The Billionaire Boss Invited His Barren Ex-Wife to Watch His Pregnant Bride Win, but He Didn’t Know She Had Just Given Birth to His Daughter

Clara didn't back down. Though every instinct screamed at her to run, she locked her eyes onto Lorenzo’s gray gaze.

"If I had wanted to kill your mother, Mr. Moretti," she said, her voice shaking with rage rather than fear, "I wouldn't have spent four minutes breaking her sternum to restart her heart while your useless security team stood around holding their suits."

Lorenzo didn't blink. He studied her face—the flush of anger on her cheeks, the fierce clarity in her brown eyes, the complete absence of deception.

"My security team is currently being questioned in the basement," Lorenzo said coldly. "The bottle of water you poured was brought up from the hotel's private cellar six minutes before table seven was seated. The seal was intact when it left the bar."

"I opened that bottle at the service station," Clara said instantly. "The cap snapped. I heard the seal crack."

"Which means whoever spiked the water did it before the bottle reached the floor," Lorenzo concluded. "Or..."

"Or Marcus," Clara blurted out.

Lorenzo’s left eyebrow raised slightly over his scar. "Marcus Henderson? The floor manager?"

"Marcus handed me the pitcher," Clara said, her brain racing as the pieces began to fit together. "Table seven was his assignment until ten minutes before you arrived. He suddenly reassigned it to me. He told me to pour the sparkling water immediately. He watched me cross the floor!"

Lorenzo turned toward the fireplace, staring into the flames. "Marcus Henderson has been on the Gilded Lily's payroll for four years. His brother runs a shipping logistics firm in Tacoma that recently lost a twenty-million-dollar contract to Moretti Maritime."

He turned back to Clara. "Where is Marcus now?"

"He fired me," Clara said bitterly. "Right after you left. He said I broke hospital protocol and ruined the restaurant's reputation."

A faint, cold smile touched the corner of Lorenzo’s mouth. It was not a pleasant sight; it looked like sunlight hitting ice.

"He fired the woman who saved my mother’s life," Lorenzo murmured. "How remarkably short-sighted of him."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small black phone, and tapped the screen twice.

"Frank," Lorenzo said into the speaker. "Bring Marcus Henderson to the waterfront office. Tell him he has an unexpected consultation regarding his retirement package."

He ended the call and looked back at Clara.

"You're free to go, Miss Vance. Frank will drive you home. The nurse will remain with your mother for the rest of the week at my expense."

Clara stared at him in disbelief. "That's it? You drag me out of my apartment at three in the morning, accuse me of poisoning your mother, and now you're sending me home?"

"I don't waste time on wrong conclusions," Lorenzo said, walking back to his desk. "You proved your innocence the moment you looked me in the eye without flinching. Liars always look at my scar."

"You shoved money into my apron!" Clara spat, taking a step toward his desk. "Like I was an inconvenience! Like you could buy off the fact that your mother almost died in front of thirty people!"

Lorenzo froze. He turned his head slowly, his gray eyes narrowing.

"I gave you cash because I do not owe debts, Miss Vance," he said quietly. "To anyone."

"Saving a life isn't a debt, Mr. Moretti," Clara snapped, her hand clutching the strap of her bag. "It's what decent people do when someone is dying. But I suppose a man who keeps armed guards in his library doesn't understand the difference."

For three long seconds, the quiet in the room was heavy enough to crush a man.

Lorenzo stared at her—this small, exhausted, broke waitress standing in his private library, speaking to him with a furious contempt that no one in Seattle had dared use in fifteen years.

Slowly, the ice in his expression shifted into something else. Something dark, intriguing, and entirely unexpected.