Chapter One

Isabella’s POV

Nothing and I mean absolutely nothing could have prepared me for what my eyes were currently witnessing.

I may speak for myself when I say this but no one would be prepared to see their boyfriend on his knees sucking a man off.

On our anniversary.

As soon as our eyes met, he froze.

The look on his face could only be classified to that of deer in head light.

“Isabella I can explain. It was a mistake,” he called out, hurriedly fasting his pants.

“Oh really, I would really love to hear how you tripped over a feather and miraculously ended up with a dick in your mouth,” I said, laughing obnoxiously.

The shock wore off to white hot fury. 

I stared at him and I could see him visibly shaking.

His side piece rushed out of the room, trying to cover his face.

I could only laugh at the ridiculousness of all this.

My gaze landed on the shelf behind his desk.

His awards.

Perfectly placed and polished. 

The only major achievements of a man who apparently could not achieve basic decency.

I walked over, picked up the one he bragged about the most, and hurled it against the wall. The glass shattered. The plaque snapped in half when it hit the floor.

“Isabella, stop!” he begged, scrambling around the desk. “I’m sorry! Please, don’t do this!”

I grabbed another one.

Crash.

Then another.

“I am doing exactly this,” I said calmly, which somehow scared him more than if I had screamed.

I took the last one hurling it in his direction and watching it land the mark perfectly.

The wall beside his head. 

When there was nothing left to break, I smoothed my hair, adjusted my blazer, and walked out without looking back. 

My phone buzzed before I even reached the elevator. 

Series of texts with apologies. I know he was not begging me to take him back but to keep his secret.

I ignored every single one.

How did I end up with this loser?

I stepped into the back seat of my Rolls Royce and tapped the car seat twice to signal the driver.

As soon as the car left the parking lot, my chest started hurting.

Why do I always have such bad choices in men?

My ex before this loser left me for his stepsister and the  one before that only dated me for a deal with my company.

Before I could process everything completely, a call came in, jolting me out of my thoughts.

It was my grandfather's assistant.

“Hello, Fred. I hope you are not calling me for–”

“Mr Kingston collapsed and he has been rushed to the hospital,”

No, no. This cannot be.

“Turn the car around. Get me to the hospital.”

My driver didn't need to be told twice as he turned towards our family hospital.

The closer we got to the hospital, the more dread filled my stomach.

I can't lose another person. My grandfather has been my rock since my parents died in a car accident when I was Ten.

I just hope it was cold.

Or one of the pranks my grandfather made to urge me to get married.

The car barely stopped before I was out and running towards the hospital entrance.

If my grandfather saw running right now he would have a bigger issue at hand.

Kingston women did not run. 

I was taught repeatedly at the age of ten. My grandfather never let me do what kids my age did. Not because he didn't love but because he knew there was no place for weakness in the Kingston family.

Fred was waiting near the entrance, tie crooked, glasses slipping down his nose. I had known him since I was small enough to sit on my grandfather’s desk and steal the mints from his drawer. But I had never seen him like this.

“Where is he?” I asked, already moving.

He swallowed. “ICU. They’re stabilizing him, but—”

“But what, Fred?”

He hesitated just long enough to tell me everything.

The elevator ride felt like a lifetime stuffed into thirty seconds. I watched the numbers climb and tried to bargain with God.

Please let him be okay. I will marry anyone he asks me to. I will even apologize first sometimes.

The doors opened.

The smell hit me first. That sterile, metallic hospital scent that clung to walls and lingered even after you've left the four walls.

Nurses moved quickly but quietly, the way people do when life and death are negotiating behind closed doors.

A doctor met me outside the ICU room. He was in his late forties with kind eyes, and a calm that can only be achieved when you've seen it all.

“You must be Isabella.”

I nodded.

“He had a massive cardiac event. We were able to restart his heart, but he is very weak. He’s conscious on and off. You should go in now.”

Restart.

The word rattled inside my head.

I pushed the door open.

My grandfather looked smaller.

That was my first irrational thought. Not that he was pale or surrounded by machines, but that he seemed smaller, like the hospital bed had swallowed some of the space he used to command just by standing in a room.

The steady beep of a monitor that now controlled the rhythm of my entire universe.

I walked to his bedside and took his hand. It was warm, but not the strong, steady warmth I had always known. This felt fragile. Like we were on borrowed time.

“Hi, Grandpa,” I said softly. “You picked a dramatic day for this.”

His eyelids fluttered. Slowly, like it took effort just to return to me.

“There’s… my girl,” he rasped.

My throat closed. I leaned closer so he would not have to strain. “I’m here.”

He studied my face like he was memorizing it. I hated that thought. I pushed it away.

“You look… angry,” he murmured.

I let out a shaky laugh. “You would be too. I walked in on Daniel Junior’s failed science experiment of a son cheating on me. With a man.”

Even half-conscious, my grandfather’s lips twitched. “Terrible taste… in men,” he said.

“I am clearly cursed.”

He squeezed my hand weakly.

Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them back. Kingston women did not fall apart. We negotiated billion dollar deals but never shed a tear.

“You scared me,” I admitted.

“Good,” he whispered.

I lowered my head, pressing my forehead lightly against his knuckles. “You don’t get to leave yet. I still need someone to threaten my future husband.”

A faint breath of laughter escaped him, then dissolved into a cough. Machines beeped faster. A nurse stepped in, checked something, adjusted a drip, and slipped back out with a look that told me time was not being generous.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice thinner now but urgent. “They will come for you.”

“Who?”

“Everybody, but do not cower.” He struggled for breath. “Do not let them make you small.”

I straightened. “I won’t.”

His gaze softened. “I am proud of you, Isabella. Not for the company. Not for the money you bring in.” A pause, each breath an effort. “but for your fire. Don’t let anyone put it out.”

The first tear slipped free. I did not bother stopping the next ones.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” I whispered.

“Yes, you do,” he said gently. “You have been doing it for years. I was just… loud in the background.”

A monitor gave a sharp, uneven beep. I looked toward the door, panic rising, but he tightened his fingers slightly.

“Stay,” he breathed.

“I’m here.”

“Promise me… one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Live. Don't drown yourself in work. Live, Isabella.”

My chest cracked open. “I promise.”

His eyes searched my face one last time, like he was checking for the truth. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured.

His grip loosened.

The monitor sound changed.

I leaned forward. “Grandpa?”

His chest rose once more. A soft, shuddering breath.

Then nothing.

The machine gave a long, flat sound that seemed to slice straight through bone.

Doctors rushed in. Hands moved. Voices spoke in calm, clinical tones that did not belong in a moment like this. 

I stepped back, numb, watching strangers try to restart a heart that had carried me through every storm of my life.

After a minute that felt like a century, the doctor looked at me.

I knew before he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

The words landed softly. The impact was catastrophic.

I walked back to the bed once they stepped away. I took his hand again, still warm, just no longer holding on.

“You were supposed to see me win,” I whispered.