"You bitch! You're ruining everything over some paranoia?" Logan's shout echoed, but Isabella ended the call mid-rant, her hands trembling slightly as she dialed her lawyers next.
"Mr. Nathan? It's Isabella Voss. Prepare for war. My fiancé—ex-fiancé—was plotting my murder. I need restraining orders, asset freezes, everything. Police report incoming." Her voice cracked just a fraction on the last word, the weight of betrayal crashing down.
Henry set his mug aside, his reserved nature giving way to the kind-hearted empath he was. He saw the pain etching lines on her face—the woman who'd built her wealth from nothing, now facing a personal apocalypse. "Isabella... hey, sit down. You don't have to handle this alone right now."
She sank onto the couch, phone still clutched like a weapon, as tears welled in her eyes—hot, angry tears that she swiped away furiously. "I thought he loved me, Henry. Or at least respected me. But it was all for the money. God, how could I be so blind?"
