The Wife He Underestimated Chapter 10
Three years after I left Marcus Steele, I received an invitation.
He was getting married. To someone new. Not Victoria–she’d left him for a tech billionaire the moment his money dried up. Someone else. A lawyer,
the invitation said. Someone sensible.
Good for him.
I didn’t attend. But I sent a gift–a small sculpture by an artist we’d both admired once, a lifetime ago.
The card was simple: “May you find what you’re looking for. I.M.”
My assistant asked if I was okay when the invitation arrived.
“I’m fine,” I said. And I meant it.
Because I was fine. Better than fine.
I was extraordinary.
Moretti Capital Partners had become one of the most respected funds in the world. We’d expanded into venture capital, real estate, emerging technologies. My team was brilliant, diverse, hungry.
I’d become exactly who I was meant to be.
I’d bought a house in London–Georgian townhouse in Belgravia, all history and elegance. I’d bought an apartment in Milan, a villa in Tuscany. I traveled for business and pleasure, often blurring the lines between them.
I’d dated a few men. Erik Lindström for six months-we’d broken up amicably, staying friends and business partners. A French diplomat for a few weeks. An architect from Barcelona who made me laugh..
Nothing serious. Nothing that made me want to sacrifice myself again.
Maybe someday. Maybe never.
Either way, I was complete.
On my thirty–fifth birthday, I threw a party at my London home.
Investors, artists, friends from this new life. People who knew me as Isabelle Moretti, the woman who’d revolutionized boutique investment banking.
Father flew in from Zurich. Alessandro from Milan. Sophie, my assistant turned friend. Erik and his new girlfriend.
All these people who made up my real life.
As I stood among them, champagne in hand, looking at the art on my walls and the success I’d built with my own hands and mind, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years.
Complete
10
Not because I’d found the right partner or the right company or the right compromise.
But because I’d found myself.
The woman who didn’t need anyone to make her powerful–she was born that way.
The woman who didn’t need validation or protection or partnership to thrive–she was enough.
The Moretti legacy, fully claimed. Fully realized.
I raised my glass to the room. “To new beginnings,” I said.
Everyone cheered.
And somewhere in New York, Marcus Steele was building his new life with his new wife.
And I was building mine.
And never the two shall meet again.
And that was exactly how it should be.
I’d learned that I didn’t need someone to complete me.
I was already complete.
I didn’t need someone to make me powerful.
I was born powerful.
I didn’t need someone to see me.
I saw myself.
And that was the greatest freedom of all.
