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Isabella’s POV
The silence between Damon and me was suffocating—so thick I could almost hear it. I sat across from him in his sleek office, the same space where we’d once laughed and talked about our dreams. But now, nothing felt familiar. Nothing felt warm. Just cold, sterile air and the weight of what was about to end.
My eyes dropped to the paper on the table—divorce papers. My name stared back at me, printed in bold, formal ink. His signature was already there. Neat. Confident. Final. The man I had shared my soul with had already signed away our future.
I blinked back the tears threatening to spill. I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not when he had chosen someone else.
Damon stood by the window, hands in his pockets, back turned to me like I didn’t even exist. He was always good at distancing himself when things got real. The man who used to pull me into his arms at the end of a long day now couldn’t even look me in the eye.
Funny how love fades when you least expect it.
“Isabella,” his voice broke through the silence like a blade. Cold. Detached. “You know this is for the best.”
Best? For who? Him?
I stood slowly, my hands trembling, as I smoothed down my dress. “You’re going to tell me that leaving me for her is for the best?” I scoffed. “Are you sure about that, Damon? Who is she?”
He didn’t answer. His reflection in the window barely moved, but I saw his jaw tighten. A flicker of emotion—regret, maybe—but it was gone before I could hold on to it.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, still not facing me. “I never meant to hurt you.”
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “You never meant to hurt me, yet you lied to me, disappeared for days, and made excuses about business trips and late nights at work. You stopped showing up. You stopped choosing me.”
He turned then, slowly, and our eyes met. But his eyes were empty—gray and hollow like the storm clouds gathering behind him. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
But it is, I whispered in my mind, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You chose her over me, Damon. Without explanation. Without even trying to fix us. You made your choice. And now, you’ll live with it.”
I reached for the pen beside the papers and signed with shaking fingers. My name now felt like a betrayal. As if I had given up. As if I had accepted that I wasn’t enough.
But I wasn’t done.
I looked up, meeting his eyes one last time. “You’ll get exactly what you deserve.”
With that, I turned on my heel and walked toward the door, the sharp click of my heels cutting through the silence he left behind.
And then it happened.
Just as I reached for the handle, the door opened—and she walked in.
I froze.
Tall. Confident. Perfect hair, flawless makeup, and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t look surprised to see me. No. She looked prepared. Like she expected me to be here. Like this had been planned.
There was something familiar about her. Something I couldn’t place at first. But the moment Damon stepped toward her—too quickly, too comfortably—I knew.
The woman he had chosen…the one I was being thrown away for…wasn’t just anyone.
She was his ex.
Kiara.
The name hit me like a punch to the gut.
I had heard it before. In whispers. In arguments that ended too soon. In the silence when I asked him about her, he brushed it off like she didn’t matter.
Now, she was here. Walking into his office like she belonged. Like she had taken my place—and he had let her.
My heart cracked open in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I stood there, gripping the doorknob like it was the only thing holding me together. My chest burned. My head spun. All those nights he claimed to be out on business…all those missed calls and empty apologies…they made sense now.
She was the reason.
And the worst part? He didn’t even have the decency to tell me.
They didn’t speak to me. They didn’t need to. Their body language said enough. The quiet smile she gave him. The small nod he returned. I had been erased before I even walked out the door.
I turned away without a word. My heels felt heavier than before as I stepped into the hallway. The cold air outside slapped me harder than any truth Damon could’ve thrown at me.
This wasn’t just a divorce.
It was a betrayal.
As I walked to my car, the sky cracked open with thunder. Rain started to fall—first as a mist, then in steady sheets that blurred the world around me. I didn’t run for cover. I let it soak me. Let it chill my skin. Let it match the ache that lived inside my chest.
By the time I slid behind the wheel, my hands were shaking. I gripped the steering wheel and stared at the empty passenger seat beside me.
There was a time Damon would reach over and hold my hand when I was anxious. There was a time when just his voice could calm the chaos inside me.
Now… there was just silence.
And a name echoing in my mind.
Kiara.
I didn’t know where I was driving. I didn’t care. I just needed to get away. Away from that building, from those papers, from him. From her.
I kept driving until the city lights faded behind me, until the only sound was the rain on my windshield and the erratic thud of my heartbeat.
I ended up at a roadside motel—cheap, quiet, and far from everything that once defined me.
As I checked in, the clerk didn’t even look up. Just handed me a key and pointed toward a room at the far end. I was grateful for the anonymity. For the blank walls and peeling wallpaper that didn’t expect anything from me.
Inside, I dropped my bag and collapsed onto the bed, still in my soaked clothes. I stared at the ceiling, the sound of rain beating like war drums on the roof above me.
How did we get here?
How did a love that once felt so unbreakable turn to ashes?
And why—out of all people—was she back?
I closed my eyes, and for the first time in weeks, I let the tears come. They slid down my cheeks quietly, like a confession I hadn’t meant to make.
But beneath the heartbreak, something else stirred.
A strange tug in my chest. A whisper I couldn’t place.
Not of love.
Of something lost.
Something forgotten.
And I didn’t know it yet—but soon, everything I thought I knew about myself… would burn.
Isabella’s POVThe morning light felt different.It wasn’t harsh or cold. It was soft and golden, spilling through the curtains like the first breath after a long storm. For a moment, I didn’t move. I simply lay there, letting the warmth stretch across my face. It didn’t feel like survival anymore. It felt like peace.Then my phone began buzzing, vibrating against the nightstand with a chorus of alerts and messages.At first, I ignored it. But curiosity or maybe instinct made me reach for it.The first headline almost made me drop the phone.ABRAM EMPIRE EXPOSED: YEARS OF FRAUD, FIRE COVER-UP, AND STOLEN FORTUNE UNCOVERED.I sat up, heart pounding. Article after article filled the screen, evidence, files, statements. My uncle’s face was everywhere, but not as the powerful man he once was. The world finally saw him for what he truly was.The forged medical records.The laundered accounts.The manipulated inheritance.Even the truth about the fire that nearly killed me.It was all there
Damon’s POVThe city didn’t sleep that night and neither did I.From my office window, the skyline flickered like a dying heartbeat. Every screen, every whisper, every headline was about her — Isabella. I know she goes by Marisol Abram now, but I can’t get used to that name. She’ll always be Isabella to me, how I met her, how I remember her, before everything burned.I hadn’t slept in two days. Not since she faced her uncle on live television and shattered the empire built on lies. I watched every second — each word cutting through the dark like lightning. And while the world saw her rise, I worked in the shadows. Because this time, she wouldn’t have to fight alone.Marcus sat across from me, eyes red from exhaustion, typing with quiet fury. The office was dim, lit only by the blue glow of our monitors.“Are you sure about this?” he asked. “Once we release it, there’s no going back. You’re not just destroying him, you’re burning your own legacy too.”“I’m not doing this for legacy,” I
Uncle’s POV The city looks smaller tonight.From the top floor of Abram Tower the skyline fractures across the glass in gold and blue. Down there life goes on, lights flicker, cabs circle, but I know the world has changed. Everything tilted on one voice.Marisol Abram.My screens flare with her name. Anchors pick apart the image of her at the podium that calm, measured face as she looked at me and said the things I never expected to hear. And somehow, the world believed her.I turn the volume up until the anchor’s practiced cadence overwhelms the room.“…following last night’s confrontation, public sentiment has shifted in favor of Marisol Abram, now confirmed as the rightful heir…”I slam the remote down. The clatter dies into the steady hum of traffic below and the pulse in my temples.I fumble for my phone and start calling. Head of media straight to voicemail. Communications director voicemail. The PR chief finally answers, voice tight.“Sir, the coverage is everywhere. We’re try
Isabella’s POVThe morning after the gala, the world had turned into a courtroom. My name was everywhere—trending, dissected, glorified, doubted. Headlines screamed “Heiress Reborn,” “The Fire That Lied,” “Marisol Abram's Return Shakes Empire.” Every channel replayed when I stood beneath the lights and spoke my truth.But inside, there was no chaos. Only stillness.For years, I’d lived as a shadow—nameless, forgotten, rewritten by others. Now my face, my name, and my voice were out there. Irrevocable. Terrifying and freeing all at once. I could never disappear again.Mia hovered near the couch, restless hands around her mug. “You should eat something,” she murmured for the fifth time.“I will,” I said, though we both knew I wouldn’t.She turned up the muted TV. “He’s already spoken,” she said quietly. “Your uncle called you a liar… said you faked everything for attention.”I felt the words, not as surprise but as confirmation. “Of course he did.”Mia hesitated. “They’re calling it dama
Damon’s POVI woke to a room full of noise.Not the ordinary hum of messages and calendar alerts. This was the sudden, sharp clamor that says something has already broken. Phones buzzed, news pings stacked on the nightstand, and a muted TV threw images across the ceiling. For a moment I lay still, letting the sound find me.Marcus’s name flashed across the screen again and again. I hit speakerphone before I was fully awake.“You see this?” Marcus’s voice was flat. Behind him, other voices moved like a current. Whatever was happening had already started.I turned up the TV. The anchor was polished and calm, then footage rolled: chandeliers, clinking glasses, the charity gala. The camera tightened on a woman at the podium. The pendant at her throat caught the light. The invitation on the table read Marisol Abram.Isabella. Marisol. She stood at the microphone with her shoulders even and her chin lifted. The woman on the screen was not fragile. She was forged by what had tried to destroy
Isabella’s POVThe name Marisol Abram had been buried for years, erased from records, replaced with someone quieter. Someone invisible.But ghosts don’t stay buried forever.It started with a headline.Mia slid her phone across the counter that morning, her eyes bright with disbelief.“Look,” she said. “He’s holding a charity gala next weekend. ‘The Abram Foundation for the Future.’ Can you believe that?”The article glowed back at me, my uncle’s smiling face beside the words legacy, resilience, and renewal. The same man who stole everything from me is now branding himself with the ruins he created.A gala.A stage.An audience that once whispered about me behind champagne glasses.Mia crossed her arms. “You’re not actually thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”I looked up slowly. “He wanted to erase me. Maybe it’s time I remind him I still exist.”“Isabella”“Not Isabella,” I corrected quietly. “Marisol.”The word felt strange on my tongue, heavy, familiar, like a melody I







