Chapter 2 - The Return of Evelyn HartForty-eight hours later, the penthouse suite of the Moretti Tower overlooking Lake Michigan felt like a fortress carved out of glass and steel.
I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, wearing a midnight-blue velvet dress that clung to my silhouette like armor. Gone was the soft, pastel lace my mother had forced me to pick for my engagement party—the dress Serena had stolen. This gown was designed by an atelier in Milan, purchased by Nikolai’s private shopper with instructions that it should look like mourning weeds for anyone foolish enough to stand in my way.
Behind me, the double doors opened, and Nikolai strode into the room, tossing a heavy leather folder onto the glass coffee table.
“The license is filed,” Nikolai said, unbuttoning his cuffs as he walked toward the bar to pour two glasses of scotch. “The civil ceremony was finalized an hour ago by a judge who owes our family a lifetime of favors. Legally, you are now Evelyn Moretti.”
I turned from the window, walking slowly toward the table and picking up the crisp, official document bearing my new surname. The ink was still dark, sealing a pact that would send shockwaves through the elite circles of Chicago.
“And my parents?” I asked, taking the glass of scotch Nikolai offered me.
“Your father is currently having a panic attack because Julian’s corporate sponsors are pulling their funding,” Nikolai replied with a dry, humorless smirk. “It turns out investors don't like erratic heirs who cause public scandals right before a leadership vote. Your mother tried to call your phone twenty times this morning to demand you ‘fix’ the PR disaster.”
A cold satisfaction bloomed in my chest. For my entire life, my mother had treated me as a secondary asset, someone meant to prop up the family name while Serena took the spotlight. Now, the foundation they had built on my quiet compliance was crumbling under the weight of their own arrogance.
“They think I’m hiding somewhere crying,” I murmured, swirling the amber liquid in my glass.
“Let them think it,” Nikolai advised, stepping close enough that I could feel the radiant heat of his presence. “It makes the awakening much more violent. Tonight is the Moretti family council briefing. Traditionally, the prospective heirs introduce their intended brides. Julian is bringing Serena, expecting to secure the traditionalist endorsement.”
Nikolai set his glass down, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse race.
“When we walk into that dining room tonight,” he continued, “you aren't just my wife. You are the woman who holds the proxy votes for the Hart real estate holdings—votes your father foolishly transferred to your personal trust last year as a tax shelter, assuming you’d never use them against him.”
My eyes widened slightly. I had completely forgotten about the trust transfer.
“My father signed those over to me,” I realized aloud.
“And now,” Nikolai said softly, “they belong to the Moretti spousal estate. With those votes, plus my bloc, we don’t just win the leadership vote in three weeks. We control every major commercial corridor in downtown Chicago.”
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Julian had traded me for Serena, believing he was upgrading his status. In reality, he had just handed his older brother the keys to the city.
“Let’s go,” I said, setting my glass down with a sharp clink on the table. “It’s time to introduce the new family.”
