The Fifth Night

Part 2: The Truth Behind Closed Doors

At exactly two o’clock, I arrived at the Moretti family estate.

The massive iron gates opened as my car approached. Beyond them stood the familiar mansion where I had celebrated birthdays, Christmas dinners, and countless family gatherings during my three years of marriage.

Today, I was arriving as a woman who intended to leave that family forever.

When I entered the main living room, everyone was already waiting.

Richard Moretti sat in his usual leather armchair. Beside him was his wife, Eleanor. Vincent’s younger brother, Adrian, stood near the fireplace.

And on the sofa, wearing a pale pink designer dress, was Sophia Carter.

I stopped walking.

Sophia immediately lowered her eyes, pretending to be uncomfortable.

Vincent stood beside her.

His expression darkened when he saw me.

“Claire, finally.”

He approached, grabbed my arm, and lowered his voice.

“What the hell were you thinking? Do you understand the damage you’ve caused?”

I gently pulled my arm away.

“Good afternoon to you too, Vincent.”

His jaw tightened.

“Don’t play games with me. Delete that message and tell everyone it was a misunderstanding.”

I looked directly at him.

“Why? Was something I wrote untrue?”

Sophia suddenly stood.

“Mrs. Moretti, please don’t misunderstand. Mr. Moretti and I have only been working together. I never intended to interfere with your marriage.”

I turned toward her.

“Then why were you the one informing me when my husband would be unavailable? Why were you answering his phone? And why did you think you had the authority to tell his wife not to disturb him?”

Sophia’s eyes filled with tears.

“I was only doing my job.”

“Your job is managing his business schedule, Miss Carter. Not managing his marriage.”

“Enough!” Vincent snapped.

Richard struck his walking cane against the floor.

“Both of you sit down.”

I took a seat opposite Vincent.

Richard adjusted his glasses.

“Claire, this family has always treated you with respect. But your behavior this morning was unacceptable. You embarrassed Vincent in front of more than five hundred employees.”

I smiled faintly.

“Did you ask him why I did it?”

Richard glanced at his son.

Vincent folded his arms.

“Because she’s jealous. Sophia and I have been handling an important acquisition. Claire doesn’t understand the pressure of running a company.”

I stared at him.

“Five nights, Vincent.”

He frowned.

“What?”

“Five nights you didn’t come home. Five nights I waited for you. Five nights your secretary had to explain where my husband was.”

“Those were business emergencies.”

“All five?”

“Yes.”

I slowly nodded.

“Then perhaps you can explain why Sophia was photographed entering the presidential suite of the Langford Hotel with you on Tuesday night.”

The room went silent.

Vincent’s expression changed.

Sophia immediately looked up.

“That photograph is misleading!”

I took out my phone and placed it on the coffee table.

The picture showed Vincent walking beside Sophia through a private hotel entrance.

His hand was resting on her lower back.

They were not carrying business documents.

They were not surrounded by executives.

And the timestamp was 11:46 p.m.

Eleanor gasped.

“Vincent, what is this?”

He looked at the photograph, then at me.

“Who gave you that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Claire, I can explain.”

“Wonderful. Please do.”

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Sophia stepped forward.

“Mr. Moretti was helping me because I was having personal difficulties. My apartment had a plumbing emergency, and he arranged temporary accommodation.”

I almost laughed.

“A presidential suite?”

Nobody spoke.

I turned toward Richard.

“Your son told me he was negotiating an international investment deal. Apparently, that deal required him to spend the night in a hotel with his secretary.”

“Claire!” Vincent shouted.

I didn’t flinch.

For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of his anger.

Richard looked furious.

“Sophia, is there anything you want to tell us?”

Sophia’s lips trembled.

“No, sir. I have done nothing wrong.”

I watched her carefully.

Then I took another envelope from my handbag.

“This is a copy of the hotel invoice.”

I placed it beside the photograph.

“The room was booked under the company’s executive account. But the second guest was registered under Miss Carter’s name.”

Vincent snatched the paper.

“Where did you get this?”

“From the hotel.”

“You had no right to investigate me!”

I looked at him calmly.

“And you had no right to make me feel like a stranger in my own marriage.”

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then Richard spoke.

“Vincent, take Sophia outside. I need to speak with my family.”

Sophia immediately looked at Vincent.

He hesitated before finally saying, “Come on.”

As they walked toward the door, I noticed something.

Sophia leaned close to Vincent and whispered something.

He stopped.

His face suddenly became pale.

I didn’t know what she had said.

But I knew there was more to this story than a hotel room.

And I intended to find out.

Twenty minutes later, Vincent returned alone.

Richard stood near the window.

“Claire, I want to know exactly what you expect from this situation.”

I reached into my handbag and removed another document.

“The divorce.”

Vincent laughed bitterly.

“You’re seriously going through with this?”

“Yes.”

“You think you can just walk away from a marriage like ours?”

I looked at him.

“Which marriage, Vincent? The one we had during our first year, or the one where your secretary became more important than your wife?”

His expression hardened.

“You are making a mistake.”

“Perhaps. But it will finally be my mistake.”

I placed the divorce papers on the table.

“Your lawyers can contact mine.”

Richard looked down at the documents.

Then he noticed another sheet attached to the back.

“What is this?”

I answered quietly.

“Something Vincent should read before he signs anything.”

He pulled the sheet free.

His eyes moved across the first paragraph.

Then his expression changed.

“Vincent…”

My husband took the document.

And for the first time that afternoon, he looked genuinely frightened.

Because the document wasn’t about money.

It was about Moretti Holdings.

And the company shares Vincent had always assumed belonged entirely to him.