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Chapter 4 - Chapter 4: A Stranger in Her Own Skin

Isa looked at her reflection in the rain-speckled café window.

The woman who stared back wasn't Isabella Blackstone—the heartbroken wife buried beneath layers of lies and betrayal. No. This woman had sharper eyes, a colder edge to her lips. A stranger… yet more herself than she'd ever been.

Inside the café, whispers danced among the marble tables. Wealthy socialites, their diamond-studded fingers clutching cappuccinos, gossiped about Damien Blackstone's tragic loss—and his stoic charm at the funeral.

"They say he hasn't eaten in days," one woman sighed.

"Poor man. So devoted," another added, fluttering her lashes.

Isa's lips curved into a razor-thin smile. Devoted? He made sure I burned in that car.

She turned away before the anger could rise again. Not yet. She needed control—every emotion was a weapon now, and she couldn't afford to fire too early.

At that moment, her phone buzzed. An unknown number. She tapped to answer.

"Isabella Blackstone," said a voice like silk and steel.

Her blood froze.

"No," she replied calmly. "She died. You have the wrong number."

There was a pause. Then: "If she's dead… then who's the woman currently buying up shares in Blackstone Media?"

Isa's eyes narrowed. The voice wasn't Damien's. But it was someone who knew far too much.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"A friend," he said. "Or maybe an enemy. That depends on what you do next."

Then the line went dead.

Isa stared at the phone in her hand.

The game had started.

And she was no longer playing by the old rules.

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