Chapter 1 - The Black Birthday

Isabella POV

Today was supposed to be my happiest day.

I remembered waking up that morning with a smile on my face. The sun had streamed through my pink curtains, warming my skin. I had stretched in my bed, feeling lighter than I had in years. It was my birthday. My twenty-seventh birthday. And for the first time since my father died, my family was throwing me a party.

I had baked my own cake, of course. Three tiers. White frosting. Pink roses. I had decorated the ballroom myself, arranging the white balloons and gold ribbons with careful hands. I had greeted every guest with a genuine smile, relatives I hadn't seen in years, friends who had drifted away, reporters who had come to capture the event. I had believed, in that moment, that I was truly loved.

I had been so foolish.

"Isa! Isa, come cut your cake!"

Sophia's voice had rung out across the ballroom, bright and cheerful. My sister. My younger sister. The one I had grown up with, shared secrets with, loved with my whole heart. She had waved at me from across the room, standing beside the cake I had baked. Her smile had been wide, her eyes sparkling.

I stood up from my chair, my heart swelling with happiness. Ethan had squeezed my hand as I passed him, and I had smiled down at him. My husband. My childhood crush. The man I had given up everything for.

"I'm coming!" I had called back, my voice light with joy.

The guests had turned to watch me. The press had raised their cameras, their flashes bright and blinding. I had felt like a princess, walking toward my throne.

I had reached the cake. I had picked up the knife. I had been about to cut the first slice when Sophia's hand had stopped me.

"Wait," she had said.

I looked at her, confused. "What is it?"

She smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was sharp, like a knife. But I did not read the meaning into it. "I have a surprise for you, Isa. I couldn't wait for you to cut your cake. I'm just so excited."

I laughed, my heart full of love. "A surprise? What is it?"

She had glanced at Ethan. He nodded. Something cold had settled in my stomach, but I had ignored it. I had trusted them.

"Go on," I had said, my voice eager. "Show me."

Sophia had reached into her purse. She had pulled out a document. A thick, official-looking document. She had held it up for the crowd to see.

"This," she had announced, "is a marriage certificate."

The room had gone silent. I stared at the paper, uncomprehending.

"A marriage certificate?" I had repeated.

Sophia nodded. Her smile had widened. "Yes. Mine. And Ethan's."

The words had hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled back, my hand flying to my chest.

"What?" I whispered.

Sophia had stepped closer. She had handed me the document. My hands had been shaking as I had taken it.

I had read the names. Sophia Hale. Ethan Carter. Married five years ago.

Five years.

I had looked up at her, my vision blurring. "This... this is a joke. This has to be a joke."

Sophia had shaken her head. "It's not a joke, Isa. It's the truth."

I had turned to Ethan. He had been standing beside her, his arms crossed, his face expressionless.

"Ethan?" I had pleaded. "Tell them it's a lie. Tell them!"

He had looked at me. His eyes had been cold. He had said nothing.

Sophia had laughed. She had thrown another document at me. It had hit my chest and fallen to the floor.

"That's your marriage certificate," she had said. "The one you've been carrying around like a fool. It's a fraud, Isa. You were never legally married to Ethan."

I stared at her, my mouth opening and closing. "What?"

"You were never his wife," Sophia had said, her voice dripping with cruelty. "You were the other woman. The side woman. The fool who thought she was loved."

The guests had gasped. They had pointed. They whispered. Their eyes had been filled with judgment, with disgust, with delight at my humiliation.

I had run to Ethan. I grabbed his arm. I had looked into his eyes, searching for the man I had loved.

"Tell them," I begged. "Tell them it's a lie. Please, Ethan. Tell them."

He had pushed me away.

I had fallen to the floor. My dress had torn. My hands had scraped against the marble. I looked up at him, tears streaming down my face.

He had not moved. He had not defended me. He had just stood there, watching me like I was nothing.

The room had spun. I had clutched my head, trying to breathe.

"And that little boy you thought was Ethan's nephew?" Sophia had continued. "He's ours. Our son. He's three years old."

I was frozen. The little boy. The child I had played with. The child I had babysat. The child I had loved.

He was their son.

"That's why I went away for my 'masters,'" Sophia had said, her voice mocking. "I was giving birth to our child. We hid him from you because we were afraid you would hurt him."

"Hurt him?" I had repeated, my voice cracking. "I would never... I loved him..."

"You loved him?" Sophia had laughed. "You loved everything about us, didn't you, Isa? You loved Ethan. You loved me. You loved our son. And you never suspected a thing."

I had looked at Rebecca. My mother. The woman who had raised me.

"Mom?" I whispered. "Tell them. Tell me, it's a prank. Please."

She had looked at me. Her eyes had been cold. She had pushed me away.

"Don't call me that," she had said.

I had fallen again. I had hit the floor hard, my head spinning.

"You were never my daughter," Rebecca had said. "The girl who had everything. The girl who was going to inherit it all."

I had stared at her, my heart shattering into a million pieces.

"So we took it," Rebecca had continued. "We took everything. And you were too stupid to see it."

Sophia had stepped forward again. She had placed her hand on her belly once more.

"Oh, and Isa?" she had said. "I'm four months pregnant. Ethan's child. Again."

I had looked at Ethan. He had not looked at me. He had wrapped his arm around Sophia. He had kissed her cheek. He had held her like she was the one breaking down.

The press had snapped their cameras. The flashes had blinded me. I had lain on the floor, in my birthday gown that Sophia had bought me, looking so betrayed.

The gown. She had bought me the gown.

She had planned this. All of it. From the beginning.

I had felt something break inside me. Something I had not known was still intact.

Then the world had shaken.

It had started as a low rumble. A vibration beneath the floor. Then the building groaned. The windows had shattered. The guest screamed.

The apocalypse had begun just like it was stated by the old scientist book of Warden that was read in school then, but no one believed. It was treated as a myth.

The guests had fled. They had trampled over each other, pushing and shoving, desperate to escape. They had not looked at me. They had not helped me.

Ethan had grabbed Sophia's hand. He had grabbed their son. He had grabbed Rebecca and his sister. He had run toward the exit.

He had not looked back.

Sophia had looked back. Just once. She glared at me with a look that said, You deserve this.

Then they were gone.

I had tried to stand. I had tried to run. But my legs had not moved.

A brick had fallen from the ceiling. It had landed on my leg. I screamed.

The pain had been white-hot. Blinding. I had tried to pull myself free, but the brick had been too heavy. I had tried to crawl, but my leg had been trapped.

I screamed for help. I begged. I had pleaded.

No one had come.

The building had continued to collapse. Dust had filled the air. Debris had fallen around me. I coughed. I choked. I cried.

I had remembered my father's words. Trust no one, Isabella. Not Ethan. Not Rebecca. Not Sophia. They are wolves in sheep's clothing.

I had remembered my grandmother's words. Don't trust him, Isabella. He will destroy you.

They had warned me. They had tried to protect me. But I had not listened. I had been too blind. Too trusting. Too desperate to be loved.

The roof had begun to fall. I had looked up at it, my vision blurring.

I had made one final birthday wish.

If anyone can hear me... This is my last birthday wish. If I have another chance, I will listen this time. I will never betray myself for anyone again.

The roof collapsed on me.