Last straw

Third person POV 

Isabella slammed the door behind her, her legs trembling from the run it took to get her here. 

Stumbling towards the sink, she gripped the cool porcelain edge, her knuckles white against the sickly-sweet pink of the countertop.

A wave of bile surged up her throat, burning like acid. She leaned over the basin, gagging, her stomach clenching in violent spasms. 

The contents of the drink – the rich, almost smokey taste of the drugged wine – now erupted in a torrent of half-digested food and bitter fluids.

The stench filled the small space, a revolting mix of alcohol, perfume, and stomach acid.

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat that beaded on her forehead.

Strands of hair, loosened from her tight ponytail, clung to her damp skin. 

Each heave wracked her body, leaving her breathless and trembling.

She tasted the acrid burn of vomit in the back of her throat, a physical manifestation of the betrayal and disgust that consumed her.

She continued to retch, even after her stomach was empty, the dry heaves tearing at her insides. 

But she didn't care, she had to get it all out.

When the heaving finally subsided, the woman managed to straighten, her gaze meeting her ravaged reflection in the mirror. 

Disheveled hair framed a face marred by smeared makeup and bloodshot eyes.

 A mirthless smile twisted her lips.

‘What exactly am I so upset about? Is it the three years I’d spent by his side, Is it the lies that he would only love me? Or maybe it's the foolish, pathetic hope that maybe, just maybe, Marco possessed a heart beneath that cunning, liar exterior?’ she couldn't help but wonder.

Deep down, she’d known tonight was a trap. A setup.

 But some small, desperate part of her had clung to the hope that, after everything – the years of them being rivals in school, the whispered affections in the darkness of the night after their marriage consummation, the smiles that Marco would sometime give her when no one else was around – he would spare her some shred of dignity.

She was wrong, as always.

Isabella took another glance at herself , and her heart clenched with an agony that was slowly becoming familiar.

 The tears she’d fought so hard to suppress finally breached her defenses, spilling over like a dam breaking.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Isabella forced herself to regain control. 

She quickly repaired her makeup, smoothing away the traces of her distress, straightened her disheveled outfit, and pulled herself back together, piece by agonizing piece. 

She was Isabella Rossi, and this would not break her. She wouldn't let it.

Picking up her bag , without a backward glance at the shattered woman in the mirror, she walked out of the bathroom and headed for a different private room.

The night wasn't over yet.

***

When she finally made it to room 103, the suite was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of expensive cigars and air conditioning.

Dimitri Volkov stood by the window, a dark silhouette against the glittering cityscape.

"Miss Rossi," he said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the room. 

He turned around and appraised her with sky coloured eyes, black hair slicked back from his forehead and jawlines sharp enough to cut stone.

 "I was beginning to think you had reconsidered our arrangement."

"My apologies, Mr. Volkov," Isabella replied, her voice cool and composed. "There was an… unavoidable delay. Allow me to make amends." She shakily reached for a crystal glass, intending to drain its contents in a single gesture, just like how a Don would offer apology in this kind of situation, but Volkov's hand stopped her.

"Unnecessary," he said, his blue eyes locking onto her amber ones. "I value efficiency above empty gestures. Let us proceed." He gestured towards a thick file resting on a nearby table. 

Isabella gulped but nodded gracefully and took her seat.

Isabella remembered their first, brief encounter years ago, at a high-society gala. 

Even then, Dimitri Volkov had radiated an aura of cold command and ruthless ambition.

The memory of him was so very vivid in her mind, even though his family's business had relocated overseas shortly thereafter. 

Now, he was back, and his presence commanded attention. 

Dimitri was the newly appointed head of the Volkov Corporation, a force to be reckoned with.

Isabella had only learned of his return the previous night. 

Recognizing the potential synergy with her father's overseas projects, and knowing this very KTV was under the Volkov family's umbrella, she'd seized the opportunity to connect.

She hadn't anticipated such a swift response, nor such a strangely amenable attitude.

The meeting progressed seamlessly. The man was as aceric and short to the point as she remembered and together they managed to harsh our all the details 

An hour later, The two of them walked out of the KTV, Dimitri held the door open for Isabella and as she walked out he followed close behind.

"It was a pleasure Miss Rossi, I am glad we could come to an agreement, I hope that we can continue to work together in the future" Dimitri said with a deep voice.

"The pleasure was all mine Mr. Volkov, I am also glad that we could come to an agreement and I look forward to working with you in the future" Isabella replied, giving the man a warn smile.

"I look forward to it as well. Allow me to drive you home" Dimitri said gesturing to his car.

But Isabella could agree, trouble materialized, crashing into her plans like a wrecking ball.

"Isabella! There you are!" Sofia's voice sliced through the air as she barreled towards them, latching onto Isabella's arm.

"We've been searching everywhere! You vanished after saying you were going to the restroom. Marco's worried! Come on, the party's waiting!" She tugged insistently, attempting to drag Isabella back into the lion's den.

Isabella stood her ground, shoving at the other woman until she let go. 

"If the 'party' is so enticing, by all means, return. I have other matters to attend to. I'm leaving." She sneered.

She turned towards Dimitri's waiting car but Sofia, persistent as a parasite, latched on again.

"Oh, Isabella, don't be like that! We were just playing earlier. Don't be so sensitive! Don't spoil the fun for everyone, okay?" She renewed her efforts to pull Isabella away, but this time, Dimitri intervened, his movements fluid and decisive. 

He gently but firmly drew Isabella to his side, placing a protective hand Infront of her. 

He noticed her reluctance, and couldn't help but make a move.

Dimitri Volkov's voice, a low, silken threat, silenced them both. "The lady has made her intentions clear, Miss…?"

"Sofia," she supplied, her eyes widening as she finally registered the identity of the man before her.

 "Mr. Volkov! I apologize for the interruption. It's just a… misunderstanding. A harmless prank." 

She tried to grab Isabella but Dimitri shot her glare cold enough to freeze hell.

Sofia squeaked, letting her hands drop, mouth trembling in fear.

Isabella felt hope rise in her chest.

'maybe- maybe I can actually get out of this?’ she thought almost hysterically.

But she was wrong.

Because at that moment, Marco appeared, his face a mask of barely suppressed fury, his eyes fixed on Isabella. 

He seized her arm, his grip bruisingly tight, and yanked her towards him. "You're coming with me.”