Chapter 3

"For Christ's sake, Isabella, can't you be reasonable for once?" Marcus snarled, holding Victoria. "It's a stupid signature. Is it that big of a deal?"

He grabbed the folder with one hand, scribbled his name without a single glance at the page, and threw it back at me.

"There! Now can we go?"

I took the document, looking at his messy signature. He'd signed my resignation without even looking at it, all for her. A strange quiet settled over me.

"Thanks," I said, stepping aside. "You two should get to the hospital."

As Marcus rushed past with Victoria, she looked back weakly and whispered, "Thank you for understanding, Isabella…"

I stood alone in the empty office, carefully folded the document, and put it in my purse. Just like that, six years of my life and two years at this job were over, sealed on a single piece of paper.

Ten minutes later, Marcus called.

"Isabella, I'm sorry about my tone earlier," he said, sounding apologetic. "It was just low blood sugar. Victoria's fine now."

"It's okay. I get it," I said calmly. "She was sick."

"You're… you're not mad?" He sounded surprised.

"Why would I be mad?" I let out a small laugh. "Marcus, let's have dinner tonight at home. I'll make your favorite—Italian roasted chicken."

There was a pause. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll be home by seven."

"Great. I'll be waiting."

After hanging up, I dropped the document off at HR. Amy was still buzzing about the white roses, completely unaware of what she had just co-signed.

Everything was going according to plan.

For the next few days, I acted like nothing had happened. I cooked his favorite meals, watched his favorite movies, and even suggested we go to his friend's birthday party together.

Marcus visibly relaxed. He probably thought I’d gotten over it, that I’d dropped the whole thing with Victoria.

Then the gown arrived.

A large, beautifully wrapped box was delivered to the gallery that afternoon. The courier confirmed my identity before handing it over.

"A custom gown for you, Miss Isabella. From Mr. Moretti."

Moretti?

I opened the box. Inside lay a pure black silk evening gown. The cut was perfect, every detail exuding luxury. The tag read Valentino Atelier.

Amy leaned in, her eyes wide. "Oh my god, Isabella! That's Valentino haute couture! That’s at least fifty grand! Mr. Marcus is spoiling you!"

Other colleagues gathered around, gushing over the dress.

"Is this for a special occasion?"

"It has to be an engagement party! Isabella, are you guys getting engaged?"

Just then, my phone rang. It was my mother.

"Isabella, did the gown arrive? The Moretti family's charity gala is the day after tomorrow. Dante will be formally introducing you."

I stepped away. "Mom, isn't this a little fast?"

"This was your decision, honey. Besides, Dante is a good man. You won't regret this."

I hung up and rejoined my colleagues, who were still fawning over the gown.

"You're so lucky, Isabella. To have a boyfriend like Marcus…"

"Yeah, he must love you so much."

I was about to say something when Marcus appeared at the gallery entrance. He was in a good mood, a coffee in his hand.

"Isabella, are you free this after—"

He stopped short. His eyes landed on the black gown displayed on the table.

He walked over, picked it up, and checked the tag. His face darkened instantly.

"What is this?"

"A gown," I said flatly.

"I know it's a gown!" he hissed, lowering his voice. "What's the meaning of this? Having it sent here for everyone to see?"

The others sensed the tension and quietly dispersed.

I found his reaction almost funny. "What do you think it means?"

"Isabella, are you trying to force my hand?" he said, his voice laced with anger. "To push me into a wedding? I told you I'm going to marry you. Why can't you just give me some time—"

"You're overthinking it," I interrupted, refusing to listen to his pathetic excuses. "It's just a gift from a friend."

He looked at me, suspicious. "Really?"

"Of course." I stood up. "By the way, Marcus, that resignation document you signed the other day? I've already submitted it."

"What resignation document?" He looked completely lost. "When did I sign a resignation document?"

"The day Victoria felt dizzy. You signed it," I said, my tone perfectly even. "Don't you remember?"

The color drained from his face. "I thought that was just a standard business form."

"You signed it." I watched his face go pale. "If you don't believe me, you can check the copy with Amy."