The Favor He Owed Me

Part 2 – The Secret She Couldn’t Hide

At 8:15 the next morning, my hotel room phone began ringing.

I ignored it.

It rang again.

Then my cell phone started vibrating.

Madison’s name appeared on the screen.

“Claire, where are you?”

“Still at the hotel. Why?”

“Because Vincent Moretti is downstairs.”

My heart stopped.

“What?”

“He has six bodyguards with him, and he’s been asking the receptionist to call your room for the last twenty minutes.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course he had.

“I’ll be down in five minutes.”

When I entered the hotel lobby, Vincent was standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows.

His black suit was immaculate, but his expression was anything but calm.

The moment he saw me, he approached.

“Why aren’t you answering my calls?”

“I was sleeping.”

“Claire, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

He glanced toward the reception desk.

“Somewhere private.”

I folded my arms.

“You divorced me, Vincent. You don’t get to summon me whenever you feel like talking.”

His jaw tightened.

“I know what you gave Sophia.”

For a moment, I said nothing.

Then I smiled faintly.

“Did she show you?”

“She told me you threatened her.”

I almost laughed.

“That’s interesting. I gave her a document, and somehow I’m the villain.”

“What exactly was in that envelope?”

“You should ask her.”

“I did. She refused to explain.”

I studied his face.

For the first time, Vincent Moretti looked genuinely unsettled.

The document was a copy of a financial agreement signed five years earlier.

It proved that Sophia had secretly accepted money from Vincent’s grandmother, Eleanor Moretti, to disappear from his life.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

Sophia had also signed a statement promising never to return and interfere in Vincent’s future marriage.

She had broken that promise.

And she knew it.

“Claire,” Vincent said quietly, “I need you to tell me the truth.”

“The truth?”

I looked directly into his eyes.

“The truth is that you spent three years married to me without ever asking whether I was happy.”

He looked away.

“I was busy.”

“You were always busy.”

“I can make things right.”

“No, Vincent. You can make things convenient. That’s what you’ve always done.”

Before he could answer, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

Sophia.

He rejected the call.

Then it rang again.

This time, he answered.

“What?”

I couldn’t hear her words, but her voice was loud enough to make out a few sentences.

“Vincent, please! Claire is lying! She doesn’t know anything!”

His expression changed.

“Stop talking.”

A pause.

Then his voice became dangerously cold.

“I’m coming home. Don’t leave.”

He ended the call and looked at me.

“I have to go.”

“Of course you do.”

He hesitated.

“Will you be here tonight?”

“I have a flight tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Where?”

“Europe.”

“Why?”

“Because I want a life that doesn’t involve you.”

He stared at me for several seconds.

Then he said something unexpected.

“Don’t go yet.”

I shook my head.

“You already had your chance.”

I walked away before he could stop me.

That afternoon, I visited my doctor.

The ultrasound was still too early to reveal much, but the doctor confirmed that everything appeared normal.

I stared at the tiny image on the screen.

A little life.

My little miracle.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said warmly. “You’re going to be a mother.”

I smiled through my tears.

For the first time in months, I felt genuinely happy.

But when I returned to the hotel, Madison was waiting beside my suitcase.

She looked worried.

“Claire, there’s something you need to know.”

“What happened?”

She handed me her phone.

A news article was open.

MORETTI FAMILY ANNOUNCES UPCOMING ENGAGEMENT BETWEEN VINCENT MORETTI AND SOPHIA REYNOLDS.

I stared at the headline.

Below it was a photograph of Vincent and Sophia standing together at a charity gala.

Her hand rested on his arm.

He wasn’t smiling.

But the message was clear enough.

Madison watched my face.

“Are you okay?”

I locked the phone and handed it back.

“I’m fine.”

“Claire…”

“Let’s finish packing.”

I wasn’t going to cry over a man who had already signed away his right to be my husband.

But that evening, as I prepared to leave Chicago, my phone rang again.

This time, it wasn’t Vincent.

It was an unknown number.

I answered cautiously.

“Hello?”

An elderly woman’s voice came through.

“Claire, sweetheart. It’s Eleanor.”

Vincent’s grandmother.

I sat down.

“Mrs. Moretti?”

“Please, darling. I need to see you before you leave.”

“Is something wrong?”

There was a long silence.

Then she whispered:

“It’s about Vincent. And it’s about the favor he promised you.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something you don’t know about your divorce. Something Vincent himself doesn’t know.”