The Double Life of My Pregnant Ex-Wife (Carmen and Marco) novel Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The grand ballroom of the Venetti estate sparkled with opulence, every detail meticulously designed to impress. The clink of crystal glasses and soft strains of a string quartet wove through the room as Carmen Smith moved among the guests, her emerald-green gown a vision of elegance.

She smiled warmly at a pair of donors who had just pledged a generous sum, but her practiced charm masked a simmering frustration. Marco was late. Again.

With a quick glance at the grand staircase, Carmen’s thoughts churned. For weeks, Marco had been distant, his focus somewhere else—or someone else. She dismissed the notion, but a nagging feeling lingered, one she couldn’t shake.

“Mrs. Venetti, your gala is stunning as always,” came the smooth voice of Marisol Ricci, one of the city’s most persistent socialites. Her tone held a touch of feigned sweetness.

“Thank you, Marisol,” Carmen replied graciously.

Marisol leaned in, her jeweled earrings swaying. “But where is Marco? A man like him should be at his wife’s side.”

Carmen’s smile didn’t falter. “He’ll be here. Business, you know.”

Marisol gave a knowing hum, but before she could press further, the low murmur of voices shifted across the room. Heads turned toward the sweeping staircase, and Carmen’s gaze followed.

Marco Venetti had arrived.

He descended the stairs with the commanding presence of a man who ruled not just the room but the city itself. His tailored black suit fit him to perfection, and his dark eyes swept over the crowd with a cool detachment. Yet, to Carmen’s sharp eye, something was wrong. His jaw was set too tightly, his usual confidence tempered by an unusual grimness.

When their eyes met, she forced herself to smile as he approached. “You’re late,” she said softly, her tone even.

Marco leaned in briefly to kiss her cheek, a fleeting gesture that felt more like a formality. “I’m here now,” he murmured. Then, as though the conversation was over, he turned and made his way to the bar.

Carmen’s smile stayed in place, but irritation prickled at the edges of her composure. With a deep breath, she returned to the crowd, her polished exterior unbroken.

As the evening progressed, Carmen flitted between conversations, her practiced charm masking her growing unease. Marco stood at the periphery, nursing a drink, his expression unreadable.

“Did you hear?” a voice drifted past her as she refilled her glass at the champagne station. Carmen froze subtly, her ears pricking at the familiar name.

“Arianna De Luca?” a woman whispered to her companion.

“I thought she’d fled for good,” the other replied.