Chapter 4 - The House of Glass and SteelThe Moretti estate wasn't a house; it was a fortress disguised as a modern architectural masterpiece. Perched on a dramatic cliffside overlooking the roaring Pacific Ocean, the sprawling compound of glass, reinforced steel, and manicured Zen gardens looked like something straight out of a James Bond film.
When the convoy of three black bulletproof SUVs rolled through the towering wrought-iron security gates, my heart did a nervous little flutter. I was holding my baby girl—whom Luca had officially registered under the name Chloe Moretti—cradled against my chest in a soft, organic cotton blanket provided by Luca’s private staff.
The car doors opened simultaneously. Two bodyguards in sharp suits immediately took up positions on either side, while Luca stepped out of the front passenger seat and walked around to open my door.
"Welcome home, Emma," he said, offering his hand.
I took it, stepping out onto the heated cobblestone driveway. The salty ocean breeze whipped my hair around my face, but the air felt crisp, clean, and entirely free of the hospital's sterile, suffocating smell.
As we walked through the massive double glass doors of the grand foyer, an army of domestic staff—neatly dressed in charcoal uniforms—lined up in two orderly rows and bowed in unison.
"Mr. Moretti. Welcome back, ma'am. Welcome home, little Miss Chloe," a distinguished-looking older woman with silver hair tied neatly in a bun stepped forward. She wore a warm, maternal smile that immediately put me at ease. "I am Mrs. Gable, head housekeeper. The master suite and the adjoining private nursery have been fully prepared."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," Luca said, nodding respectfully. "Ensure that Miss Cole has everything she needs. Anything less than absolute perfection is unacceptable."
"Right away, sir."
Mrs. Gable led me up a grand floating staircase made of white marble and glass, guiding us down a wide hallway lined with priceless modern art. When she opened the double doors to the nursery suite, I nearly gasped aloud.
It wasn't just a room; it was a sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of the endless ocean horizon. A handcrafted mahogany crib draped in silk sat in the center, surrounded by shelves of designer baby clothes, high-tech monitors, and an attached private spa bathroom.
"Mr. Moretti spared no expense," Mrs. Gable smiled gently as she helped me settle Chloe into her new crib. "He called twice from the car to ensure the temperature in this room was kept at precisely seventy-two degrees."
I turned around, leaning against the edge of the sleek nursery table. "He’s doing all of this for a child he met two hours ago."
"The master is a man of intense conviction, Miss Cole," Mrs. Gable said softly, smoothing down the edges of Chloe’s pink blanket. "He protects what is his. And make no mistake—from the moment he signed that paper, you and this little angel became his world."
That night, as I sat in a plush velvet armchair by the window watching the moonlight dance across the dark ocean waves, my phone buzzed on the side table.
It was an unknown number.
I picked it up and tapped the screen. A text message with an attached video file.
I tapped play.
The video showed the lobby of Morrison & Sterling Financial Corp. The camera angle was from high up, capturing the security gates. Derek Morrison was standing there, his face contorted in absolute, hysterical rage, holding a cardboard box filled with his personal desk items while two armed security officers flanked him.
A reporter from the city's top financial blog was shoving a microphone in his face.
“Mr. Morrison! Is it true you’ve been suspended pending a federal investigation for embezzlement?”
“Mr. Morrison, sources close to the board claim you looted over two million dollars from corporate accounts to fund your mistress's lifestyle!”
Derek lashed out, swinging his cardboard box at the camera, sending pens, framed photos, and coffee mugs crashing to the polished marble floor.
“Get that camera out of my face!” Derek shrieked, his voice cracking like glass. “It’s a setup! Emma! Emma did this! She’s framing me!”
Then, the video cut to Brittany Hale standing outside her luxury apartment building, shielding her face with her designer handbag as three different reporters pelted her with questions about her father's textile company crashing on the stock market following an abrupt, unannounced Moretti Group hostile takeover.
I stared at the screen, my heart beating with a cold, sweet thrill of vindication.
The door to the nursery opened silently. Luca stepped inside, wearing a dark silk robe, holding a steaming mug of chamomile tea. He walked over, glanced down at the sleeping baby, and then looked at my phone screen.
A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his lips.
"Enjoying the show?" he asked quietly.
I looked up at him, the flickering moonlight catching the pale scar on his brow.
"You didn't waste any time," I whispered.
"Time," Luca said, handing me the warm mug of tea, "is the only luxury we truly own, Emma. And I hate wasting it."
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He leaned against the window frame beside me, looking out at the dark sea.
"That was just act one," Luca murmured, his voice sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "Tomorrow, Morrison tries to contest the paternity test in family court. And that is when we drop the hammer."
