Maeve left her own wedding through the cathedral’s side door.
Again.
Apparently walking away from important events was becoming a habit.
“Maeve.”
Mateo followed her into the courtyard.
She turned.
“Did you?”
Rain from the night before still clung to the stone.
“Did you try to buy my building?”
“Yes.”
One word.
No excuse.
Maeve laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“It isn’t what Brandon implied.”
“I’ve had enough men telling me things aren’t what they look like.”
Mateo stopped several feet away.
“Fair.”
That answer irritated her more because it wasn’t defensive.
“Why?”
“The properties surrounding your studio are part of a redevelopment project.”
“I know.”
“Your building is the final privately owned parcel.”
“So you need me gone.”
“No.”
“You made three offers.”
“My company made three offers.”
“That distinction means absolutely nothing to me.”
“It should.”
“Why?”
“Because I rejected the recommendation to force a sale.”
Maeve paused.
“What?”
Mateo slipped his hands into his coat pockets.
“My development team wanted your property. You refused every offer. They suggested acquiring the mortgage and increasing pressure.”
Her stomach tightened.
“And?”
“I told them no.”
“Why?”
Mateo looked at her.
“Because I visited your studio.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
Maeve searched her memory.
Then she remembered.
A tall man bringing an old embroidered handkerchief.
He had worn jeans, a baseball cap, and glasses.
The handkerchief had belonged to his mother.
“You.”
Mateo nodded.
“My mother embroidered it when she was seventeen.”
“I repaired the border.”
“You spent twenty minutes explaining why replacing the damaged section completely would destroy what made it hers.”
Maeve remembered what she had told him.
Perfect isn't always the same as preserved.
“I didn’t know who you were.”
“That was why I liked talking to you.”
Her anger faltered.
Only slightly.
Mateo continued.
“When my team showed me the property map and I recognized the address, I told them the building stayed.”
“Then how did Brandon get involved?”
“He approached one of our subsidiaries claiming he could deliver the property after your marriage.”
Maeve’s blood chilled.
Mateo looked toward the cathedral.
“When I learned who you were last night, I realized exactly what he had been doing.”
Maeve wrapped her arms around herself.
“Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”
“Because you had just discovered your best friend was pregnant by your fiancé, and you were standing in an alley in the rain.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to decide what I can handle.”
“No.”
He accepted that too.
“I should have told you.”
Maeve studied him.
Brandon apologized by explaining why Maeve had forced him to hurt her.
Mateo simply admitted he had been wrong.
That distinction frightened her.
Because she liked it.
“I need space.”
“You’ll have it.”
“And I don’t want your money.”
“I haven’t offered any.”
“You will.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
“Probably.”
“Don’t.”
“Understood.”
Maeve returned to the hotel with her mother.
By afternoon, footage of the ruined wedding had already appeared online.
A guest had recorded part of Maeve’s speech.
Comments multiplied.
Some praised her.
Some mocked her size.
Some insisted the entire thing had been staged.
Maeve stopped reading.
She spent the next three days at her studio with Elena and a forensic accountant.
The truth grew uglier.
Brandon had diverted payments.
He had manipulated documents.
He had attempted to leverage Maeve’s property.
And Gemma had unknowingly signed papers connecting herself to several shell entities.
On Thursday morning, Gemma appeared at the studio.
Maeve almost refused to let her in.
Then she saw the folder in Gemma’s hands.
“I found everything.”
They sat opposite each other.
Gemma slid over bank records, emails, and contracts.
“He told me we were buying a condo together.”
Maeve examined them.
“These could help Elena.”
“I know.”
Gemma looked exhausted.
“I gave her copies.”
Maeve nodded.
Neither woman spoke.
Finally Gemma whispered, “I’m leaving Chicago.”
Maeve looked up.
“My sister lives in Milwaukee.”
“What about Brandon?”
“There is no Brandon.”
Gemma touched her stomach.
“I told him yesterday I was cooperating with investigators.”
“What happened?”
“He said I’d regret it.”
Maeve’s anger returned instantly.
“Did you tell Elena?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Gemma stood.
At the door she stopped.
“I know sorry doesn’t fix this.”
“No.”
“I was jealous of you.”
Maeve almost laughed.
“Of me?”
“You always thought I was the pretty one.”
“You were.”
Gemma shook her head.
“You built something. Your dad believed in you. Your employees love you. You walk into a room and people remember how you made them feel.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I thought Brandon choosing me meant I had finally won something you had.”
Maeve felt sadness rather than satisfaction.
“Gemma, he didn’t choose either of us.”
“I know.”
That was the last conversation they had for months.
By Friday, Maeve’s business accounts were temporarily frozen while ownership disputes were sorted out.
Payroll was due Monday.
Maeve stared at the numbers.
She had enough personal savings for one payroll.
Maybe two.
Then someone knocked.
Mateo stood outside.
Maeve sighed.
“I told you I didn’t want money.”
“I brought lunch.”
He lifted a paper bag.
“That’s suspicious.”
“It’s sandwiches.”
“From a mafia boss.”
“Alleged.”
Maeve stared at him.
Mateo smiled.
“Businessman.”
She let him inside.
They ate at her worktable.
Mateo did not mention the debt.
He asked about a nineteenth-century gown she was restoring.
Maeve explained silk weighting and why old fabric sometimes shattered.
“You actually care about this,” he said.
“Of course I care.”
“No. I mean you talk differently when you explain it.”
Maeve looked down at her sandwich.
“Most people get bored.”
“I’m not bored.”
That simple statement warmed something she did not want warmed.
“So why are you really here?”
Mateo wiped his hands.
“Brandon disappeared.”
Maeve froze.
“What?”
“He failed to appear for a meeting with investigators.”
“You think he ran?”
“I know he ran.”
“Where?”
“We don’t know.”
Maeve looked toward the front windows.
“Should I be worried?”
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately.
“Wonderful.”
“He blames you.”
“He cheated on me, stole from me, nearly bankrupted my company, and somehow I’m the problem?”
“Men like Brandon require someone else to be responsible for every consequence.”
Maeve looked at Mateo.
“You know a lot about men like Brandon.”
“I know a lot about bad men.”
“And are you one?”
Silence.
Mateo did not smile.
“I’ve done things you wouldn’t approve of.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’m trying to be.”
Maeve studied his face.
“What happened to your brother?”
Mateo looked away.
“Alessandro trusted the wrong person.”
“Did you find who killed him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
His eyes returned to hers.
“You don’t want that answer.”
Maybe she didn’t.
But something in his expression revealed that the feared Mateo Duca carried ghosts.
Maeve changed the subject.
“My payroll is Monday.”
“I know.”
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re thinking loudly.”
Mateo almost smiled.
Maeve stood.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“I believe you.”
He left.
Monday morning, Maeve paid her staff from her savings.
At noon, her largest museum client called.
They were terminating their contract because of “financial uncertainty.”
Maeve hung up and cried in the supply closet.
Ten minutes later, she washed her face and returned to work.
At four, another client canceled.
At five thirty, Elena arrived.
“We found where Brandon sent the money.”
Maeve looked up.
“Where?”
“An offshore account.”
“Can we recover it?”
“Eventually, maybe.”
“That doesn’t help Monday.”
“No.”
Maeve sat down.
Elena placed another document on the table.
“There is one option.”
“If Mateo sent you—”
“He didn’t.”
Maeve looked at the paper.
Duca Cultural Preservation Foundation.
“What is this?”
“They fund restoration work for museums, historic properties, and private collections.”
“I’m not taking charity from him.”
“It’s not charity. They need a conservator for a major project.”
Maeve narrowed her eyes.
“What project?”
“The Duca family estate.”
Of course.
“No.”
“Maeve, the contract is worth enough to keep your studio operating for a year.”
“No.”
“Read it before you decide.”
Maeve did.
The project involved restoring textiles, tapestries, ceremonial garments, and family heirlooms in a historic Lake Michigan estate.
Six months.
A legitimate professional contract.
No strange clauses.
No ownership.
No loans.
No favors.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
You said you didn’t want my money. So earn it. — M
Maeve stared at it.
Despite herself, she smiled.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then Brandon’s voice.
“You humiliated me.”
Maeve’s blood went cold.
“Where are you?”
“You ruined everything.”
“You ruined everything.”
“You think Duca is protecting you?”
Maeve looked toward Elena.
“He wants your property. He wants your company. And when he’s finished with you, he’ll throw you away too.”
“Goodbye, Brandon.”
“Maeve.”
She stopped.
His voice became quiet.
“You should have married me when you had the chance.”
The line went dead.
Elena was already calling security.
Maeve stared at Mateo’s contract.
For the first time, accepting it didn’t feel like surrender.
It felt like choosing where she wanted to stand.
She picked up a pen.
And signed.
---