Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Wasn't There
Vincent felt all the oxygen leave his lungs. “Anna, stop this. Please. It’s me. It’s Vincent.”
He tried to step around Julian Vance, but Julian stood firm as an iron wall. Several guests nearby turned their heads, sensing the sudden spike of drama among the city's billionaires.
Sophia’s voice rose, edged with hysteria. “Anna? If you survived the crash, why didn’t you reach out? Why let Vincent suffer? Do you have any idea what he went through? The grief nearly destroyed him!”
The woman let out a soft, melodious laugh that made Vincent’s spine turn to ice. She turned to Julian, leaning slightly against his arm with effortless intimacy.
“Julian, darling, who are these dramatic people?” she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Is this customary at American charity events? Do strangers routinely accost guests with fictional identities?”
“Anna, don’t do this,” Vincent pleaded, his voice cracking, shedding every shred of his ruthless corporate pride. “Look at me. Look at my eyes. You know who I am. You know what we were.”
“My name is Anastasia Vance,” she said, her voice dropping to a crystal-clear register that carried across the surrounding circle of onlookers. “I am the Chief Operating Officer of Vance Global. And this,” she gently pulled the little boy to her side, “is my son, Leo.”
Leo looked up at Vincent with wide, curious eyes. The resemblance was so striking that even several guests began murmuring.
“Three years,” Vincent rasped, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged beast. “He is three years old. Anna… he’s my son.”
Anastasia’s gaze finally locked onto his. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped. Beneath the icy composure, a volcanic furnace of hatred flared in the depths of her gray eyes—the memory of black smoke, the deafening roar of flames, and the sight of her husband walking away with another woman while she burned.
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Then the mask slammed back down.
“You are mistaken, Mr. Moretti,” she said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper only he, Sophia, and Julian could hear. “My son’s father is dead. He died three years ago on a private runway in Nevada, when he proved he possessed neither a soul nor a spine.”
