Twice Burned, Twice Desired

There's a kind of pain that doesn't scar your skin, it buries itself in your bones and teaches you how to smile while you bleed.

That's the pain Cosmas Moretti gave me.

And tonight, I get to return the favor.

---

It's been five years since I last stood in a Moretti ballroom, wearing a gown he paid for, smiling like I wasn't dying inside.

Now, I wear a gown I designed, built from threads of revenge and stitched with power. It glitters gold beneath the chandelier light, like it knows I've come to claim what was taken.

My heels click against the marble floors like war drums as I enter the Grand Sapphire Hotel, the stage of tonight's charity gala hosted by Cosmas Moretti.

His name sours my tongue even when unspoken.

The entire space smells like old money and newer lies. Champagne flows, laughter echoes in curated elegance, and cameras flash against gowns worth more than some people's homes.

I know the press will be here tonight.

Good.

Let them see the woman who once walked away shattered, now returned sculpted, sharper, untouchable.

Let him see it, too.

"Ms. Hale," a man in a black suit approaches with a nervous smile. "Your table is ready. Mr. Moretti is expecting all VIPs shortly."

I nod once and follow him through the maze of elites. I pass faces I once served coffee to when I was just his assistant. Now they whisper, nudge, and look twice.

Good.

I want them to look.

Because the girl they remember as the quiet little nobody who dared to marry the billionaire prince is gone. She died the day he signed the divorce papers without looking back.

Tonight, Rita Hale is reborn.

And I didn't come to play nice.

The moment I'm seated, I feel a shift in the room, an invisible current sparking against my skin.

I look up.

And there he is.

Cosmas Moretti.

Still devastating. Still dangerous.

His black tux hugs his tall frame like sin tailored into silk. Jet-black hair, meticulously styled. Strong jaw, slightly more hardened now. And those gray eyes cut from the same ice he used to freeze me out five years ago.

But tonight, he's the one who freezes.

He stops mid-step when he sees me, as if I've punched the breath from his lungs.

Good.

I smile a slow, poised thing and raise my champagne glass to him.

His jaw clenches.

He looks exactly how I hoped he would.

Stunned. Curious. Slightly afraid.

He recovers quickly. Of course he does. Billionaires don't get rattled for long.

He strides over to me, his confidence is a performance I've seen too many times. But I don't rise. I stayed seated, letting him come to me this time.

"Rita," he says, his voice a velvet blade.

"Cosmas," I replied coolly, swirling the gold liquid in my glass. "Lovely venue. You've outdone yourself."

"I could say the same about your entrance," he replies, his eyes scanning me too long to be polite. "You're glowing."

"Success tends to do that." I set my glass down, my smile sharpening. "Though I wouldn't expect you to recognize it on me."

A flicker in his eyes of guilt or irritation, I can't tell.

"You've changed," he murmurs.

I lean forward, letting him catch the barest scent of my perfume. "No, Cosmas. I just stopped shrinking to fit into the space you left for me."

His breath catches. A small win.

One of many I plan to collect.

"You're here for the charity?" he asks, voice softer now.

"No," I say. "I'm here for the acquisition."

He blinks.

"Excuse me?"

I withdraw a slim folder from my clutch and slide it across the table.

"Devlin Tech," I say. "You've been negotiating to acquire them. But this morning, they signed with me."

He stiffens.

I savor it.

"You bought them?" His voice is low, lethal.

"I outbid you." I tilt my head. "And I offered a seat on my board. Their CEO found me... persuasive."

"Why?" His voice is sharp now. "What game are you playing?"

Game?

I lean back and sip my drink.

"Oh, Cosmas. This isn't a game." I stand and walk past him, brushing against his shoulder. "It's a reminder."

His hand brushes mine in an accident, I think but his touch burns. Still.

I turn to look at him, my voice cool. "I told myself I'd never come back here. Never let myself be near you again. But then I realized... that's exactly what you counted on."

He stares at me, gray eyes unreadable.

I smirk and whisper, "You shouldn't have underestimated me."

Then I walk away.

But not far.

I want him to watch me tonight. Feel my presence. Remember everything he threw away like it meant nothing.

A photographer catches me on the balcony. I pose effortlessly. The New York skyline behind me, champagne in hand.

And when I glance back inside, I see him.

Still staring.

Still burning.

---

I'm halfway through my second flute of champagne when I spot the woman I didn't expect to see tonight.

Isabelle Moretti.

His stepmother.

The snake in pearls.

She's speaking to a man I vaguely recognize from the Devlin Tech board.

My stomach tightens.

That shouldn't be possible. The Devlin deal was airtight. I dotted every 'i', locked every clause.

Unless...

Unless someone on the inside leaked something.

Unless there's still a traitor in my house.

My phone buzzes.

Unknown Number.

I hesitate to answer.

A deep voice speaks.

"You don't know me. But if you want to keep your company, you need to ask Cosmas who really orchestrated your divorce."

I still am.

"What?"

The line clicks dead.

---

I turn to find Cosmas already watching me from across the room.

For the first time tonight, I don't feel like a predator.

I feel like prey.

Because if what that voice said is true

Then maybe... Cosmas Moretti didn't betray me after all.

But someone else did

There's something worse than being betrayed by the man you loved...

It's realizing you may have spent five years hating the wrong person.

---

I don't panic easily.

But that voice on the phone... It wasn't just a threat.

It was a crack in the foundation of the story I've built my life around.

Ask Cosmas who really orchestrated your divorce.

I press my fingers to the cool champagne glass in my hand, grounding myself.

Cosmas stands across the ballroom, still watching me with that unreadable expression. He hasn't moved since I stepped away from Isabelle.

Did he see me take that call?

Did he know I'd get that call?

I hate how my heart still stutters around him. How my body remembers his touch, even as my mind replays every moment he broke me.

But now there's doubt. And I don't like doubt.

Doubt makes people vulnerable.

And I've spent too long building walls.

I head for the terrace again, needing air and distance. The cool night kisses my skin, but it does nothing to cool the heat rising under my collarbone. The skyline stretches wide and glittering, mocking the storm inside me.

A voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Planning another ambush, or are you finally ready to talk like adults?"

I don't turn around. I don't have to.

His presence always moves through me before I see him like thunder that arrives before the lightning.

"Surprised you're not inside, licking your wounds," I say evenly.

"Was that your goal?" Cosmas steps beside me, too close. "Wound me?"

I turn my head, meeting his gaze. "Not really. Hurting you wouldn't mean anything unless it left a scar."

He smirks but it's hollow.

"You never did play fair," he says quietly.

"You taught me how," I shot back.

We're quiet for a beat. The city hums below us. Cars, horns, distant music. But all I hear is the echo of that voice on the phone.

His voice breaks the silence.

"I didn't know you were back in New York."

"That was the point," I replied. "I didn't come back to be found. I came back to win."

"Win what?"

"Everything."

He laughs under his breath, but it's bitter.

"And how exactly does destroying me help you win?"

I tilt my head. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not the prize. You're the reminder."

"Of what?"

"That love, real or fake, can cost more than money."

His expression shifts, just slightly. There it is again that looks like he wants to say something. Confess something.

And I almost let the silence stretch between us.

But then I remember the call.

And I take my chance.

"Cosmas..." I begin, keeping my voice cool. "Why did you divorce me?"

He blinks. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. We got married. Three months later, you handed me divorce papers. No fight. No reason. No goodbye. Just a clean break."

His jaw tenses.

I press forward. "So tell me, since we're talking like adults now why?"

He's silent.

Then he sighs and leans both hands on the balcony rail. His shoulders rise and fall slowly.

"I did what I had to do."

I step in front of him, forcing eye contact. "That's not an answer. That's a politician's excuse."

He clenches his jaw again. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

He looks away, and that flicker in his eyes it's not coldness.

It's a shame.

Damn it.

"Did someone force you to?" I ask, softer now. "Was it Isabelle?"

His eyes snap back to mine, and for a split second, I see it. Guilt. Panic. Pain.

He says nothing.

I step back, my heart hammering.

"Wow." I give a bitter laugh. "So she was involved."

Still silent.

"You let me believe it was you," I whisper, my voice cracking despite myself. "You let me think you used me."

"I did," he says finally, his voice low. "At first. But not the way you think."

His words hit me like a cold slap. I reel inwardly but don't show it.

"At first?" I echo.

He runs a hand through his hair. "I married you because I had no choice. My inheritance, the board, everything was tied up in a clause. I needed to marry before I turned thirty, or Isabelle would gain majority control."

I blink.

That part... I remember vaguely. A clause in his father's will.

"But why me?" I demand. "You had models. Heiresses. You could've picked anyone."

He swallows. "I didn't want someone who'd trap me. I wanted someone who wouldn't demand more. Someone who..." He trails off.

"Someone disposable," I finished, my voice hollow.

"No." His tone sharpens. "Someone I thought I could protect from this world."

I stare at him.

"You thought divorcing me would protect me?"

"I thought keeping you was worse."

I don't know whether to scream or laugh.

He turns toward me. "By the time I realized how much I loved you, it was too late. Isabelle had evidence fabricated crap. She threatened your career, your mother's treatment, everything. I thought walking away was the only way to save you."

I feel like I've been punched.

"You could've told me," I whisper.

"I wanted to. God, Rita , I tried. But you were so... hurt. And I didn't know how to make it right."

We're quiet again.

The stars above Manhattan don't care about the messes we make.

And suddenly, I don't know what hurts more that he left me, or that he thought it was kindness.

I open my mouth to speak when my phone buzzes again.

Blocked number.

I answer instinctively, turning away from him.

The same voice.

"You're getting close to the truth. But not close enough. Ask him about the deal with Verdane Corp. Ask what he signed... and what he sacrificed."

The line goes dead.

I turn slowly, holding Cosmas 's gaze.

"What did you do with Verdane?" I ask quietly.

His eyes harden instantly. "That's not your concern."

I step closer. "It is now."

He stiffens. "Who's feeding you this?"

I fold my arms. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me the truth. All of it. Because I'm not walking away this time, Cosmas . Not until I know what you really gave up."

He hesitates. For the first time, I see real fear in his eyes.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because if I tell you... you'll never look at me the same way again."

---

I stare at him, heart in my throat.

"Try me."

His jaw tightens, but he reaches into his coat and pulls out a sealed envelope.

"This," he says, holding it out, "is what I gave up... to save you."

I take it with trembling fingers.

And as I open it, I know one thing for sure

Whatever's inside is about to change everything I thought I knew

There's a specific kind of fear that comes when you realize the truth might hurt more than the lie ever did.

I thought I was ready for answers.

Until I opened that envelope.

---

The envelope feels heavier than it should.

Cosmas stands across from me on the balcony, his eyes unreadable, fists clenched at his sides like he's bracing for impact. Maybe he is.

Maybe we both are.

I slide a finger beneath the seal and tear it open. Inside, there's a set of contracts official, legal. Verdane Corporation. My eyes skim over lines and signatures that feel like ghosts from a past I thought I understood.

But I don't.

I read the words again.

"Conditional Merger Agreement... forfeiture of voting rights... temporary transfer of control to Isabelle Moretti... nullification upon dissolution of marriage..."

My hand trembles.

"What the hell is this?" I breathe.

Cosmas doesn't speak for a moment. When he does, his voice is low and careful.

"That's what I signed the day after our wedding. Isabelle drew it up. She offered me a short-term merger with Verdane Corp that would ensure a billion-dollar expansion on the condition that I married and then divorced you within three months."

I look up, stunned.

"You agreed to that?"

His jaw tightens. "I didn't sign it for the money. I signed it to keep the company from going under. Verdane had patents we needed, tech that would've crushed Moretti Global if it went to our competitors. Isabelle backed me into a corner."

I want to scream.

He married me knowing he was going to divorce me. Worse, he signed a contract agreeing to it. My marriage had a timer on it from the start.

"And you never thought to tell me?" I ask, voice cracking.

"You were innocent," he says. "You didn't belong in that world of deals and blackmail and threats. I thought the cleanest cut would hurt you less."

"You were wrong," I whisper.

The paper crinkles in my hand as I clench it. My entire body shakes rage, heartbreak, betrayal surging through me like wildfire.

"You could've trusted me," I continued. "You could've let me in. But instead, you signed my name away like a business term."

"I didn't mean for it to happen like that," he says, stepping forward.

I recoil. "Don't. Don't act like this was accidental. You chose money. You chose control. And you sacrificed me."

He runs a hand over his face. "I tried to fix it. I tried to pull out of the deal after I realized I couldn't lose you."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because Isabelle threatened your mother's clinic," he snaps, eyes blazing. "She knew your weaknesses, Rita. She knew exactly how to corner me. And she did."

I still go.

"My mother?" I whisper.

He nods once. "Isabelle paid off the foundation that funded her treatments. She told me if I didn't file the divorce quietly, she'd pull the plug. Literally."

My mouth goes dry.

I remember that month how my mother's care had nearly doubled, and then, like a miracle, her treatments were suddenly extended, all expenses covered.

I thought it was fate. Grace.

But it was blood money.

"My mother doesn't know, does she?" I murmur.

"No. And she never will. That's the one thing I'll take to my grave."

For a moment, I can't breathe.

Everything I believed about our marriage, about its end, was never the whole truth.

He didn't just throw me away.

He sacrificed me.

But somehow, that hurts even more.

Because part of me wishes he'd just been cruel.

Cruelty is clean.

But love twisted into obligation? That's messy.

And far more dangerous.

"I should hate you," I say, voice barely above a whisper. "I built my entire life around hating you."

He swallows hard. "I know."

"And now..." I close the envelope and look away, "I don't even know what to feel."

He steps closer. "Then feel this."

His hand brushes mine, soft but electric. I look up.

His voice lowers, hoarse. "I never stopped loving you, Rita. Even when I knew I had to let you go."

His eyes say everything his mouth didn't five years ago. Regret. Pain. Hunger.

I shake my head slowly. "You don't get to say that. Not after the way you broke me."

"I'm not asking for forgiveness," he says. "Just a chance. One conversation. One hour where we stop pretending we're enemies."

I stare at him. My heart wants to say yes.

But my mind?

My mind remembers tears on silk pillows, empty beds, and unsigned letters I never had the courage to send.

"I'll think about it," I say coldly, stepping back.

Because I'm not that girl anymore.

And I won't be playing again.

---

As I turn to leave, my phone buzzes again.

This time, it's not blocked.

From: Eli Kingston.

You need to see what I found. Verdane wasn't working alone. Check your office. Now.

I freeze.

Because if Verdane wasn't working alone...

Then maybe Isabelle wasn't the only one pulling strings.

And someone close to me might be the one who sold me out.