Chapter 1

At the party, my husband, Don Adrian Moretti, suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me—right there, in front of all his underbosses.

"Chloe's a match for your heart. The surgery can't wait any longer."

My throat seized up instantly, but I wasn't surprised.

I gave a bitter smile. "But a person only has one heart."

Adrian looked up at me. "Don't worry. I'll contact the best doctors in New York. They'll fit you with an artificial heart."

"Adrian, I'm three months from my due date."

He was silent for half a second, then said quietly, "The baby... we can have another one."

I stared at him blankly.

The next moment, a girl's bright laugh rang out from nearby.

"Boss, there was never actually a match. I was messing with you. I didn't think you'd actually go and beg Mrs. Moretti."

Someone immediately chimed in with a laugh.

"That joke's brutal. If Chloe said she was a match with me, I'd probably already be strapped to an operating table by Boss's guys."

Everyone was laughing.

Only I sat quietly on the sofa, took out my phone, and booked an induced labor procedure for the next day.

Adrian had never truly gotten angry at Chloe.

Chloe Frost was someone he'd personally brought into the Moretti family. Three years ago, she'd taken a bullet for the family. After that, everyone knew Don Moretti gave her special indulgence.

But this time, after he stood up, his expression darkened in a way rarely seen.

The room went quiet.

Someone whispered a reminder to Chloe. "You took this joke too far—you brought Ava into it. Boss never used to tolerate anyone disrespecting her."

"The year Don Moretti first took over the family, someone made a vulgar joke about Ava in public. He personally broke three of the guy's ribs."

Chloe froze, then her eyes quickly turned red.

She tugged timidly at Adrian's cuff.

"I'm sorry, Boss. I was just trying to joke around."

Adrian said nothing.

She turned to look at me, eyes wet, voice trembling.

"Mrs. Moretti, I didn't mean it."

Someone immediately spoke up for her.

"That's just Chloe's personality—she talks without thinking. Don't take it to heart, either of you."

"Exactly, Boss. She's been with you three years, and she's done things for the family. At last year's anniversary gala, you even publicly thanked her. You can't push her away over one joke."

Adrian's expression finally softened.

He raised his hand and wiped the tear from the corner of Chloe's eye.

"Don't make jokes like that again."

Chloe nodded eagerly.

Then he turned to me, a trace of apology in his tone.

"I'm sorry, Ava. I came to you before confirming the details."

Giving up a heart—something that monumental—and he reduced it to "came to you."

This wasn't the first time.

Whenever it involved Chloe, the normally cold and ruthless Don Moretti became hesitant.

On Christmas Eve, just because Chloe mentioned a stomachache, he drove over a thousand miles to Miami.

When people asked, he simply said, "She's not well. I was worried something might happen to her."

But I was five months pregnant, waiting for him all night at home, and he wasn't worried about that.

With me, he was always calm to the point of seeming emotionless.

"Ava, pregnancy is naturally hard. It'll get better once the baby's born."

I became irritable, and he chalked it up to hormones, offered a few perfunctory words of comfort, then disappeared into his study to handle family business.

Every single time, I had to force down the urge to go after him.

But at the launch event—the one that had cost him five years of effort, the one that finally brought Moretti Holdings into the legitimate market—the first person he thanked was Chloe Frost.

A young subordinate with minimal seniority who regularly made mistakes reading accounts.

By the time I found out, the news had already gone public.

In the interview footage, Adrian's expression was calm.

"Chloe isn't the most capable person under me, but she's certainly the most resilient."

"I'm grateful she appeared in my life and gave me the courage to keep going."