“Claire, I swear I didn’t mean to break it.” Sofia Russo stood behind my husband, Adrian, clutching the sleeve of his black suit while shattered

(1,500 words)

Three days later, the Moretti private jet touched down at Midway International Airport in Chicago.

The weather in Chicago was just as cold as Toronto, but the atmosphere inside the Moretti empire had undergone a total, seismic shift.

When Adrian stepped off the plane holding my hand, twenty armed guards lined the tarmac, standing at absolute attention. Frank Alvarez held the rear door of an armored Maybach open, bowing his head respectfully as I approached.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Moretti," Frank said, his voice carrying a genuine warmth I had never heard before.

"Thank you, Frank," I replied gently, stepping into the luxury sedan.

Adrian sat beside me, keeping my hand locked firmly in his, his thumb tracing soft circles over my knuckles. He hadn't let go of my hand since we left the safe house in Toronto.

We didn't drive to the old Lake Forest estate.

Instead, the Maybach pulled into the private gates of a massive, newly acquired estate along the shores of Lake Michigan in Evanston. The house was breathtaking—a stunning, sunlit modern architectural masterpiece built from glass, warm oak, and white stone, surrounded by towering pine trees and high security walls.

"What is this place?" I asked, looking out the tinted windows in awe.

"This is our new home," Adrian said softly, leading me through the grand entrance. "I sold the Lake Forest estate three days ago. Everything inside this house was chosen for you. No old memories, no dark history. Just light."

I walked through the grand foyer. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the icy blue lake. In the center of the living room stood a custom glass display case.

Inside sat the restored blue-and-white porcelain fragment of my grandmother's vase, illuminated by a warm spotlight.

My throat tightened with emotion. I turned to look at Adrian.

He walked up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. "You are the queen of this house, Claire. No one steps through these doors without your permission."

Before I could answer, Frank stepped into the room, holding a encrypted tablet. His expression was grim.

"Boss," Frank said quietly. "We have a situation at the downtown office."

Adrian didn't release his grip on my waist, but his dark eyes narrowed slightly. "What is it?"

"It’s Sofia," Frank revealed. "She’s been leaking internal shipping manifests to the Lucchese family for the past two weeks. She’s the one who gave them your flight log to Toronto."

A cold stillness settled over the room.

Sofia hadn't just been a clumsy, arrogant assistant looking for a wealthy husband. She was an informant—a trojan horse planted by Adrian's rival family to dismantle his empire from the inside out. And her dramatic scene at the ballroom three weeks ago had been a deliberate distraction to isolate Adrian from his security detail.

Adrian’s jaw locked, his body going rigid against mine. The cold, lethal boss of Chicago returned for a split second, his eyes flashing with dark fury.

"Where is she now?" Adrian asked quietly.

"My men picked her up at the marina an hour ago," Frank replied. "She's being held in the holding suite at the docks."

Adrian prepared to step away from me, his hands unclasping from my waist. "Stay here with Frank's team, Claire. I'll handle this."

I reached out, catching his wrist firmly. "No."

Adrian paused, looking at me in surprise. "Claire, this isn't a world you need to see—"

"I am your wife, Adrian," I said, my voice steady, calm, and utterly unwavering. "I spent three years hiding upstairs while you fought your battles. If this woman tried to destroy our family, I am coming with you."

Adrian stared at me for a long moment. He didn't see the fragile, terrified girl he used to wrap in velvet cages. He saw a powerful, brave woman standing beside him as an equal.