CHAPTER 4:

Isabella's POV

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," he whispered.

I don't know how long he'd been standing at my door. Minutes. Hours. Before I could get another word out, he pressed a finger to my lips.

I shoved his hand away. My mouth is wide open.

"Don't. Don't shout, or I swear I'll do something you'll regret."

I went still, waiting to see what he'd come for.

He looked at me steadily. "You finally got what you wanted. She's gone. After you attempted to kill her."

"I never touched her." My voice came out sharper than I meant it to. 

"Adrian—"

He didn't let me finish. "How long have you wanted him?" He turned on me so fast I stumbled back a step. "How long have you been waiting for Scarlett to disappear so you could take her fiancé, her life, everything that was hers?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't." His palm slammed against the wall beside my head, not touching me, but close enough that I felt the air move. 

I froze. 

"Everyone says the same thing, that you've hated Scarlett for years."

"That's not true." My voice shook, but I forced myself to hold his eyes. "I went to that party to tell her to stop lying to you. That's the only reason I was there. I never touched her. I would never hurt my own sister."

"She's paralyzed." His voice cracked on the word, grief bleeding through the fury for just a second before he shut it down again. 

"She may never walk again. And you expect me to believe that's a coincidence? That the sister she was screaming at some minutes earlier had nothing to do with it?"

"I expect you to believe me because I'm telling you the truth."

"The truth?" He laughed, and it was an ugly, broken sound. "The truth is, I've watched you stand in her shadow for years with that quiet little smile, like you were fine with it. Like you didn't secretly want to be her. 

Everyone has a breaking point, Isabella. Maybe this was yours."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake him until the grief cleared from his eyes long enough to actually see me. 

But even then, I understood nothing I said would matter. He needed someone to blame, and I was standing right in front of him, wearing my sister's face.

He left without another word, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows. I sank onto the kitchen floor and cried until there was nothing left in me.

Adrian's POV

The scotch in my hand had gone warm. I didn't remember pouring it.

Scarlett was gone, somewhere I couldn't reach her, couldn't fix this, couldn't undo whatever had pushed her through that door. And the only name that kept surfacing in my head, over and over, was Isabella.

Tim, my personal assistant, knocked once and let himself in, the way he always did when he thought I needed managing.

"Sir. You sent for me." Voice smooth and steady.

"Get the papers ready." My voice didn't sound like my own. "Marriage license. I want it done tonight."

He went still, as he looked at me steadily. "Sir?"

"What for?" His tone came out rough now.

"Isabella." I set the glass down harder than I meant to. "She wanted to punish me? Fine. She's going to marry me.

 She's going to live under my roof, under my name, and she's going to see exactly what it costs to cross me."

"Adrian." Tim rarely used my first name. It was the only thing that ever made me look at him. 

"You don't need to marry a woman to punish her. There are a hundred ways to make someone's life difficult that don't end in a wedding ring."

"I don't want a hundred ways. I want this one."

"This isn't you thinking. This is grief talking." He stepped closer, and for once, there was no difference in it, just a man who'd known me for fifteen years, refusing to watch me set myself on fire. 

"You lost Scarlett tonight. You're looking for someone to bleed for it, and Isabella's name is just the one sitting closest to the wound."

"She sent her away." My jaw tightened enough to ache. "Don't tell me it isn't her. Everyone knows what Scarlett meant to me."

"Do you actually know that? Or do you know what people are saying?" Tim's tone sharpened. 

"Those aren't the same thing, and you of all people should remember that.

Have you asked Isabella a single question tonight? Have you asked anyone what actually happened, or did you just decide?"

I didn't answer, and my silence told him everything.

"That's what I thought." He shook his head slowly. 

"Sir, listen to me. If you drag that girl into a marriage out of spite, you're not punishing her. You're punishing yourself. You'll wake up in six months married to a woman you resent for something you never even confirmed she did."

"I don't need it confirmed." The words came out low, ugly, final. "I need her to understand what happens when people take things from me."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then I'll live with being wrong." I looked at him, and whatever he saw in my face made him stop pushing. 

"Draw up the papers, Tim. I'm not asking twice."

For a long moment, he just stared at me, like he was searching for the man he used to work for underneath whoever I'd become that night. Then he exhaled, and something in his shoulders gave.

"You're going to regret this," he said quietly. "Not tomorrow. Not next week. But you will."

"Maybe." I picked the glass back up. "But she'll regret it first."

He left without another word, and I was alone again with the scotch, the silence, and Scarlett's absence pressing down on my chest like a hand.

Isabella thought she'd won something. She had no idea what she'd just started.

A few minutes later, Tim walked back in with the papers.

"Sir. This is what you asked for."

I went through them and signed my name.

"Good." I stood, straightening my jacket. "Arrange the guards. I'm bringing her here tonight."

"Sir, why the rush?"

"You heard me." I was already moving toward the door. "Let's go."