002

Bella Hale

I don’t remember walking away from the door.

One moment I was standing there, listening to the soft, intimate sound of my husband kissing another woman, and the next I was moving down the hallway on legs that barely felt like they belonged to me. My hand was clamped so hard over my mouth that my teeth dug into my palm. It was the only thing keeping the broken sounds inside.

My stomach lurched violently with every step. The taste of bile rose hot and sharp in my throat. I swallowed once, twice, but the nausea only climbed higher, twisting tighter until I thought I might actually be sick right there on the marble floor.

Five years.

The number kept repeating in my head like a cruel joke.

Five years of loving him. Five years of defending him when people whispered. Five years of believing that the man I married was real.

And the entire time, I had only been a convenient key to my parents’ fortune.

A small, broken sound escaped me anyway. I pressed my hand harder against my mouth and kept walking, blind to the golden lights and the laughing guests still celebrating a marriage that had never existed. Someone called my name from somewhere behind me. The voice sounded far away, underwater. I didn’t turn. I couldn’t.

I pushed into the nearest restroom and locked the door with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking. The second the lock clicked, my legs gave out completely. I dropped onto the closed toilet seat, folded forward, and wrapped both arms around my midsection as another wave of nausea slammed into me.

“Fuck…”

The word came out cracked and useless, more a sob than a curse.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but it only made everything worse. Marcus’s voice replayed with perfect clarity—lazy, amused, dripping with quiet disgust.

She’s soft. Desperate to be loved. Pathetic. Convenient. I never loved her.

The sound of that kiss followed right after, slow and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

My stomach heaved hard. I lurched forward, gagging, but nothing came up—only the burning, acidic taste of humiliation and rage. Tears spilled over anyway, hot and silent, dripping onto my bare knees.

I stayed like that for a long time, forehead pressed to my arm, breathing in short, ragged pulls that never felt deep enough. My heart was racing so violently it hurt. Every time I tried to straighten, the room tilted and the nausea rose again. I felt hollowed out. Stripped. Like someone had reached inside my chest and ripped out everything I thought I knew about my own life.

Eventually, when the worst of the shaking had eased into a low, constant tremor, I forced myself upright. My hands were still trembling so badly it took three tries to pull my phone from my clutch. I stared at the screen for a moment, not even sure what I was doing. I only knew I needed one answer. Just one.

The inheritance. My parents’ company. The properties they had built with their whole lives.

I needed to know if any of it was still safe.

I called the family lawyer.

He answered on the second ring, his voice warm and familiar.

“Bella? Is everything all right? It’s quite late—”

“The prenup,” I cut in.

My voice sounded strange even to me—thin, raw, almost unrecognizable.

“The one Marcus had me sign before the wedding. I need you to tell me exactly what it says. Now.”

There was a short silence on the other end.

“Bella… what’s going on?”

“Just tell me.”

I heard papers shifting. When he spoke again, his tone had changed completely.

“If you initiate the divorce, you walk away with nothing. No claim to the marital assets, no spousal support, and…”

He hesitated, as if the next part pained him.

“And you forfeit all rights to the inheritance and company shares that were placed under joint management after your parents’ deaths. Marcus has controlling legal authority over nearly everything.”

The phone nearly slipped from my fingers.

“No,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry. You signed it. At the time you insisted you trusted him completely.”

I ended the call without another word.

For a second, I only stared at the black screen.

Then the full weight of it crashed down on me all at once.

I turned, dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, and finally threw up until there was nothing left but dry, painful heaves that left my throat raw.

When it was over, I stayed on the cold floor, my forehead pressed to the seat, tears streaming silently down my face. My whole body shook.

I had nothing.

No marriage.

No inheritance.

No way out that didn’t leave me with zero.

Somehow I dragged myself to the sink. I turned on the cold water and splashed it over my face again and again, trying to erase the evidence of what had just destroyed me.

My reflection looked like a stranger—pale, red-eyed, broken.

I was still gripping the edge of the counter, trying to force air into my lungs, when the restroom door opened.

I froze.

Three men stepped inside.

Adrian Kane entered first, followed closely by Dominic and Elias.

My husband’s fiercest business rivals—and the three men I had once hurt so deeply that I never expected to stand in the same room with them again.

The air seemed to thin the moment they appeared.

Their presence was cold, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

I straightened on instinct, even though my legs still felt weak.

“Get out,” I said, my voice rough and unsteady. “This is the women’s restroom.”

Adrian’s eyes moved over my face, taking in the red-rimmed eyes, the water still dripping from my chin, the way my hands trembled against the counter.

Something dark and unreadable flickered behind his gaze.

Then he chuckled.

Low.

Soft.

Completely without warmth.

Dominic’s mouth curved slightly. Elias leaned a shoulder against the wall, watching me with that same sharp, assessing look he used to wear years ago.

None of them moved toward the door.

Instead, Adrian stepped closer.

Before I could react, his fingers closed around my wrist and pulled me away from the sink.

The sudden contact sent a jolt through me.

I tried to tug free, but his grip was firm, unyielding.

He looked down at me, his voice quiet and cutting.

“He’s making you cry again… isn’t he?”

My breath caught.

For a moment, the restroom was completely silent except for the soft drip of water from the faucet.

Adrian’s gaze held mine, cold and knowing, as if the years between us had never existed.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Well,” he said slowly, almost softly, “look who’s finally back.”