Chapter 4 - The Anatomy of a Betrayal
Sophia gasped, taking half a step back.
Vincent felt as if a rusted blade had been driven into his gut and twisted. He remembered every second of that horrific day. The alarms shrieking. The smell of burning aviation fuel. Anna gripping her swollen belly, looking at him with absolute faith—faith that he had shattered when he took Sophia’s hand instead.
*“I’m taking Sophia out first.”*
*“I’m your wife. I’m carrying your baby.”*
*“Because I can get Sophia out quickly and come back for you.”*
He had promised. He had sworn on his life. But five seconds after he cleared the forward door with Sophia, the auxiliary fuel tank ignited, transforming the cabin into an inferno. The investigators had found charred metal and human remains near the cockpit. They told him no one in the rear could have survived the flash-fire.
He had lived in that personal hell every single day. He hadn't touched Sophia in three years; his guilt was a wall of razor wire that kept everyone out. He funded orphanages, built burn units, and drank himself into stupors just to stop seeing Anna’s silhouette in the smoke.
And now, she was standing before him.
“Anna, please,” Vincent whispered, ignoring Julian Vance’s warning glare. “Let me explain. You have to let me explain what happened. I came back. I ran back toward the plane! The blast threw me twenty feet—I tried to go in after you!”
“Did you?” Anastasia tilted her head, her smile cold enough to freeze blood. “How noble. Tell me, Mr. Moretti, did you come back before or after you made your choice?”
Sophia stepped forward, tears welling in her eyes, playing the fragile victim she had mastered for years. “Anna, you can’t blame him! The cabin was collapsing! He saved me because I was closer! He almost died trying to reach you! You can't punish him for a tragedy!”
Anastasia’s eyes shifted to Sophia. The look was so dissecting, so utterly devoid of pity, that Sophia choked on her words.
May you like
“Miss Carter,” Anastasia said smoothly, “keep your voice down. You’re spilling your champagne on your borrowed dress. Julian, sweetheart, we have a meeting with the Governor’s committee. Let’s not waste our evening on ghosts.”
“Of course, Anastasia,” Julian replied, resting a possessive hand on the small of her back. Together, with Leo holding his mother’s hand, they turned their backs on Vincent Moretti and walked toward the VIP lounge.
