Chapter One

The silk of the Vera Wang gown felt like a second skin, cool and pristine. Isabella stared at herself in the full-length mirror of the bridal suite. Today was the day. After three years of being Puerto Moore’s shadow, she was finally becoming his wife.

"You look breathtaking, Bella," her mother whispered, adjusting the veil.

"I just can't believe it's happening," Isabella murmured, her fingers trembling as she touched the lace. "I was starting to think he’d never actually pull the trigger on the date."

"He’s a Moore, darling. They take their time, but they always claim what’s theirs. Now, I need to check on the catering. Don't smudge your lipstick."

Isabella took a deep breath, the scent of expensive lilies filling her lungs. She needed a moment. She needed to see Puerto. Just for a second. She knew it was bad luck, but the anxiety was clawing at her throat.

She slipped out of the suite. The Moore mansion was buzzing with socialites and paparazzi, but the East Wing was quiet. Puerto usually spent his nervous moments in the library when he didn't want to be bothered.

As she approached the doors, she heard a sound. A laugh.

It wasn't Puerto’s deep chuckle. It was high-pitched, melodic, and sickeningly familiar.

Eliana.

Isabella’s hand froze on the brass handle. Eliana was her Maid of Honor. Her stepsister. Why was she in the library with the groom minutes before the ceremony?

"You’re going to have to be careful today," Eliana’s voice drifted through the crack in the door. "One look at me and you’ll forget your vows, Puerto."

"Vows are just words for the public, Eliana. You know that." Puerto’s voice was like ice, devoid of the warmth he usually reserved for Isabella. 

"Besides, look at the bright side. Once the ring is on her finger, the Moore board stops breathing down my neck. I get the inheritance, and you get the penthouse."

Isabella felt the blood drain from her face. Her knees buckled, but she forced herself to push the door open.

The scene inside was a nightmare. Puerto was leaning against his desk, his wedding vest unbuttoned, his dark hair tousled. Eliana was draped over him, her hands tangled in his hair, her bridesmaid dress hiked up.

Puerto didn't jump. He didn't push Eliana away. He simply turned his head, his dark eyes meeting Isabella’s with a chilling level of boredom.

"You were always terrible at following directions, Isabella," Puerto said, his voice flat. 

"I believe the bride is supposed to stay in her room."

Isabella’s voice was trapped in her throat before it tore out. 

"Puerto? What... what is this?"

Eliana didn't look ashamed. She straightened her dress, a slow, cruel smirk spreading across her lips. "It’s called reality, Bella. You were always a bit too slow to catch on."

"Reality?" Isabella whispered, looking at the man she had loved for three years. "Puerto, tell her to leave. Tell me this is some sick joke."

Puerto let out a sharp, mocking breath. He walked toward her, each step heavy and deliberate. He stopped just inches away, the scent of his expensive cologne, the one she had bought him, choking her. He reached out, his gloved fingers tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

For a heartbeat, she thought he might apologize. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.

"It’s not a joke," he whispered. "It’s a divorce."

Isabella flinched as if he had struck her. "A divorce? We aren't even married yet!"

"Exactly. It saves us the legal fees later," Puerto said, stepping back and crossing his arms. "Look at yourself, Isabella. You’re sweet. You’re loyal. And God, you are so incredibly boring. I’ve spent three years listening to you talk about bullshit. Do you really think a man like me, a man who runs Moore Company, wants to come home to that for the rest of his life?

"I loved you," she gasped, the tears finally breaking. "I gave you everything. I supported you when your father almost disowned you!"

"And I thank you for the PR boost," he countered ruthlessly.

"But Eliana is what I need now. She has fire. She has ambition. She doesn't cry when things get difficult."

Eliana stepped up beside him, sliding her arm through his. She looked at Isabella with pure, unadulterated venom. "And I have something else you don't have, Bella. Something that makes me the permanent fixture in this family."

Eliana placed Puerto’s hand on her still-flat stomach.

"I’m pregnant, Isabella. Two months. Puerto and I... we’re building a real legacy. Not a business arrangement based on a girl who doesn't know how to keep a man’s interest in the bedroom."

The room spun. Isabella felt like she was drowning in the middle of a desert. The betrayal was a physical weight, crushing her lungs.

"Two months?" Isabella looked at Puerto, her eyes searching for a shred of the man she thought he was. "You’ve been with her for months while planning our wedding?"

"It was good you found out now, honestly," Puerto said, checking his Patek Philippe. "Saved me the trouble of having to act interested through the reception. You should go, Isabella. Take the dress. Take the jewelry. Consider it a severance package for your services."

"A severance package?" Isabella’s voice rose, trembling with a mixture of agony and burgeoning rage. "You’re treating me like an employee you’re firing?"

"In a way, you were," Puerto said, his expression hardening into that of the CEO who had earned a reputation for being a cold-blooded shark. "You were the perfect placeholder. But the position has been filled. Permanently."

Eliana chuckled, a dry, metallic sound. "Don't make a scene on your way out, sweetie. It would be so embarrassing for your mother to explain to all those important guests why the bride was kicked out like a stray dog."

Puerto looked at Isabella one last time, his gaze sweeping over her wedding gown with utter disdain. "Goodbye, Isabella. Don't call me. I’ll have my lawyers send over the non-disclosure agreements. I suggest you sign them if you want to keep that house your father loves so much."

He turned his back on her, returning to his desk as if she were nothing more than a piece of discarded mail.

Isabella stood in the center of the library, the white lace of her dress suddenly feeling like a shroud. She looked at the woman who had called herself her sister and the man who had been her world. They were already whispering to each other, laughing, ignoring her presence entirely.

She didn't scream. She didn't beg.

She turned around, her movements mechanical, and walked out of the library. She walked past the confused servers, past the guests beginning to gather in the foyer, and out into the biting afternoon air.

She didn't stop until she reached the gates of the Moores'. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't know who she was anymore.

As she stumbled down the driveway. A sleek, black Maybach slowed down beside her.

Isabella didn't look up. She didn't care if it was a kidnapper or the devil himself.

The back window slid down.

A man was sitting in the shadows, the glow of a tablet illuminating a sharp, handsome face.