Chapter Three

Lifetime

Isabella’s heart stopped. She stared at Travis, her mind racing. "Wife?" she echoed, the word feeling heavy and foreign in her mouth. "You’re joking. You have to be joking."

Travis didn't laugh. He leaned back against the headboard, the light from the city hitting the sharp lines of his face. He looked at her with a calm, steady intensity.

"I don't joke about business, Isabella. And I certainly don't joke about marriage."

"We just met," she whispered, pulling the silk sheet higher over her chest. "Well, we just... tonight happened. You can't be serious."

"I’m very serious," he said, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that made her skin tingle. "Look, I’ll be honest with you. I have a board of directors in Nashville who are obsessed with my 'image.' They think I’m too reckless, too much of a playboy for the top spot. They want stability. They want a wife by my side for the upcoming merger with the East Asian markets."

Isabella shook her head, her brain struggling to keep up. "So I’m just a PR move? Another substitute?"

Travis’s expression shifted, something like regret crossing his features. He reached out, his thumb tracing the curve of her shoulder. "No. You're not. A partner. You need a way out of the Moore shadow, and I need a wife who doesn't care about my money. I’ll sponsor your education, whatever you want to study anywhere in the world. I’ll give you a lifestyle that will make Puerto Moore look like a beggar. And when you’re ready, after a year or two, we’ll part ways quietly. You’ll be the most powerful woman in the city, with a bank account that never runs dry."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice trembling. "There are a thousand women who would kill for this."

"Because you have a reason to hate them as much as I do," he said, his eyes darkening. "And because tonight... tonight wasn't just business, Isabella. You know that."

Isabella looked away, her heart thumping. The memory of his touch was still burning on her skin. It was too much. Too fast.

Suddenly, her phone, which had been discarded on the floor, began to buzz violently. 

Isabella reached for it, her breath hitching.

34 Missed Calls: Mother. 12 Missed Calls: Father. 15 Text Messages.

She swiped the screen open. The messages were a barrage of vitriol.

Mother: Where are you? You’ve humiliated this family! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to the Moore merger? Eliana: Puerto says he’s glad you’re gone. Don't bother coming back for your things, we’re throwing them in the trash.

"I have to go," Isabella said, her voice turning cold. She stood up, ignoring the way her body ached. She reached for her ruined wedding dress, but Travis stopped her.

"Don't put that back on," he said. He stood up, completely unbothered by his own nakedness, and walked to the closet. He pulled out a crisp, white button-down shirt and tossed it to her. "Wear this. I’ll have my driver take you to get your things."

"I don't want your driver," Isabella said, her jaw setting. "I need to do this myself."

"Isabella..."

"I’ll think about it, Travis," she said, pulling the oversized shirt over her head. It smelled of him, dark and expensive. "The marriage? I’ll think about it. But right now, I need to go settle a score."

"Oh, look who decided to show her face," her foster mother, Amaia, sneered from the top of the stairs. She was still in her gown, a glass of champagne in her hand. "You've ruined us, Isabella. The Moore contract was our future!"

"Puerto cheated on me, Mother," Isabella said, her voice shaking. "In the library. With Eliana."

"And?" Amaia walked down the stairs, her eyes flashing with coldness. "Men have needs, Isabella. You were always so stiff, so boring. Eliana did what she had to do to keep him in the family. She’s pregnant, for heaven’s sake! She’s secured our legacy while you were busy playing the victim."

Isabella felt like she had been slapped. "You’re defending them? He was my fiancé!"

"He's a Moore!" her foster father shouted, walking out of the study. "Do you know how much money we lose because of your little tantrum? You should have just kept your mouth shut, walked down that aisle, and dealt with it later like a woman of class."

"Isabella, don't be so dramatic," Eliana’s voice rang out. She was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, wearing a silk robe that Isabella recognized as a gift from Puerto. "Puerto and I love each other. We have a connection you could never understand. You were just the girl his father liked. He never wanted you."

"Get out," Isabella whispered.

"Excuse me?" Amaia said, her voice rising.

"I said get out of my way!" Isabella screamed, her voice cracking. "I’m packing my bags. I’m leaving this pathetic, toxic house, and I’m never coming back."

"Good!" Amaia shouted. "Go! See how far you get without our name. You're nothing but a pity case we took in because we felt sorry for you. You’ll be begging to come back within a week!"

Isabella ignored them. She ran up to her room, her hands flying as she threw her clothes into two suitcases. She didn't take the jewelry. She didn't take the designer bags they had bought her for "appearances." She took only what was hers.

When she dragged her suitcases back down to the foyer, the whole family was there, including Puerto, who had arrived to comfort Eliana.

"Leaving so soon, Bella?" Puerto asked, his hands in his pockets. He looked at her with a smug, cruel smile. "Where are you going to go? A motel? Or maybe back to the orphanage?"

Eliana giggled, leaning into his side. "Maybe she can get a job as a maid. She was always good at tidying up after me."

Isabella stopped at the front door. She pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered over the contact she had saved only an hour ago.

Pick me up. Now.

She sent the text and stood there, her back to them, staring out into the dark driveway.

"Nobody is coming for you, Isabella," Beatrice said, her voice full of venom. "You’re alone. You’ve always been alone."

Suddenly, a low, powerful rumble began to shake the ground. It wasn't the sound of a normal car. It was the sound of a beast.

Two headlights cut through the darkness, blinding the family as a car pulled into the circular drive. It was a matte black Pagani Huayra, a car so rare and so expensive that most people only saw it in magazines. There were only two like it in the world.

The family went dead silent. Puerto’s eyes widened, his jaw practically dropping. "That’s... that’s a five-million-dollar car," he whispered.

The door opened upwards, like the wings of a bird.

Travis stepped out. He was dressed in a black suit that looked like it cost more than the Moore mansion. He walked around the car, his presence filling the entire driveway with a heavy, masculine authority.

He stopped in front of Isabella and took the suitcases from her hands.

"Ready to go, Isabella?" he asked, his voice smooth and cold.

Isabella looked back at her family. Their faces were a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. Eliana was clutching Puerto’s arm so hard her knuckles were white, her eyes burning with a jealous rage that Isabella felt in her bones.

"Who is that?" Amaia gasped, her voice trembling.

Isabella didn't answer. She looked at Travis, the man who had just offered her a throne.

"Yes," she said, her voice loud and clear. "I'm ready."

Travis put her bags in the car and held the door open for her. As she sat down in the soft leather seat, he leaned in, his face inches from hers.

"Wait," Puerto shouted, stepping forward. "Isabella! Who the hell is this?"

As they sped away, Isabella looked at the man beside her. "Travis?"

"Yeah?"

"The marriage," she said, her heart finally steady. "I'll do it. But on one condition."

Travis glanced at her, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "And what’s that?"

Isabella looked out the window as the gate closed behind them. "I want to burn their world to the ground."

Travis reached over, his hand covering hers on the center console.

"Consider it done, Mrs. Moore. No, wait," he corrected himself, his eyes flashing with a dangerous promise.

"Consider it done, Mrs. Vanguard."