Chapter 2 - THE MIDNIGHT GHOST OF CARUSO DESIGNWhen Thomas dropped me off at our Upper East Side penthouse, the apartment was devastatingly quiet. The nursery light was on. I tiptoed down the hallway, slipping into Eli’s room.
My six-year-old boy was curled up under a dinosaur comforter, clutching a stuffed T-Rex. He stirred as I kissed his forehead, blinking sleepily.
"Mommy? Are you back from the party already? Where's Dad?" Eli mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"Dad is still busy playing a very important game downstairs, sweetie," I whispered, fighting back the hot, sudden sting of tears. I brushed a lock of soft brown hair from his forehead. "Mommy's right here. And nothing is ever going to hurt us. Go back to sleep."
Once Eli was breathing softly again, I walked down the long, mahogany-paneled corridor toward Dominic’s private home study—a sanctuary I was rarely permitted to enter without knocking.
Tonight, I didn't knock. I bypassed the biometric lock using the master override code Dominic had foolishly forgotten I knew.
The study smelled of aged leather, expensive bourbon, and cedar. I walked straight to his monolithic mahogany desk. On it sat his secondary laptop—the encrypted one he used for Caruso Design Group’s confidential archives.
Years ago, Dominic had joked that his password was our anniversary date combined with my initials. 1215NC.
I typed it in. The screen flickered to life.
My breath hitched.
Sitting right on the desktop was a folder labeled: [Project V_SpringWinter_Vault].
I double-clicked it. Inside were dozens of subfolders containing design sketches, fabric specifications, and marketing strategies. But what caught my eye was a timestamp dated four years ago—three months after I had shown Dominic my sketchbook of the narrow-backed wedding gown with the folded shoulder.
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The file wasn't registered under my name.
It was registered under Vanessa Moretti.
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