Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Knew Too Much
Isabella DeLuca returned to the Morelli estate shortly after six.
She walked through the front entrance carrying a white garment bag and speaking cheerfully to the wedding coordinator on her phone.
Adrian watched from the upper landing.
For the first time since proposing to her, he felt as though he were looking at someone he had never actually met.
She ended the call.
“There you are.”
She smiled.
“I've been trying to reach you.”
“So I noticed.”
“Everything is chaos. The florist apparently thinks ivory and cream are the same color.”
Adrian descended the staircase.
Normally he would have kissed her.
He didn't.
Isabella noticed.
“What's wrong?”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“Do you remember Clara Bennett?”
The smile disappeared for only half a second.
But it disappeared.
Adrian saw it.
“Who?”
“Clara.”
“I know several Claras.”
“Bennett.”
Isabella set the garment bag down.
“The housemaid?”
“Yes.”
“What about her?”
“Where did you meet her?”
“I don't remember.”
Adrian watched her carefully.
“Try.”
Isabella smiled again.
“Adrian, why are we interrogating each other about domestic staff?”
“We aren't.”
His voice remained calm.
“I'm asking a simple question.”
“I probably met her here.”
“Three years ago.”
Isabella's fingers stopped moving.
Adrian continued.
“At St. Margaret's Hospital.”
Nothing.
Then Isabella laughed.
“That is absurd.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Then say you've never been there.”
“I don't remember every hospital I've visited.”
“On the night Rosie Bennett was born.”
This time Isabella did not answer.
Adrian knew.
Not the whole truth.
But enough.
“You were there.”
“Who told you?”
Wrong answer.
Adrian almost closed his eyes.
“You were.”
Isabella's expression hardened.
“What has Clara been saying?”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You didn't ask why I wanted to know. You asked what Clara had been saying.”
“Because you're clearly getting this from her.”
“Did you visit her?”
Isabella turned away.
“Adrian, there are things you don't understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“I was protecting you.”
The sentence struck him harder than any denial could have.
“From what?”
Isabella faced him.
“From someone who wanted money.”
“Clara?”
“Yes.”
“You're saying Clara tried to extort me?”
“She would have.”
“Would have?”
Isabella sighed.
“She was going to claim Rosie was yours.”
Silence filled the foyer.
Adrian had expected the words.
Still, hearing them changed something.
“And?”
“And it was ridiculous.”
“How did you know?”
“Because I knew you.”
“That isn't evidence.”
“She had nothing.”
“Did she ask for money?”
“No.”
“Did she contact me?”
“No.”
“Did she threaten you?”
“No.”
“Then what exactly did she do?”
Isabella's voice rose.
“She had a baby, Adrian.”
Adrian stared at her.
“So?”
“You don't understand how people like that think.”
People like that.
Adrian heard the contempt.
For Clara.
For Rosie.
For a woman raising a child while cleaning someone else's house.
“What did you tell her?”
Isabella hesitated.
“Nothing important.”
“Isabella.”
“I told her to leave you alone.”
“Did she know whether I was Rosie's father?”
“She claimed she did.”
“How?”
Isabella didn't answer.
Adrian stepped closer.
“How?”
“There had been one night.”
His breath caught.
“What night?”
“After the Winter Foundation gala.”
The memory returned in fragments.
Snow.
Champagne.
Clara helping catering staff clear the terrace.
Adrian's driver unavailable.
Clara missing the last employee shuttle.
Adrian offering to drive her.
A small neighborhood bar.
Conversation.
Both of them laughing.
Then—
He remembered Clara at his guesthouse.
She had been soaked from the snow.
He had given her dry clothes.
They had talked until after midnight.
And then the memory became painfully clear.
“Why didn't I remember?”
“You remembered.”
Isabella's tone softened.
“You simply chose to pretend it meant nothing.”
Adrian turned toward her.
“How did you know?”
That question changed the room.
Isabella said nothing.
“How did you know about that night?”
She swallowed.
“Someone saw you.”
“Who?”
No answer.
“Who?”
“My father.”
Adrian frowned.
Vittorio DeLuca.
Longtime business associate.
Family friend.
One of the men who had encouraged Adrian and Isabella's relationship.
“He had someone watching me?”
“Don't be dramatic.”
Adrian laughed once.
“Someone knew where I was, who I was with and what happened.”
“It was complicated.”
“It sounds simple.”
He looked at her.
“You knew Clara might be carrying my child.”
“She wasn't.”
“How do you know?”
Isabella looked toward the floor.
Adrian understood.
“You don't.”
“She showed me paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
“A paternity result.”
Adrian stared at her.
“Whose?”
“She said it excluded you.”
“And you believed her?”
“I saw it.”
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Clara keep it?”
Isabella looked uneasy.
“Probably.”
Adrian remembered Clara's words.
She told me that if I ever told you the truth about that night, she would make sure you never believed me.
“What did you do at the hospital?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you say?”
“Adrian—”
“What did you say?”
Isabella's eyes filled with frustration.
“I told her she should think about her daughter's future.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It was advice.”
“Did you offer her money?”
Silence.
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
Adrian stared at her.
“To do what?”
“To start over somewhere else.”
“And she accepted?”
“No.”
Something in him shifted.
Clara, barely twenty-five at the time, alone with a newborn and little money, had refused fifty thousand dollars.
Yet Isabella wanted him to believe Clara was trying to use the baby for money.
“Why did she refuse?”
Isabella shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Adrian did.
Because perhaps money had never been what Clara wanted.
“Where is Clara now?” Isabella asked.
“I don't know.”
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Enough.”
Isabella went pale.
Adrian watched her.
Then he lied.
“She told me about the test.”
Isabella's reaction was immediate.
“You can't prove I changed it.”
The foyer became completely silent.
Adrian did not breathe.
Neither did Isabella.
She had realized too late.
He had never accused her of changing anything.
“You changed the paternity result.”
Isabella opened her mouth.
No words came.
Adrian stepped backward.
It felt strangely calm.
Years of trust collapsing did not sound like thunder.
Sometimes it sounded like one careless sentence.
“Adrian, listen to me.”
“No.”
“You have to understand—”
“You altered a paternity test?”
“My father handled it.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“We were already together.”
“We weren't engaged.”
“We were supposed to be.”
“According to whom?”
“Our families!”
Adrian's voice finally rose.
Not loudly.
But enough that staff in distant rooms stopped moving.
Isabella's eyes filled with tears.
“I loved you.”
“You stole three years.”
“I protected our future.”
“From a child?”
“She wasn't supposed to become part of your life!”
And there it was.
Not doubt.
Not uncertainty.
Knowledge.
Adrian's face changed.
“You knew Rosie was mine.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
Adrian whispered:
“You knew.”
She said nothing.
His telephone rang.
Matteo.
Adrian answered.
“What?”
His brother's voice was urgent.
“We found Clara.”
“Where?”
“Union Station.”
“Is Rosie with her?”
“Yes.”
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
“They're safe?”
“For now.”
“For now?”
Matteo lowered his voice.
“Adrian, somebody else was looking for them.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
Adrian looked at Isabella.
She had heard enough.
Her fear changed.
Not fear for herself.
Fear of someone else.
Adrian noticed.
“Who is looking for Clara?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Adrian…”
“Who?”
She whispered two words.
“My father.”
May you like
And for the first time, Adrian realized Isabella might not be the person at the center of the deception.
She might simply be the daughter of the man who had designed it.
