Dumped By My EX, I Picked Up A Tycoon

Isabella’s POVMy heart hammered against my ribs, each beat pumping molten fury through my veins. How dare he stand there? How dare he breathe the same air after what he'd done?The realization hit like a physical blow—two years of whispered promises, two years of stolen moments, all while he'd been playing house with Giana. My nails bit into my palms as I forced myself to walk past him. For Giana's sake, I wouldn't make a scene.Damon grabbed my wrist, that familiar touch now setting my skin on fire. "Belly—""Don't." I shoved him back, my voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You lost the right to call me that."He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne—the one I'd bought him last Christmas—making my stomach churn. "Just let me explain.""Oh, please." A bitter laugh escaped me. "Let me guess—this was all some elaborate rehearsal? Giana's just your stand-in until the real proposal?"His jaw tightened. "Don't be cruel. You know I don't want this, but I need her family's money

Isabella’s POVMorning light lanced through my skull as I staggered from the Uber, each ray like a white-hot needle behind my eyes. The throbbing in my temples came equal parts from last night's vodka and today's devastating reality check.Twenty-four fucking hours.That's all it took to detonate my life.First, Damon—five years of promises and plans—dropping to one knee for Giana while I stood there like a discarded toy. Then, drowning my humiliation in bottom-shelf martinis until a dangerous stranger with ice-blue eyes became my terrible decision. Now my skin still carried the memory of his hands, my muscles ached in deliciously shameful places, and my dress smelled like expensive sin and regret.And Alan—sweet, brave Alan—leaving that voicemail that shattered what was left of my heart: "Hey Belly... stage two. But I'm tough, yeah? Don't you worry."The lie burned worse than the liquor. I knew exactly what the treatment cost was. Knew the orphanage's meager funds would vanish faster

Matteo’s POVMy son stood before me—blazer rumpled, collar stained with what I dearly hoped was ketchup—his small chest heaving. Whether from his escapade or anticipation of my reaction, I couldn't tell.I set down my Montblanc pen with deliberate precision. The click echoed through the silent study. "This makes three times this month, Noah."He jutted his chin upward, those familiar blue eyes—mirrors of my own—blazing with rebellion. "I just wanted to see the new LEGO store!""Alone?" My voice remained dangerously calm. "Without notifying anyone?""Anton was with me!" He gestured to the stone-faced bodyguard by the door."After you evaded him for forty-three minutes." The number tasted like acid. Forty-three minutes where the unthinkable could have happened. Where the unthinkable had happened to me at his age.Noah's lower lip quivered before he caught himself, teeth sinking into the soft flesh. He remembered our last conversation—Morettis don't show weakness. The memory curdled in m

Isabella’s POVThe flickering streetlamp cast Moretti in fractured gold, turning him into some untouchable deity watching mortals squirm.Of course.Our first time seeing each other since that night, and it had to be when Damon had me backed against a graffiti-stained wall like some damsel in distress.If this is a coincidence, I could curse it for my whole life. Embarrassment fell upon me like a miscalculated step on stairs, just as I miscalculated the fact that we would never cross paths again."You know him," Damon hissed, the accusation laced with something darker. Possession. Paranoia.I shoved him off with a snarl. "It's none of your business anymore."The alley swallowed my hurried footsteps as I turned to leave, but Damon wasn’t done."We’re not over until I say we’re over, Isabella!"His hand shot out to grab me—Only to be intercepted mid-air by a tanned, tattooed wrist.Moretti didn’t even look at him. Just stared at me over Damon’s shoulder, “You’re in trouble again, Isabe

Isabella’s POVThere was no time for me to change my clothes. I went straight to the address where I needed to be. Moretti Empire. The building rose in steel and glass with sharp lines curving through the clouds—arrogant and tall, holding its power. Wind whispers around the edges in constant hush as it looks endless from where I’m standing. Breathtaking, as it should be.The fact that I am here shows my surrender. I embraced my defeat for a more important gain. My heartbeat was louder than my steps—so clear, so sharp, so intense. The sleek, spacious, and elegant design of the interior welcomed me—screaming luxury, but it wasn’t the reason I’m here.“I’m here for Mr. Matteo Moretti.”The calm and composed reception staff standing behind the wooden reception desk, detailed with sleek glass, checked me thoroughly. Her eyes lost their professionalism. “Mr. Matteo doesn’t accept visitors like you, miss.”I was taken aback. “Visitors like…me?” I made a short pause. “And what’s that supposed