Chapter 1
Nazariel Moretti, CEO of Moretti Corporation, one of the country’s largest conglomerates.
Half-Filipino, half-Italian.
Six-foot-four.
Brown hair, brown eyes.
Always the formidable boss in a classic black suit.
Tonight, the boss stood bare-chested in his lavish office, wearing nothing but sweatpants to cover the lower glory of his mouth-watering physique. He finished an hour-long run on the treadmill. It was nine in the evening; all the employees had gone home.
A fitness room connected to his executive office. He skipped the gym due to a mountain of paperwork. An absolute workhorse, work remained his top priority. He refused to stop until the job was done.
He glanced at the desk nameplate.
Nazariel Moretti, Chief Executive Officer.
He had come a long way. He was no longer the twenty-year-old fool lacking the courage to fight his father’s manipulation. Now thirty, he possessed everything—power, money, and most importantly… women.
As a certified womanizer, his friends warned him that a woman would cause his downfall.
They say a man’s woman is his ruin, akin to the story of Adam and Eve. The serpent deceived Eve, and Eve offered the forbidden fruit to Adam.
Lo and behold, the fall of man.
He refused to believe women destroyed men. If true, he would have fallen from his tower of success long ago. He would never allow anyone to ruin him, especially a woman.
Women were at his disposal.
They provided for his physical needs. It ended there. He did not need a permanent life partner. When people told him love was inevitable, he scoffed. In his entire life, he had never experienced true love.
He did not need it.
Whoever said love was a necessity?
He needed money and power, and he had acquired both. At thirty, he was a successful businessman from the prominent Moretti family. They boasted strong global business connections, with investments in real estate, telecommunications, electronics, banking, information technology, automotive, and business process outsourcing.
And he was the CEO.
Shoving a hand into his sweatpants pocket, he stared out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. He looked down at the buildings below. He felt everyone looking up at him. It fueled his pride.
He returned to his seat behind the expensive, well-polished executive desk. Absentmindedly, he pulled open the drawer containing a small black velvet box. He took it and opened it. The ring stared back at him, a reminder he was not free.
Ten years had passed since he married the daughter of their Santa Catalina villa’s caretaker, Calliope. His parents were frequently out of the Philippines for business, leaving Calliope’s family to maintain the estate. Only after his father suffered a mild stroke did his parents decide to settle in Santa Catalina for good.
He remembered Calliope’s face. Her eyes were beautiful, always looking at him with open admiration. A sharp nose. Thin lips. Her black, wavy hair cascaded down to her waist.
His parents funded her education. Luthor stayed with her while he studied in Manila. He spent his vacations in Santa Catalina, and for a time, he attended college there as punishment for his reckless behavior at the Manila university. He and Luthor were two years older than Calliope.
She had harbored feelings for him from the start. She stated it constantly. He did not reciprocate. She sulked whenever he had a girlfriend and celebrated whenever a relationship ended.
He sighed. His eyes drifted to the painting on the wall. Calliope painted it. It depicted the sun rising over a mountain. Four moons surrounded the sun. Below, the word ‘IDENTIFY’ was written. The ‘I’ did not resemble a letter; it looked like the number one.
Calliope had the painting delivered to his office years ago. He knew it held a hidden message. He couldn’t decipher it. He refused to ask her about it, determined to avoid any reason to speak with his wife.
Not once in ten years had he returned to Santa Catalina. He saw his parents when they traveled to Manila without Calliope. Nevertheless, he continued sending financial support. She remained his lawfully wedded wife.
On several occasions, his parents and half-brother pressured him to talk to Calliope, but the discussion always ended in a bitter argument.
And then one day, they stopped.
They likely grew tired of trying to convince him to fix his marriage. There was nothing to fix; he made it clear from the beginning that he felt no love for the woman he married.
During the first five years of their marriage, Calliope frequently asked Luthor to accompany her to visit him. He remained cold and distant. He was grateful she kept her identity a secret. She stayed quiet.
Without the wedding band or a wife present, people assumed he was single. Women flocked to him from all directions.
A phone call interrupted his thoughts.
Calliope calling…
He groaned, rubbing his temples. What did she want now? Come on, give up already, will you? he wanted to say.
For a long time, she sent cards for every occasion—birthdays, Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s Day, everything. Wasn’t she exhausted? He wondered why she hadn’t filed for an annulment. On his end, he preferred keeping his married civil status on paper to avoid being trapped, given his playboy lifestyle.
His married status served as a secret weapon—an access card to free sex without the fear of a woman dragging him to the altar the next day.
If their roles were reversed, he would never endure it. Asshole that he was, he abandoned her on their first night as husband and wife.
Terrible!
She did not even get angry with him. Fuck! According to his parents, Calliope never looked at another man. Her loyalty was both annoying and commendable. He couldn’t decide whether to like or hate her.
He remembered a quote: Loyalty isn’t grey. It is completely black or white.
Either you are 100% loyal, or you are 100% an asshole. The asshole sounded more appealing to him.
He could never be loyal.
He was not cut out for love. Love was not the reason he married Calliope; he married her to save the Moretti family from a looming scandal that threatened to resurrect ghosts of the past.
His father, Giuseppe, had impregnated his secretary. His legal wife, Eutropia, and his mistress, Fabiola, were pregnant at the same time. When Giuseppe chose his wife, the mistress created a scandal. The public turned against their family.
His grandfather lost the gubernatorial election that same year. It was a massive blow. Unable to handle the defeat and public mockery, the old man suffered a fatal heart attack. To make matters worse, Fabiola abandoned her son, Luthor, at the Moretti Villa.
Their family recovered years later. People respected them again. Then, Calliope’s parents—the villa’s caretakers—discovered he was sleeping with their daughter.
Sex. That was all. Calliope liked the dirty, kinky things they did, and fuck, they were consenting adults! However, Calliope’s father threatened to cause a scandal and ruin the family if he refused to marry his daughter.
Desperate to avoid another scandal, his father forced him to marry Calliope. He was a fool then, believing he couldn’t survive on his own, so he agreed. The agreement was a marriage in name only. He rubbed that in his wife’s face right after the wedding.
He also stated he refused to live under the same roof with her. Her parents did not care. All that mattered was that their daughter was legally a Moretti, entitled to the family wealth.
And he hated it.
“What do you want?” he asked coldly after answering the call.
Silence.
“I called to say happy anniversary.” Her voice held hesitation.
He let out a low, mocking laugh. “Is this a joke, Calliope?”
“N-no…”
“Why are you doing this? You are torturing yourself. I told you to stop hoping our marriage is real because it isn’t,” he stressed.
“It’s legal and binding,” she stammered. “We are married. It is legal. I am your wife.”
“I was honest with you from the start. I told you not to expect a real marriage. Don’t waste your life waiting or wishing that I will eventually feel the same for you. It will never happen.” His words were harsh.
“Give me a chance. Let’s try, even for a little while,” she pleaded, her voice cracking.
“You have wasted ten years of your life, Calliope. Enough. Is it not clear? I do not love you.”
A long silence passed before she spoke again. “Did you even try? No. You quit immediately. That’s unfair, Nazariel.”
“Which part of ‘I do not love you’ do you not understand? Is it so difficult to understand? I don’t fucking love you.” He scoffed. “Do you have anything else to say? We are going in circles.” He checked his watch. “I have a meeting in five minutes.”
She sighed, clearly fighting back sobs. “Thank you for your time—”
“Hon, what are you doing here? We have a dinner date tonight. It’s our first week together as a couple. Don’t tell me you forgot?”
He looked at the woman who appeared in the doorway. Phoebe. She was not his girlfriend. She was a casual lay. He did not correct her, knowing his wife was on the line. It was better that she heard it.
“Who are you talking to?” Phoebe asked, annoyed.
“No one.”
He heard Calliope gasp. A busy tone followed. Shrugging, he dropped the phone on the desk and approached Phoebe.
He flashed a menacing smile and grabbed her waist. The woman smiled sweetly and leaned in, but he pressed an index finger to her lips. He shook his head.
“Let’s get one thing straight: I am not your boyfriend. We have no relationship.”
