Burned Out of the Moretti Name

Three days later, I stood in the villa we had shared for seven years and felt something inside me go quiet.

Along the wall were the photographs of our life together.

I took the photographs down one by one, and cut myself out of every frame.

Then I packed the things that were mine.

Anything we had once shared, I left divided.

vI had also arranged for the screenshots of Bianca’s messages and Instagram posts to be sent to Lorenzo’s email at a set time.

I had just sat down when another message came through.

It was from Bianca.

The time. The address for Christie’s.

And one line beneath it.

Dare to come, Mrs. Moretti? Lorenzo says tonight he’ll buy the final lot at any cost for me.

That evening, I arrived at the auction exactly on time.

I had not planned to go.

By midnight, the arrangements my mother had made would already be in motion. Soon, Sofia Moretti would be dead. What did it matter if a younger woman wanted to provoke me one last time?

But Bianca had sent me the catalogue too.

The final lot was a yellow diamond necklace so rare and absurdly expensive that it was clearly meant to dazzle.

What caught my eye instead was a pendant, quiet and elegant, exactly my mother’s taste. I decided to buy it for her.

I told myself that was why I was going.

The truth was, some part of me still wanted to see with my own eyes how far he would go for her.

Seven years. That was all it had taken for Lorenzo to fall in love with someone else.

By the time I entered the auction room, most of the front seats were already filled.

I took a place in the last row. I would bid on the pendant, then leave.

Lorenzo and Bianca were seated near the center of the room, leaning close together.

Every so often, Bianca glanced back toward the rows behind her.

The moment she spotted me, her mouth curved.

There was something bright and triumphant in it, like a girl already certain she had won.

The final lots were always reserved for the end. The pendant I wanted came up early, exactly as I’d expected. The designer was still unknown enough that no one fought me for it.

I got it for far less than it was worth.

I rose to leave.

Then Bianca’s voice cut cleanly across the room.

“Mrs. Moretti,” she called, sweet enough to make people turn. “Leaving already? You’ve only seen one little piece. The real treasures haven’t even come out yet.”

A few more faces turned.

Her smile sharpened.

“Especially tonight’s final lot. It would be a shame to miss it.”

I looked at her and almost smiled back.

At her age, arrogance comes easily. So does radiance. She was young, beautiful, alive with the kind of careless confidence that makes the world feel made for you.

No wonder Lorenzo wanted her.

Lorenzo touched the back of her neck lightly, a quiet warning for her to behave.

Then, almost absently, he glanced over his shoulder, as if curious what kind of person had managed to catch the attention of the woman beside him.

The moment he saw me, his face changed.

I had never seen guilt and anger appear together so clearly on one man’s face before.

This auction had drawn plenty of familiar faces, old acquaintances from Lorenzo’s world, people who had known us both for years.

With Bianca’s bright little call cutting through the room, there was no way for him to pretend he had not seen me.

Under all those watching eyes, Lorenzo had no choice but to motion for one of the attendants to lead me down to the empty seat beside him.

He turned to Bianca and gave her a look, telling her to move to one of the open seats in the back.

She shot to her feet at once, her eyes reddening almost instantly.

“No,” she said, her voice tight. “You said tonight was supposed to—”

“Go sit in the back, Bianca,” Lorenzo said, low and hard. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting not to cry.

I reached out and touched Lorenzo lightly on the arm.

“Let it go,” I said. “Don’t upset her on my account. I already bought what I came for. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

His face darkened.

“You’re my wife,” he said. “If anyone should be sitting here, it’s you. She has no reason to feel slighted.”

The words landed exactly where they were meant to. Whatever pride Bianca still had left showed plainly in her face. She bit down on it, turned, and dropped into a seat in the back row.

Lorenzo closed a hand around mine and kept me where I was.

At that point, there was no leaving without making a scene, so I sat beside him.

I did not need to turn around to feel the look Bianca was burning into my back.

It stayed there until the final lot came up.

As expected, Lorenzo won the yellow diamond necklace.

Only then did Bianca seem to recover, her expression brightening as though everything had gone back to the way she wanted it.

When the auction ended, she looked at him with open expectation.

But Lorenzo did not even glance her way.

Instead, he turned to me and fastened the necklace around my throat.

I started to lift a hand and stop him, but he caught my wrist before I could.

“Sofia,” he said quietly, “you deserve the best.”

Bianca went rigid.

Then she turned and stormed out without a word.

Lorenzo’s gaze followed Bianca as she left.

The furrow in his brow, the tightness in his jaw, the way his hand closed at his side, it was obvious enough.

I smiled, reached up, and unclasped the necklace, placing it back into his hand.

“Something this valuable belongs in a bank vault,” I said. “Not on me.”

He looked at me, startled. Some of the tension in his face eased.

He closed his fingers around the necklace, but before he could speak, I did.

“Still,” I said, “thank you for the gift. I left something for you too. It’s in the drawer beside our bed.”

He pulled me into an embrace and kissed me.

“You always know how to surprise me,” he murmured. “Now I can’t wait to see what it is.”

Even then, his eyes kept going to the door.

He wanted to go after Bianca.

I smiled to myself and said softly, “If something needs your attention, you should go.”

He pulled back and looked at me, almost relieved.

Then he left quickly, the velvet case still in his hand.

A few minutes later, I stepped into the car my mother had arranged, and we pulled away into the night.

Through the window, I caught sight of Lorenzo’s black Bentley cutting across the street ahead of us.

I turned and watched it disappear.

Goodbye, Lorenzo.

This time, for good.