Chapter 3 - Blood on the Red Carpet
The annual Nevada Children’s Foundation Gala was the premier social spectacle of the autumn season.
Every media outlet, real estate tycoon, and municipal politician converged beneath the crystal chandeliers of the Wynn ballroom.
Ryan and Vanessa had anticipated that I would remain secluded in my Summerlin home, crying behind drawn blinds.
Instead, I emerged from Luca’s limousine clad in a backless emerald-green gown designed by an elite Parisian atelier.
Luca offered his arm, looking striking in a bespoke tuxedo with silver cufflinks.
When we stepped onto the red carpet, dozens of photographers paused before exploding into a frenzy of flashing lights.
Journalists shouted questions regarding the sudden dissolution of the Moretti marriage and my husband’s sudden disappearance.
Luca pulled me closer against his side, his hand resting firmly on the curve of my waist.
He spoke into the microphones with absolute composure.
He stated that life often removed unworthy obstacles to make way for genuine alignment and purpose.
He praised my intelligence, calling me the sharpest corporate strategist he had ever had the privilege to stand beside.
The cameras captured every subtle glance and every shared whisper between us.
Within twenty minutes, the images were trending across national entertainment feeds.
Across the Gulf of California, the shockwave struck precisely where intended.
According to Luca’s surveillance team in Mexico, Vanessa was lounging by the infinity pool when her social media feed updated.
She reportedly dropped her champagne glass onto the flagstones in utter disbelief.
Ryan was seen pacing the terrace of their rented villa, clutching his phone in furious agitation.
He had assumed that without his presence, my life would unravel into total irrelevance.
Instead, the woman he had dismissed as emotionally cold was commanding the spotlight beside the most formidable man in Nevada.
During the gala dinner, Luca leaned toward my ear so our proximity appeared intimately convincing.
He whispered that our little performance had already caused the Cabo villa’s telephone lines to burn with frantic calls.
Vanessa had attempted to contact Luca’s personal assistant four times within thirty minutes.
Every single call had been routed to Luca’s senior divorce litigation team.
I took a sip of vintage champagne and felt a terrifying sensation of clarity wash through me.
I had spent five years shrinking myself to accommodate Ryan’s insecurities.
Now, under the gaze of high society, I remembered who I was before I ever met him.
Later that evening, while we danced beneath the ballroom lights, Ryan finally sent a text message to my personal number.
He demanded to know what kind of cheap game I was playing with a dangerous mob-affiliated billionaire.
He accused me of being shameless and reckless with our marital honor.
I showed the screen to Luca without saying a word.
Luca gently took the device from my hand and typed a single response.
May you like
He wrote that Ryan was welcome to return to Las Vegas if he wished to discuss the matter in person.
Ryan did not reply for the rest of the night.
