ACCIDENTALLY MRS. MORETTI

Chapter 1

What Happens in Vegas

(Summer’s POV)

The music in the club was loud enough to shake my ribs—maybe that was the tequila. Bass thudded through my chest, relentless, matching the frantic beat of my own heart. Pink light swept across the room in dizzying flashes, catching sequins, bare shoulders, raised glasses.

Somewhere behind me, Kiara was screaming Beyoncé lyrics like she was being personally evaluated, while two of Chloe’s bridesmaids attempted to dance on a velvet booth they absolutely should not have been standing on.

Vegas glittered.

Vegas lied.

And my life had imploded twenty-three minutes ago.

I stared at my phone again.

Still there. Still real.

Three photos. One video.

Seven years reduced to something you could scroll past.

My fingers went numb around the phone.

Leon Bellamy sat in a rooftop bar back home in Denver, one arm slung around a brunette I recognised instantly. The one I’d been told not to worry about. The one who was “just a friend.”

Because I trusted him.

Because I wasn’t—

Stupid.

In the first photo, they were laughing.

In the second, her hand rested against his chest like it belonged there.

In the third, he leaned in—too close, too familiar—his expression soft in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.

The video was worse.

Not blurry. Not ambiguous. Not something that could be explained away.

They kissed.

Slow. Familiar. Certain.

Like this wasn’t new.

Like I was the only one who didn’t know.

Intimate. Public. Like he didn’t care who saw.

The caption sat beneath it, bright and smug.

someonebetty: Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.

My throat tightened.

I locked the screen before I could do something dramatic, like throw my phone into the nearest champagne tower.

“Summer!”

Kiara collided into my side, breathless and glowing, hair wild around her face, cheeks flushed. “Why do you look like someone just ruined your life?”

I smiled too quickly. “No reason.”

Her eyes narrowed immediately.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The smiling-while-internally-dying thing.”

“I do not internally die.”

“You absolutely do.” She stole my drink and took a sip. “Okay. Tell me who I’m fighting.”

“Nobody.”

“Summer.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my shoulders to stay loose.

Not here.

Not in the middle of Chloe’s hen party, packed with strangers, bad remixes, and too much attention.

“Pre-wedding jitters,” I said lightly. “I just need some air.”

Her expression softened, concern replacing suspicion.

That almost undid me.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be fine. Go back to terrorising the DJ.”

She hesitated, then pointed a warning finger at me. “Five minutes.”

“Five minutes.”

I slipped away before she could change her mind, weaving through bodies and spilled drinks, past laughter that felt too loud and too easy. The bass thudded against my back as I pushed through the doors into the corridor.

Cool air hit my skin.

The noise dulled instantly, replaced by the distant clatter of slot machines and someone shouting triumphantly down the hall like they’d just discovered electricity.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

Seven years.

Seven years of shared routines, future plans, inside jokes, compromises. I felt stupid just thinking about it.

My phone buzzed.

Leon.

Of course.

I stared at his name without answering.

Then a message appeared.

Leon: Babe, don’t start spiralling. It’s not what it looks like.

A short, incredulous laugh escaped me.

Not what it looked like.

Right.

Because he’d just accidentally—

No.

I shut that thought down.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Steady. Unhurried. Deliberate.

I wiped beneath my eyes quickly and straightened just as he came into view.

Just great.

Of all the men to run into while my life was collapsing, it had to be him.

Damien Moretti.

Black suit jacket open, dark shirt beneath, one hand in his pocket, the other holding hotel paperwork. The lighting caught the silver at his temples, sharpened the line of his jaw.

His gaze landed on me immediately. And stayed.

He wasn’t intrusive or careless. Just attentive, and that somehow unsettled me more. Damien always looked at people carefully, like he noticed more than he said.

Which was unfortunate for me, considering I currently resembled a woman one inconvenience away from a complete psychological collapse.

“You look like you want to bolt,” he said calmly.

I folded my arms, more to steady myself than anything else. “Observant.”

A faint shift touched his mouth.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes dropped briefly to the way I was gripping my phone, then lifted again.

A quiet, unconvinced sound left him. “Mm.”

That stupid sound felt too knowing.

“I’m serious. Everything’s fine.”

“Summer.”

The way he said my name—low, even, patient— pulled something tight in my chest. Leon would have argued, made this about me being dramatic. Damien just… waited.

“I just…” My voice caught. “I needed five minutes."

He didn’t move closer. Didn’t crowd me. He studied me for a long moment. Then, without another question, he stepped to the side and leaned casually against the opposite wall, giving me space without leaving.

No pressure. No interrogation. Just presence.

We stood like that for a few seconds, the muffled thud of music vibrating faintly through the walls.

“Kiara’s threatening to fight someone,” he said eventually.

Despite everything, I snorted. “That sounds about right.”

“She also attempted to climb onto the DJ booth.”

“I fully believe that.”

“She blamed tequila.”

“Was tequila involved?”

“Extensively.”

A hint of warmth touched his voice. It settled something in me I hadn’t realised was shaking.

Silence returned.

Heavier this time.

Closer.

I became painfully aware of things I shouldn’t have been noticing. His cologne—clean, understated. The quiet steadiness in the way he held himself. The contrast between control and ease.

I looked away quickly.

This was Damien Moretti.

Kiara’s uncle. The man who raised her and somehow managed to look both exhausted and intimidating at all times.

Not a man I should be noticing anything about — especially not while my engagement was quietly collapsing in my hands.

Then my phone lit up again.

Leon.

Damien’s gaze flicked to the screen, then back to me.

Something in his expression shifted.

“He hurt you.”

It wasn’t a question.

The words landed cleanly, and for some reason, that was what broke through...Not the photos. Not the video. Not the message still sitting unanswered.

Just… being seen. Just someone acknowledging it without making me feel crazy.

I let out a shaky breath. “That obvious?”

“Yes.”

I looked down at my engagement ring. It felt different now. Heavier. Cheap. Like costume jewellery pretending to mean something.

“He’s with another woman,” I said finally, the words quieter than I expected. “And apparently not worried about who knows it.”

Damien went very still.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Simple. Direct.

And that hurt more than anything else.

“Why?” My voice thinned. “It’s not your fault. The pathetic part is I think everyone else knew. I was the only one stupid enough to believe him.”

“No,” he said quietly. “They lied to you. That’s not the same thing.”

“How do you know?”

A pause. The kind that felt deliberate.

“Because if Kiara suspected, his car would already be on fire.”

A surprised laugh slipped out—real, unguarded.

His gaze softened.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Leon: Can you not do this right now?

I stared at the message, disbelief hollowing out something in my chest. Something cold settled into place.

Not: I’m sorry.

Not: Please let me explain.

Just: Can you not do this right now?

“I’ve been in a relationship by myself.”

The words hung between us.

heavier now that they were said out loud.

Damien didn’t respond straight away. He just looked at me like he was weighing something he wasn’t sure he should say.

Something shifted behind his eyes. Subtle. Controlled. But there.

Then, quietly, “Then maybe it’s time someone did.”

My breath caught.

Not because of the words.

Because of how easily he’d said them. Like it wasn’t a grand statement. Like it was just… obvious.

Something tightened low in my chest. Unfamiliar. Dangerous.

For a second, neither of us moved.

And that was the problem.

I straightened abruptly, the moment snapping under the weight of my own awareness. “I should go back inside.”

Damien pushed off the wall, ease returning to his posture, control settling neatly over everything.

“Summer—”

“I’m fine, Damien… Mr. Moretti.”

The change of title hung in the air between us. His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes cooled, like a door closing softly—and locking.

He accepted the distance I’d handed him, even if I hated that I’d put it there.

His gaze held mine a second longer than it should have.

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t stop me.

Just inclined his head and stepped aside.

Letting me go.

I walked back toward the noise, the music growing louder with every step, the lights brighter, harsher.

My phone buzzed again. I didn’t look at it.

Behind me, the corridor fell quiet.

But the feeling followed.

And as I pushed back into the crowd, one thought settled in, steady and impossible to ignore—

Something had already shifted.

And nothing was going back.