Chapter 1 - THE ASHES OF US
My name is Nia Carter.
There was a time when I truly believed Luca Moretti and I would grow old together. Back then, before Moretti Global became an undisputed empire, before his name was etched into the glass facades of Chicago skyscrapers, and before governors stood in line at his fundraisers, I knew the man behind the ruthless, visionary myth. Or at least, I thought I did.
We wanted a family. For three long years, my life was measured in ovulation strips, bitter vitamins, and sterile fluorescent hospital rooms. Every negative pregnancy test felt like a quiet funeral. I bore the emotional weight alone, unaware that someone Luca trusted—a serpent whispered into his ear—was planting a toxic narrative: Maybe the problem is her. Maybe she isn't telling you everything.
Luca never accused me outright. Direct anger would have been easier to fight. Instead, he withdrew brick by brick. Late nights at headquarters became the norm, followed by unnecessary international trips, truncated conversations, and heavy, suffocating silences. When I wept, he looked uncomfortably detached. When I reached for his hand, he reached for his phone. Slowly, insidiously, I began to internalize the blame.
Then came that snow-blind Chicago evening in our penthouse kitchen.
"I don't think I love you the way I used to," Luca said, his voice flat, devoid of warmth.
My teacup trembled. I set it down with methodical care, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me shatter.
"Is this really what you want, Luca?"
"Yes."
So I signed the papers and walked away into the freezing night, taking nothing from his billions.
What Luca never knew was that six weeks after our divorce was finalized, my body gave me the news that shattered my reality: I was pregnant. With twins.
I stood in my cramped apartment holding that positive test, realizing the cruel irony. It hadn't been a lack of fertility; it had been a lack of time and the overwhelming stress of a dying marriage. But I remembered Luca’s cold departure, his willingness to discard me when I no longer fit his vision of a perfect life. I swore right then that my children would never grow up as bargaining chips or pawns in the cold, ruthless world of the Moretti dynasty. I chose to raise them alone.
Luca moved on. He expanded his wealth, bought media conglomerates, and eventually married Evelyn Shaw—polished, brilliant, and photo-ready. She gave him the pristine high-society life he desired.
Except for one thing. They had no children.
Over the years, whispers reached me that Luca had quietly consulted elite specialists in Chicago and Manhattan. The diagnosis was always the same: There is no fertility issue on your end, Mr. Moretti. He was forced to confront the terrible truth that he had destroyed our marriage based on a lie he built in his own head.
Then came today.
I was having lunch at Aria, an exclusive establishment in downtown Chicago. Across the white tablecloth sat the two souls who had rebuilt my shattered universe: Leo and Maya. Seven years old. Leo was currently negotiating for a second dessert, while Maya was intently sketching the dining room on a cloth napkin.
I was laughing—a genuine, lighthearted sound—when the atmosphere in the room abruptly shifted.
I looked up toward the entrance.
Luca stood there. Beside him was Evelyn, her hand resting elegantly on his arm.
For a agonizing second, the entire world paused. I hadn't seen my ex-husband in years. He was older, his temples silvered, his features sharper and hardened by power. I recognized the exact second his amber-tinted dark eyes left my face and dropped toward the table.
He went completely rigid.
Leo looked up from his menu. Maya paused her drawing.
Luca’s face drained of every ounce of color. The resemblance was undeniable. They didn't just have his dark, intense eyes; they had his distinct brow line, Maya possessed his sharp jawline, and Leo had that exact, unconscious habit of pressing a thumb against his chin when lost in thought.
Evelyn felt him stiffen beside her. "Luca?" she murmured, looking confused.
He didn't hear her. He took one slow, heavy step toward our table, then another, like a man walking through a nightmare.
"Mom?" Leo whispered, picking up on the sudden tension. "Who is that man?"
May you like
My throat closed up. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs as every survival instinct screamed at me to grab my children and run. But it was too late.
Luca Moretti had seen them. And judging by the raw, shattering realization on his face, he wasn't wondering if those twins were his. He was realizing that I had kept his legacy hidden in the dark for seven long years.
