Chapter 11

(Dante's POV)

The screen wasn't finished.

The next videos were even more shocking. Isabella hadn't just bullied Rose; she had tormented nearly every poor girl in the school.

A red-haired girl was pushed down the stairs, her arm breaking on impact. An Asian girl's face was scarred with a pen. A Black girl was stripped naked and forced to kneel in the snow, begging for mercy.

Each clip was irrefutable proof of her crimes.

"Enough! Turn it off!" Isabella shrieked, trying to run to the console, but security held her back.

Suddenly, an angry shout erupted from the crowd. "It was her! That's the monster!"

A middle-aged woman in a server's uniform burst out of the crowd and lunged at Isabella, grabbing a handful of her hair. "My daughter killed herself because of you! She was only sixteen!"

Then more "staff" rushed forward.

"My son is in a wheelchair because of what you did!"

"You ruined my sister's life!"

They were the families of the victims. They had been tipped off and had infiltrated the wedding staff, waiting for this very moment.

Isabella was swarmed. Her expensive dress was torn, her perfect makeup smeared by scratches. She screamed for help, but no one moved to her aid.

Dante stood frozen, the videos replaying in his mind. He remembered Rose's despair in the hospital, her struggles as they dragged her away, her fear every time she faced Isabella.

Rose had never been lying.

They were the real villains. He and Marco weren't righteous judges; they were accessories to a monster.

"Isabella..." Dante's voice was a low growl. "You used us."

Isabella, her hair a mess and her face swollen, finally broke free. She saw Dante walking toward her and a flicker of hope appeared in her eyes. "Dante! Help me! These people are crazy!"

She tried to run into his arms, but he shoved her away so hard she fell to the ground.

"You think I'm still going to protect you?" Dante's eyes were burning with rage. "What did you take us for? Your personal tools for revenge?"

Marco stared at her with pure disgust.

"No! It's not like that!" Isabella screamed. "Rose is framing me!"

"Shut your mouth!" Dante kicked a nearby chair over. "The proof is right there! How long are you going to keep lying?"

The wail of police sirens grew closer. Someone had called the cops.

A dozen officers stormed in and quickly took control. They arrested Isabella. As they cuffed her, she was still screaming curses.

The beautiful wedding was now a chaotic, pathetic joke.

Just then, Dante's and Marco's phones buzzed at the same time.

A text from Rose.

It was a single photo, no words. An ultrasound and a hospital document, clearly stating: Patient Rose Rivera, 8 weeks pregnant, voluntary termination of pregnancy.

Dante's hand started to shake, the phone nearly slipping from his grasp.

Marco saw the photo and froze. He remembered Rose vomiting that night, the way she'd clutched her stomach…

"She... she was pregnant..." Marco's voice was a choked whisper.

Without a doubt, it was his child.

Dante immediately dialed Rose's number. The number was no longer in service. He tried a dozen times. All disconnected.

Meanwhile, at O'Hare International Airport, Rose sat in the departure lounge, looking at her phone. She knew Dante and Marco were desperately trying to call her, filled with regret.

But it was too late.

Rose gently touched her stomach. The baby was gone, but a dull ache remained, a constant reminder of what she had endured.

The boarding call echoed through the terminal. Rose stood up, snapped her SIM card in half, and tossed the entire phone into a trash can.

From this day on, Rose Rivera was a ghost in Chicago.

She walked toward the gate without looking back, her silhouette resolute and final.