Chapter 4

Julian pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose.

His eyes darted between me and the screen.

All he had to say was "I don't know her," and this whole farce would be over.

But Julian said nothing.

He looked down, avoiding my pleading eyes.

When he raised his head again, his face was a mask of sorrow.

"Ma'am."

He sighed. "I warned you a long time ago that nothing could ever happen between us.

"Why won't you leave me alone? You even... followed me to my wife's gala to make a scene?"

My eyes went wide. My blood ran cold.

"What did you say?" I stared at him, my voice shaking in disbelief. "Are you crazy? I don't even know you!"

Julian stopped looking at me and turned to take Isabella's hand.

"Baby, I'm sorry."

He said it so tenderly.

"She's the one who kept chasing me. I felt sorry for her and didn't shut her down hard enough. But I swear to God, you're the only one for me.

"Let me handle this. Don't get your hands dirty over trash like her, okay?"

Something tender flickered in Isabella's eyes before her face twisted with rage.

"Bitch!"

She spun around and drove the pointed toe of her high heel into my stomach.

I never saw it coming. The kick sent me flying across the floor.

It felt like my insides had been knocked loose. The pain doubled me over, and sweat soaked my gown.

"What do you have to say now?"

Isabella shrieked, dropping her socialite act completely.

"My husband said it himself! How can you still deny it?"

I clutched my stomach, gasping for air.

One look at Julian's sanctimonious expression, and I finally understood.

Of course he knew the woman in the photo wasn't me.

He wanted to protect his real lover, so he'd thrown me under the bus without a second thought just to calm his wife down.

"Julian... you'll rot in hell for this..."

I glared at him, my teeth clenched.

Guilt flashed across Julian's face, but he quickly covered it up.

"Get her up."

Isabella's voice was ice-cold.

"Make her kneel properly!"

Several bodyguards forced me to my knees on the cold floor, facing the big screen.

Isabella pointed at Ethan, who lay limp and unresponsive, and gave her men an order.

"Drag this idiot over there!"

The bodyguards dragged Ethan like a dead dog and flung him toward the six-and-a-half-foot ice-sculpture champagne tower in the middle of the hall.

It had already been smashed in the chaos, and the floor was covered with sharp broken glass and freezing water.

"No!"

I realized what she was about to do and fought like crazy.

"The cold and the blood loss will stop his heart! Please, leave him alone!"

Isabella didn't listen.

A bodyguard kicked Ethan into the broken glass and ice water.

The moment the freezing water touched him, Ethan convulsed violently, his eyes rolling back in pain.

The monitor patch on his chest let out a long, piercing alarm.

"Ethan!"

I screamed so hard my voice cracked.

Isabella came up to me, grabbed my hair, and raised her hand.

Crack!

She slapped me hard across the face.

My cheek swelled up at once, and I tasted blood.

She rubbed her wrist, her eyes vicious.

"That one's to teach you some manners."

She raised her hand again.

Crack!

"That one's for being a slut!"

The alarm from his monitor patch grew fainter. I watched the life drain from Ethan's face as he lay in the ice water, and something inside me died.

I bit my lip until it bled and stared hard at her.

"You'd better pray you can kill me today. Because if you don't, I promise you'll regret ever being born."

Isabella burst out laughing.

"I don't know if I'll regret this, but I'll make you regret being the other woman!"

Her eyes swept over my white couture gown, worth a few hundred thousand dollars.

Jealousy and spite twisted together on her face.

"Don't you love wearing white and playing innocent to seduce men? Let's see you seduce anyone without that pretty dress!"

She took a pair of sharp tailor's scissors from a bodyguard.

Snip.

The cold metal blades scraped together.

She grabbed my dress by the neckline and cut into the silk over my chest.

Rrrip.

She cut all the way down to my waist, ripping the expensive fabric open.

Cold air hit my bare skin. If she cut any further, I'd be exposed in front of everyone, a complete laughingstock.

"No... don't touch me!"

I twisted and fought, but the bodyguards held me down.

Isabella savored my humiliation, tracing the tip of the scissors along my collarbone.

"Bet it wasn't easy getting nice things by sleeping with men. Too bad they're about to become rags."

She raised the scissors high and aimed at the edge of my bodice, ready to cut straight through.

Humiliated and hopeless, I closed my eyes.

BOOM!

The ballroom's heavy mahogany doors were locked shut with steel chains.

A deafening crash rang out, as if the doors had been hit by heavy artillery. The hinges snapped, and wood splinters flew everywhere.

Then something ripped the steel shutters open, leaving a gaping hole.

A tall figure strode through the opening like a demon walking out of hell.

He held a smoking Beretta, and his voice was cold as death.

"Whose sister do you think you're touching?"