Chapter 3 - Six Weeks to a WeddingRachel had imagined Daniel Moretti's home would feel like a villain's lair.
Instead, it felt lonely.
The penthouse occupied the upper floors of a glass tower overlooking Boston Harbor. Everything was immaculate—stone, dark wood, enormous windows, expensive furniture.
Almost nothing was personal.
“No family photographs?” Rachel asked.
Daniel handed her a glass of water.
“Emma hates photographs.”
“What about you?”
“I hate being photographed.”
“So Morettis are naturally difficult.”
Daniel looked at her.
Rachel took a drink.
“I'm learning.”
She remained there for what Daniel initially called “one night.”
One became three.
Three became eight.
The counterfeit-equipment investigation widened.
Northshore Emergency Systems did not truly exist.
Its registered office was an empty warehouse.
Its executives were stolen identities.
Worse, somebody had used internal authorization codes belonging to Moretti Freight.
Only seven executives had access.
Daniel trusted six.
Rachel noticed that immediately.
“Who's number seven?”
Daniel stared at the harbor.
“My uncle.”
Victor Moretti.
Daniel's father's younger brother.
The man who had helped raise Daniel after his parents died.
The man Daniel refused to suspect.
Rachel did not push.
Instead, she cooked pasta.
Daniel walked into the kitchen at midnight and found flour on her cheek.
“What happened?”
“I lost a violent disagreement with the dough.”
He stared at the homemade ravioli.
“You cook?”
“Occasionally.”
“My chef cooks.”
“Your chef makes food look like architecture.”
“That sounds complimentary.”
“It isn't.”
Daniel ate two bowls.
Rachel pretended not to notice.
The threat against her did not disappear.
Someone followed her from the hospital.
Daniel increased security.
Someone tried entering her apartment.
Daniel quietly moved everything she needed into the penthouse.
Then the hospital suspended Rachel.
Officially, administrators were “reviewing her conduct.”
Unofficially, someone was trying to discredit her.
Rachel sat at Daniel's kitchen island reading the suspension email repeatedly.
“I did the right thing.”
Daniel stood opposite her.
“Yes.”
“And I'm being punished.”
“Yes.”
“I hate when you agree this efficiently.”
“What would you prefer?”
“Lie to me.”
“You're handling this beautifully.”
She glared.
“That was terrible.”
“I don't practice.”
Rachel laughed despite herself.
Daniel watched her.
That laugh became dangerous to him.
So did the way she spoke to his staff by name.
The way she left coffee beside his laptop when he worked late.
The way she asked his security men whether they'd eaten.
Rachel occupied space without apologizing for it.
Daniel began coming home earlier.
Then Emma noticed.
“You like her.”
Daniel nearly choked on his espresso.
Emma grinned from her hospital bed.
“You absolutely like her.”
“Rachel is under my protection.”
“You bought six kinds of tea because she said your kitchen only had coffee.”
“She drinks tea.”
“You threatened a grocery supplier because they sent the wrong cinnamon.”
“It was the wrong product.”
Emma laughed until her ribs hurt.
Then everything changed.
Rachel's apartment building caught fire.
The flames began at 2:18 a.m.
Inside her empty unit.
Investigators found accelerant.
Daniel stood across the street at sunrise, watching smoke escape the broken windows.
Rachel stood beside him wearing his coat.
“My grandmother's photographs were in there.”
Daniel looked at her.
Not the building.
Her.
For the first time since this began, Rachel cried.
Daniel wanted to touch her.
He didn't know whether he should.
So he simply stood beside her.
Rachel eventually leaned against him herself.
Daniel went perfectly still.
Then carefully rested one hand against her back.
“I'll find who did this.”
“I know.”
“That doesn't bring your photographs back.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
Daniel looked at the ruined apartment.
Something hardened inside him.
Three days later, Daniel made Rachel an extraordinary proposal.
Not romance.
Not exactly.
Marriage.
“If you're legally my wife,” he explained, “you gain protections I can't give an employee or witness.”
Rachel stared at him across his study.
“You're proposing marriage as a security strategy?”
“Yes.”
“That might be the least romantic sentence ever spoken.”
“I can try again.”
“Please don't.”
Daniel almost looked offended.
Rachel laughed.
Then she realized he was serious.
“Daniel, people don't marry because someone burned down an apartment.”
“People marry for worse reasons.”
“That's not an argument.”
He stepped closer.
“You would retain complete financial independence. Separate property. Separate accounts. You can leave whenever this ends.”
Rachel studied him.
“And what do you get?”
He should have said protection.
Control.
Legal access.
Instead, Daniel looked into her eyes.
“You stay alive.”
Rachel's heart betrayed her.
Four days later, beneath a quiet canopy in Emma's private garden, Rachel Morgan became Rachel Moretti.
Daniel kissed her forehead.
Nothing more.
Yet Rachel's hands shook.
Across the garden, Victor Moretti applauded.
He approached afterward with an elegant smile.
“My nephew has always moved quickly.”
Rachel offered her hand.
Victor kissed it.
His eyes remained cold.
“Welcome to the family.”
Behind him stood a woman Rachel had not met.
Tall.
Immaculate.
Blonde.
Her gaze traveled slowly over Rachel's curves.
Then she smiled.
“I'm Celeste Avery.”
May you like
Daniel's longtime image consultant.
The woman who would soon receive instructions Daniel had never sent.
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