Chapter Four

Isabella stood at the edge of the balcony, her fingers gripping the cold stone railing. She looked down at the crowd. Her heart was beating so fast. Travis had chosen it. He made the choice of everything from the diamonds at her throat, the silver heels, and the way her hair fell in loose, dark waves over her shoulders.

"You look like you're plotting a murder," a deep voice rumbled behind her.

She didn't need to turn around to know it was him. Travis stepped up beside her, his presence instantly calming the storm in her chest. He looked devastating in a bespoke black tuxedo, his tattoos hidden beneath the sleeves, but the raw, dangerous energy he carried was impossible to mask.

"I feel like an imposter," Isabella whispered, her eyes tracking the movements of the guests below. "A week ago, I was being kicked out of my house in a ruined wedding dress. Now... I'm here."

"You're not an imposter, Isabella," Travis said, his voice low and steady. He stepped closer, the heat radiating off him making her dizzy. "You're the future Mrs. Vanguard. These people? They aren't your peers. They are your subjects. Remember that."

"Travis, are you sure about this? Officially introducing me tonight? Puerto will be here. Eliana will be here."

Travis leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her. "I know. That’s exactly why we’re doing it. I want them to see exactly what they threw away."

He offered her his arm, his expression hardening into a mask of cold, professional iron. "It’s time. Ready to burn it down?"

Isabella took a breath, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Ready."

They descended the grand staircase slowly. The room went quiet as they reached the bottom. It wasn't just the way they looked; it was the sheer power. Travis Moore, the man the industry called 'The Ghost CEO,' exuded. He almost never appeared at these events. To see him here, with a woman on his arm, was the equivalent of a solar eclipse.

Isabella felt the weight of a hundred gazes, but she kept her head high. She scanned the room until she saw them.

Puerto and Eliana were standing near the bar, surrounded by a group of minor investors. Puerto looked handsome in a classic suit, but next to Travis, he looked like a boy playing dress-up. Eliana was clutching a glass of prosecco, her eyes wide as she stared at Isabella.

"Is that... is that Isabella?" Eliana hissed, her voice carrying over the music.

Puerto turned around, his drink halfway to his lips. He froze. His eyes raked over Isabella, moving from her expensive diamonds to the way Travis was holding her. A dark, ugly flush crept up his neck.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Puerto muttered, his jaw clenching.

He didn't wait. He set his glass down with a heavy thud and began weaving through the crowd, Eliana trailing behind him like a shadow. They intercepted Isabella and Travis near the center of the room.

"Isabella?" Puerto’s voice was a jagged blade. "What kind of game are you playing?"

Isabella stopped, her hand tightening on Travis’s arm. She looked at Puerto, and for the first time in three years, she didn't feel that pathetic surge of love. She felt nothing but a cold, hard disgust.

"Hello, Puerto," she said, her voice smooth and neutral. "Eliana. I see the pregnancy is suiting you. You look... tired."

Eliana’s face twisted into a mask of pure hate. "How did you get in here, Bella? This is an invite-only gala for the top one percent. Did you sneak in through the kitchen? Or did you spend that 'severance package' Puerto gave you on a fake ticket?"

"And that car," Puerto sneered, stepping closer into Isabella’s personal space. He ignored Travis, who was standing perfectly still, his eyes hooded and dangerous. "The Pagani. I saw it outside. Who did you sleep with to get a ride in that, Isabella? Or are you just trying to beg me back with a flashy entrance?"

Isabella let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Beg you back?" Puerto, I’d rather crawl through glass."

"Don't lie to me," Puerto snapped, his voice rising, drawing the attention of the surrounding guests. "You’ve always been desperate. You think showing up here in a borrowed dress and a rental car is going to make me jealous? It’s pathetic. You’re boring, remember? You don't belong in this world. Now, do yourself a favor and get out before I have security throw you out. I’m done with you."

Travis finally moved. He stepped in front of Isabella, his massive frame completely blocking her from Puerto’s sight. He didn't raise his voice, but the coldness in his tone made the air in the room feel like it had dropped twenty degrees.

"I’d be very careful with your next words, Moore," Travis said.

Puerto blinked, finally looking at the man standing in front of him. He squinted, his eyes traveling up Travis’s face. Slowly, the blood drained from his cheeks. His arrogance vanished, replaced by a sudden, frantic fear.

"Boss?" Puerto stammered, his voice cracking. "Mr... Mr. Vanguard? I... I didn't see you there."

The crowd gasped. The whispers turned into a roar of shock.

"You didn't see me?" Travis asked, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "Or you were too busy insulting my fiancée to notice whose house you're standing in?"

Puerto’s mouth hung open. He looked at Travis, then at Isabella, who was now standing at Travis’s side, her expression calm and untouchable. "Fiancée? Boss, you must be mistaken. This is Isabella. She’s... she’s my ex. She's just a foster kid and a nobody."

"How dare you talk to my wife like that?" Travis roared, the sound echoing through the ballroom.

He didn't wait for an answer. He stepped into Puerto’s space, grabbing him by the lapels of his suit and jerking him forward until they were eye-to-eye. Puerto looked like he was about to vomit.

"You work for me, Puerto," Travis hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Moore Company exists because I allow it to exist. And yet, you have the audacity to stand in my ballroom and insult the woman who will soon be running your entire board of directors?"

Eliana let out a strangled cry. "Wife? Travis Vanguard, you can't be serious! She's a gold-digger! She probably didn't even tell you she was engaged to Puerto last week!"

Travis turned his gaze to Eliana. It was like a predator looking at an insect. "I know exactly who she was engaged to. And I know exactly why she left. I also know about the 'bonus' you’re carrying, Eliana. My legal team is already looking into the Moore family’s recent 'acquisitions.' It would be a shame if your child was born while your father was in a jail cell for embezzlement, wouldn't it?"

Eliana turned pale, her hand flying to her mouth. She looked like she was about to faint.

Puerto was shaking. "Boss, please. I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know she was with you."

"She’s not just with me," Travis said, letting go of Puerto’s suit as if he were touching something filthy. He reached out and pulled Isabella into his side, his arm heavy and protective around her waist. "She is the guest of honor tonight. And since you’re so concerned about who belongs here..."

Travis turned to the head of security, who was already standing by with a radio.

"Throw them out," Travis commanded. "And revoke their access to the Vanguard servers. As of this moment, Moore Company is under executive audit. I want them off the property in thirty seconds."

"Travis, wait!" Puerto shouted as two massive security guards grabbed him by the arms. "Isabella, tell him! We were together for three years! You can't let him do this!"

Isabella looked at Puerto. She looked at his desperate, sweating face, and then she looked at Eliana, who was being dragged away in tears.

"You were right about one thing, Puerto," Isabella said, her voice clear and cold. "I was boring. I was too bored to see that you were a snake. But Travis? He likes my 'boring' side just fine. Especially when I’m signing your termination papers."

The guards hauled them away, their protests fading as the heavy gold doors of the ballroom slammed shut.

The room was silent for a beat before Travis turned back to the crowd. He raised his glass, his eyes sweeping over the shocked faces of London’s elite.

"To my wife," he said, his voice booming. "The new Queen of Vanguard Holdings."