Chapter 5

Isabella’s scream tore through the lounge.

The staff froze. Someone called for an ambulance while another reached for security.

I casually tossed the wine bottle aside. The crash as it hit the floor made Isabella flinch again.

“I always repay my debts,” I said. “Remember that.”

Vincent set the medication aside and pressed a folded napkin over Isabella’s wound.

“Keep pressure on it,” he ordered a member of staff.

Then he turned to me.

“Tell me what happened.”

“She put my mother’s necklace on a stray dog and insulted her.”

“What?” For the first time, his voice lost its usual control.

Isabella began to cry.

“I was angry. I didn’t mean—”

“Show me the video.”

Her face went pale.

Vincent picked up the phone beside the table and played the recording. The dog appeared on the screen with my mother’s pearls around its neck while Isabella’s voice mocked her death.

When the video ended, Vincent looked at her.

“You used twenty million dollars of my money to desecrate a dead woman’s belongings?”

“I only did it because Sophia—”

“Enough.”

Isabella fell silent.

Vincent turned to me.

“What she did was vicious. I will recover the necklace, and she will answer for it.”

“You said you would handle it before the gavel fell.”

“I would have.”

“After letting her take it.”

His jaw tightened.

“You still had no right to hurt her.”

He had ignored my pain until I forced him to see it. Now my reaction was the only thing that mattered.

“You’ve spent ten years telling everyone you’re the only man who can control me,” I said. “Go ahead, Vincent. Control this.”

For one brief second, something moved behind his eyes.

Then he took out his phone.

“Captain Russo.”

I stared at him as the call connected.

“Send two officers to St. Augustine Auction House. There has been an aggravated assault.”

“Vincent.”

His gaze remained on mine.

“You need to understand that your actions have consequences.”

“You think jail will make me obedient?”

“I think a night without your name or my protection might stop you before your next impulse destroys your life.”

He spoke as if jail were another treatment prescribed for my own good.

“You’ll be held privately,” he continued. “No general population, no press, and no permanent record. When you have calmed down, I’ll bring you home.”

“Home?”

“Where else would you go?”

Ten minutes later, two officers entered.

“Mrs. Sophia Moreau?”

“Yes.”

“You’re under arrest for aggravated assault.”

I did not resist.

As one officer closed the cuffs around my wrists, Vincent spoke to Captain Russo.

“She stays in private holding. My doctor will examine her tonight. No one speaks to her without my attorney present.”

Russo nodded. “Understood.”

My phone lit up inside my open handbag.

Three days until departure. Your flight and divorce documents are ready.

The officer sealed it with my other belongings before I could respond.

As they led me away, Vincent caught my arm. His grip avoided the marks left by my recent hospital treatment.

“Apologize to Isabella tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Then this ends.”

“No.”

His expression hardened.

“You’re angry.”

“No, Vincent. I’m finished.”

He released me without understanding the difference.

At the detention center, a guard removed my diamond earrings, watch, and wedding ring, dropping each piece into a scratched plastic tray before handing me a gray uniform.

Everything was sealed inside a clear evidence bag. My wedding ring rested on top, its gold surface catching the fluorescent light.

For the first time in eight years, my finger was bare.

The sight should have hurt.

Instead, I felt lighter.

I was not taken to private holding.

A guard led me into the women’s remand wing and locked the door behind me.

Three women approached before I reached the nearest bunk. Their leader was tall, with tattooed arms and a scar beneath one eye.

“What are you in for?”

“Assault.”

She smiled.

“You don’t look like someone who belongs here.”

“I won’t be here long.”

“We’ll see.”

That night, they poured ice water over me and refused to let me sleep.

The next morning, I found pieces of glass mixed into my food.

A Moreau attorney arrived before noon.

“Mr. Moreau will have the charges withdrawn if you apologize to Miss Cross and agree to return home under his protection.”

“No.”

“Sophia, this can end today.”

“It already has.”

Calling my own attorney would risk exposing my departure before the divorce papers were ready.

So I stayed silent.

On the second night, someone kicked the frame of my bunk every time I closed my eyes.

On the third day, the same three women surrounded me beside the wall.

“This isn’t random,” I said.

Their leader laughed.

“You finally figured that out?”

“Who paid you?”

“Someone who said the order came from the Moreau house.”

My body went cold.

“What order?”

“That the princess needed a lesson.”

She stepped closer.

“No marks on your face. Nothing permanent. Just enough to make you behave when you went home.”

Vincent had promised private holding. But he had also sent me here to learn that my actions had consequences.

Whether the order came from him or merely borrowed his name, the distinction vanished when the first punch struck my stomach.

I doubled over.

Another blow landed against my ribs.

They avoided my face, hiding every bruise beneath my uniform. Each time I fell, they pulled me back up.

The leader leaned close to my ear.

“Have you learned your lesson, Mrs. Moreau?”

I tasted blood.

“No.”

That afternoon, the charges were reduced and I was released.

It was the day of my flight.

The guard returned my belongings in the same clear plastic bag. My phone was dead, and the diamonds inside looked strangely dull beneath the detention center’s fluorescent lights.

I slipped my wedding ring into my coat pocket instead of putting it back on.

A black armored sedan waited beyond the chain-link gates, its polished body gleaming beneath the pale afternoon sun.

Vincent stood beside it in a charcoal cashmere coat and polished black shoes, controlled and immaculate, as though the last three days had touched everyone except him.

I walked past him.

“Sophia.”

I kept moving.

Each step sent pain through my ribs, but I refused to stop.

Halfway to the gate, the ground tilted beneath me.

My vision blurred.

Before I hit the pavement, Vincent caught me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a private hospital room.

Vincent stood beside the bed with his hands in his pockets.

He looked down at me without apology.

“Have you learned your lesson this time?”