpled, unbuttoned black shirt, his dark hair disheveled, deep purple hollows bruised beneath his bloodshot eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept or eaten in a week.
Behind him, standing near the top of the stone steps, were two of his enforcers, looking tense and alert, scanning the quiet coastal landscape.
Vincent’s hands were shaking violently as he cupped my face, his thumb gently wiping away a dry smudge of earth from my cheek.
“You’re here…” Vincent choked out, his voice raw and cracking with a terrifying emotion I had never heard in him before. “I found you… Jesus Christ, Elena, I thought I lost you forever…”
I slowly pulled my head back, removing my skin from his touch. I looked at him with complete, unbothered detachment, as if he were a stranger who had stumbled onto my private property.
“How did you find this place, Vincent?” I asked, my voice flat, thin, and raspy.
Vincent flinched at my cold tone, his hands dropping limply to his knees in the dark dirt.
“I tracked my mother’s private bank wire,” he admitted, his gray eyes searching my face frantically, taking in my pale skin, the faint blue tint beneath my eyes, and the thinness of my wrists. “Elena… why are you sitting on the ground? Why are you looking at me like this? Please… come back to New York with me. The house is empty without you. I canceled all the shipping deals, I cleared the estate—Sofia isn't at the house anymore, I sent her to a private property in Vermont—!”
“Vincent,” I interrupted softly, holding up my hand to stop his frantic, pathetic babbling.
He froze, his mouth staying open, staring at me like a drowning man begging for air.
I pointed a finger toward the fresh earth beneath the ancient oak tree, where the wild blue hydrangeas rested against the white sea stones.
“Noah is resting here,” I said quietly. “He belongs to the sea now. He doesn't belong to the Moretti family, and he doesn't belong to New York.”
Vincent’s eyes drifted slowly down to the fresh patch of earth.
He stared at the small mound of soil, and a terrible, violent shudder ran through his massive frame. He dropped to both knees in the dirt, covering his face with his hands, and let out a broken, horrifying sob that echoed across the quiet ocean bay.
It was the first time I had ever seen Vincent Moretti cry.
When his father died, he hadn't cried. When rival syndicates attacked his ports, he hadn't flinched. But sitting in the dirt beside our son’s quiet grave, the iron man finally shattered into pieces.
“I’m sorry…” Vincent wept, his voice muffled by his calloused hands. “Elena… I’m so sorry… I turned off my phone… I thought it was just a cold… Sofia was panicking about her birthday, and I… I was so stupid… I didn't know he was dying…”
I sat beside him under the oak tree, watching him weep, feeling absolutely nothing.
The tears came six years too late. The remorse came after the boy was already buried.
“It doesn't matter anymore, Vincent,” I whispered, looking out toward the crashing ocean waves. “The past is done. The divorce is finalized. You have your empire, you have your sister, and you have your freedom. Leave me in peace.”
Vincent lifted his tear-streaked face, looking at me with wild, desperate eyes. He reached out, grabbing my hands in his, squeezing them tightly as if trying to pour his own life force into my cold skin.
“No!” he gasped out, shaking his head frantically. “No, Elena! It’s not finalized! I’m going to challenge the divorce decree! I’ll fire the attorneys, I’ll bribe the judge—I don't care! You are my wife! I love you, Elena! I’ve always loved you!”
A faint, bitter smile touched my lips.
“You loved the debt repayment, Vincent,” I corrected softly. “You loved the obligation. And six years ago, after Noah was born, you told your mother that I fulfilled my duty as an incubator.”
Vincent’s jaw dropped. The words died in his throat, replaced by a look of sheer, terrifying horror.
“You… you heard that?” he rasped out, his hands trembling against mine.
“Every single word,” I answered, pulling my hands gently out of his grip. “Now go back to New York, Vincent. I only have a little time left, and I don't want to spend it looking at you.”
Vincent opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, a sudden, blinding pain exploded inside my skull.
The ocean vanished. The sky spun violently into a vortex of dark gray and red. A sharp, high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and my left arm went completely numb.
I slumped sideways against the trunk of the oak tree, dark blood beginning to trickle slowly from my left nostril.
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“Elena!” Vincent screamed, his arms catching me before I hit the ground. “Elena! What’s happening to you?! Help! Someone call an ambulance right now!”
The last thing I saw before absolute darkness swallowed me whole was Vincent’s terrified, ruined face hovering over mine, weeping my name into the cold ocean wind.
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