Morning sunlight spilled through the tall kitchen windows of the Moretti mansion, landing on marble countertops and polished silverware. Every corner of the house gleamed with perfection, every vase, every plate in place—except for the two people sitting across from each other at the dining table.
Juliet sipped her coffee slowly, her gaze fixed on the newspaper. Hendrick sat opposite her, half-hidden behind his tablet, impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit. Not a single word had passed between them since waking. The silence wasn't peaceful; it was brittle, sharp enough to cut.
She folded the paper neatly and placed it aside. "You're on the front page again," she said, calm, measured.
Hendrick didn't lift his eyes. "As usual."
"This time… with her."
He finally lowered the tablet. The headline was blunt: "CEO Hendrick Moretti and Model Nora Blake Spotted Leaving Charity Gala Together."
The accompanying photo showed them stepping into his car, Nora's hand brushing his arm, her smile dazzling.
Hendrick's jaw tightened. "The paparazzi twist everything. That was after a business meeting."
"At midnight?" Juliet raised an eyebrow, her voice steady.
He sighed, setting the tablet aside. "Juliet, I don't have time for this. You're blowing things out of proportion again."
She leaned back, studying him carefully. "Funny, isn't it? It's always me who's wrong, me who's dramatic, me who's imagining things. Yet every article, every rumor, every whisper has your name tangled with hers."
Hendrick ran a hand through his hair. "I can't control the media."
"But you can control yourself," she shot back. "You control who you take to dinner, who you touch in public, who you let into your private moments."
The soft clink of her coffee cup on its saucer punctuated the silence.
He stood abruptly, frustration flashing in his eyes. "So you think I'm cheating? That I'm reckless enough to risk everything for a fling?"
Juliet met his gaze without flinching. "I think you've forgotten what loyalty looks like."
For a long moment, they stared at each other—husband and wife, once inseparable, now divided by pride, betrayal, and unspoken hurt.
Hendrick looked away first. "You're exhausting yourself over nothing," he muttered. "You should trust me more."
Juliet let out a humorless laugh. "Trust isn't blind, Hendrick. It's earned. And you've been spending it recklessly."
He reached for his watch, adjusting it as if the gesture could fix the tension. "I don't have time for your games. Board meeting in twenty minutes."
"Of course," she murmured. "Always business. Always an excuse."
He grabbed his jacket from the chair. "You used to understand me, Juliet."
"I still do," she said softly, her voice cutting. "That's what scares me."
Their eyes met for a half-second. Then he turned and left, the door closing with a hollow finality.
Juliet remained seated, motionless. The only sound was the clink of her spoon against the coffee cup. She looked around at the golden chandelier above, the perfect flowers on the table, and the two untouched plates of breakfast slowly cooling.
Once, she had cooked for him herself, back when love was simpler and their house smaller. He would come behind her, kiss the nape of her neck, whisper that she was his everything.
Now, there were chefs, staff—and silence.
She rose and moved to the window. The Moretti estate sprawled across manicured gardens and fountains, majestic from a distance. Palaces, she knew, were built on loyalty. This one was built on ego.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Marcus:
"Lunch today? There's something you should know."
Her heartbeat quickened. She typed back:
"Where?"
Almost instantly: "Verona Café. 1 PM."
She paused before replying. "I'll be there."
Phone off, heels clicking softly, she ascended the stairs. A framed wedding photo caught her eye—Hendrick's arm around her, eyes full of promise. Beneath it, engraved in gold:
"Forever begins here."
Her lips curved into something sharper than a smile.
"Forever," she whispered, "wasn't supposed to have conditions."
---
Later that day, the Verona Café was quiet, tucked into the city's heart. Juliet arrived in a cream blouse and dark trousers—elegant, understated, and commanding. Marcus waited by the window, concern etched on his face.
"Marcus," she greeted softly, sliding into the seat.
"You've seen the news?" he asked.
"I have."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Juliet, it's not just gossip anymore. People inside the company are talking. They say Nora's been… using her connection with Hendrick to gain influence. Meeting clients directly, promising things she shouldn't."
Juliet's fingers tightened around her cup. "So she's climbing through him."
Marcus nodded. "And she's enjoying every step."
Juliet leaned back, expression unreadable. "Then someone needs to remind her the throne she wants already has a queen."
Marcus studied her carefully. "Be careful, Juliet. You're playing with fire."
Her gaze met his, calm but lethal. "I am the fire, Marcus."
---
That evening, Hendrick returned home to find Juliet in his study. The scent of his cologne lingered, a single glass of red wine on the desk.
"You're up late," he said.
She smiled faintly. "Just planning a few things. For us."
"For us?" he repeated, suspicion threading his voice.
She lifted the wine, slow and deliberate. "Yes. It's time our marriage stopped being a rumor and started being reality again."
Hendrick watched her closely, uneasy, intrigued.
Setting the glass down, she met his gaze directly. "You wanted a strong wife, Hendrick. Now you'll see what that really means."