CHAPTER SIX

|| Aaron’s POV ||

Why did she agree so quickly?

The question gnawed at me as I stood in the hallway outside my mother’s study, my briefcase in hand—the excuse I’d given myself for coming back, though I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d needed an excuse in the first place.

Isabella had agreed to the divorce. Just like that.

She didn’t cry like she always did or displayed her desperate dramatic theatrics. Just a quiet, hollow “yes” that should have felt like victory but instead left me… unsettled.

Shouldn’t she have fought harder? Shouldn’t she have tried to negotiate, to use the marriage as leverage the way gold-diggers always did?

That’s what women like her did, wasn’t it?

They clung to the money, the status, the security of the Styles name with both hands and refused to let go.

But she’d just… agreed.

I loosened my tie, trying to shake off the strange feeling coiling in my chest. It didn’t matter. She’d signed away her claim to me, to my life, and soon this nightmare would be over. I could move forward, put this entire sordid chapter behind me.

The image of Isabella in that hospital room flashed through my mind—her face pale and drawn, her arms wrapped protectively around Sophia as she’d stammered out her pathetic explanation of how she could raise our daughter.

Her voice had been so desperate, so earnest, listing off plans about finding work and hiring nannies and supporting Sophia’s education. As if she had any ability to do any of that.

This selfish woman.

What ability does she have to raise my child properly?

She could barely take care of herself. She had no work experience, no skills, no resources beyond what I’d provided. And now she wanted me to believe she could give Sophia a good life?

It was laughable. Insulting, even.

She just wants to use the child to continue to hold me hostage.

That’s what this was really about.

Isabella knew that as long as she had Sophia, she had a connection to me, to my money, to the Styles family. The baby was her insurance policy, her meal ticket.

Everything else—the tears, the pleading, the wounded looks—was just an act.

I pushed open the door to return to the party, steeling myself to rejoin the crowd and spend the rest of the evening with Anastasia at my side where she belonged.

Anastasia.

She was standing near the bar where I’d left her, laughing at something one of the guests had said. The light caught her hair, making it shimmer like spun gold. She was beautiful—objectively, undeniably beautiful.

The youngest daughter of the Cole family, educated at top universities, poised and elegant in a way that came from generations of breeding and privilege.

My mother adored her. Had always adored her, even before this mess with Isabella.

Victoria had made no secret of the fact that Anastasia was her choice for the next Mrs. Styles.

The ideal daughter-in-law.

The perfect match.

Unlike Isabella.

Isabella, with her schemes and manipulations.

Isabella, who argued and cried and made everything so unnecessarily complicated.

Isabella, who’d trapped me in this marriage and now had the audacity to act like she was the victim.

I started toward Anastasia, ready to lose myself in her easy conversation and forget about hospital rooms and desperate pleas and babies I hadn’t asked for.

But then I saw movement in my peripheral vision.

Matthew.

He stormed into the side corridor, his face flushed with anger, his hand wrapped around Isabella’s wrist in a grip that looked far too tight. He was pulling her, practically dragging her, and she was stumbling, trying to keep up.

She’d just given birth three weeks ago. She was still weak, still recovering.

Why was he dragging her so roughly?

I stopped mid-step, something uncomfortable twisting in my gut.

It wasn’t concern—it couldn’t be concern.

I just… I didn’t like seeing anyone manhandled like that, even Isabella. It was ungentlemanly. Crude.

Matthew yanked her around a corner, out of sight of the main party.

I should go back to Anastasia.

This was none of my business. Whatever drama the Stone siblings were playing out, it had nothing to do with me.

But my feet were already moving, following them down the corridor.

I couldn’t help but feel worried.

No. Not worried.

Curious.

Just curious about what scheme they were cooking up now, what new manipulation they were planning.

I rounded the corner just in time to see Matthew’s hand connect with Isabella’s face.

The slap echoed in the empty hallway.

Isabella staggered backward two steps, her hand flying to her cheek, shock and pain written across her features. She didn’t cry out, didn’t scream—just stood there, swaying slightly, looking at her brother with wide, wounded eyes.

I frowned, something cold settling in my stomach.

Was this how Isabella had lived at the Stone house? Did Matthew treat his own sister like this—like trash?

Why wasn’t she fighting back?

Why was she just standing there, taking it?

“You stupid, selfish bitch,” Matthew snarled, and the venom in his voice made my jaw clench. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Isabella’s voice was weak, trembling.

“Matthew, I didn’t—”

“Aaron withdrew his investment!” Matthew’s voice rose, shaking with rage. “Stone Group is facing bankruptcy again because of you! Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut and play your part!”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Isabella whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You did this. You drugged him—”

“I did what I had to do!” Matthew shouted. “I saved our family! And you’re throwing it all away because you’re too stupid and selfish to see—”

I froze.

You drugged him.

The way she said it. The accusation in her voice, directed at Matthew. At Matthew alone.

I knew I’d been drugged that night. I’d always known.

The drink Isabella brought me, the way everything went hazy and wrong afterward, waking up in that unfamiliar bed—I’d been drugged, and I’d always assumed they’d done it together.

Isabella and Matthew, working as a team to trap me.

But the way she was saying it now…

“You drugged him and made me—”

Isabella’s voice broke.

Made her?

What did that mean, made her?

“How could you be so heartless?” Matthew was saying, stepping closer to Isabella, his hand rising again.

No.

My body moved before my mind could catch up.

I crossed the distance in three strides, my hand shooting out to catch Matthew’s wrist mid-swing, my grip tight enough to make him wince.

“Stop,” I said, my voice deadly calm despite the chaos swirling in my head.