Ethan's POV
The slap echoes through the empty wedding venue.
My mother's hand connects with my face so hard my head snaps to the side. I don't try to stop her. I deserve it.
"You're a fool," Eleanor Blackwell says, her voice shaking with rage. "An absolute fool."
We're standing in what should have been my wedding reception hall. Workers are dismantling white flower arrangements and taking down lights. The cake—three tiers that Isla spent weeks choosing—sits abandoned on a table, waiting to be thrown away.
Just like I threw away three years with her.
"Mom, I know—"
"You know nothing!" She's crying now, which is worse than the slap. My mother never cries. "That sweet girl loved you with everything she had. She made your life work. She supported your career. She asked for nothing. And you treated her like a placeholder while you pined after a woman who never truly loved you!"
"I realize that now—"
"Now? NOW?" Her voice rises. "It's your wedding day, Ethan! You should be marrying the love of your life right now. Instead, you're standing in an empty room because you were too blind to see what you had!"
I look around the venue. Two hundred chairs sit empty. The altar where I was supposed to promise forever stands bare. Guest cancellation notices went out three days ago, and my phone has been exploding with questions ever since.
"Where's the bride?" "What happened?" "Did she leave you?"
My business reputation is already taking hits. People whisper in meetings. Clients ask uncomfortable questions. The great Ethan Blackwell, who controls everything, couldn't even keep his fiancée from running away.
They're not wrong.
"I called Isla every day this week," I say quietly. "Her phone's disconnected. She's completely disappeared."
"Good." My mother's voice is ice. "She deserves better than a son who doesn't know love when it's standing right in front of him."
The door opens and Vivienne walks in. She's wearing black—probably trying to look supportive, but it just makes her look like she's mourning my relationship.
Or celebrating it.
After what Detective Morrison told me yesterday about her connection to Vincent Russo, I see Vivienne differently now. Every smile feels calculated. Every touch feels manipulative.
"Ethan, sweetheart, are you okay?" She reaches for my hand but I pull away.
My mother's eyes narrow. "You. This is your fault."
"Excuse me?" Vivienne's mask of concern cracks slightly.
"You came back here to steal my son away from a woman who actually loved him. A woman who was good for him. And you succeeded. Congratulations." Eleanor's voice drips with sarcasm.
"I didn't steal anything. Ethan has always loved me—"
"He loved a memory," I interrupt. "A fantasy version of you that never existed."
Vivienne's face goes pale. "Ethan, you don't mean that."
"Yes, I do." I meet her eyes. "I've been asking myself why you really came back. It's not love. You didn't text or call for five years. You got married and forgot I existed. But the moment your rich husband divorced you, suddenly you remember me?"
"That's not fair—"
"And then Detective Morrison tells me you've been in contact with Vincent Russo. My biggest competitor. The man who's been trying to destroy my company for years." I step closer to her. "Want to explain that?"
Vivienne's expression changes. The warm, sympathetic woman disappears. In her place is someone cold and calculating.
"You've been investigating me?"
"The police have been investigating you. Apparently, there are security cameras everywhere. Including in my office hallway three days ago, when Isla saw us together. When you saw her standing there and didn't say anything."
My mother gasps. "She saw you? Isla saw you with her?"
"She heard everything," I say, my voice breaking. "She heard me tell Vivienne I never stopped loving her. And Vivienne saw Isla standing there and let it happen."
"Because it was true," Vivienne says coldly. "You did love me. You proposed to that boring little woman but you never looked at her the way you looked at me."
"You're right," I admit. "I didn't look at Isla the way I looked at you. I looked at you like you were a dream. Something perfect and unattainable. But I looked at Isla like she was real. Like she was home. I just didn't realize that's what I needed until she was gone."
Eleanor puts her hand on my shoulder, her anger softening into sadness.
Vivienne laughs bitterly. "How poetic. Too bad she'll never hear your big revelation. She's gone, Ethan. And she's not coming back."
"Why do you sound so certain?" my mother asks sharply.
Something flickers in Vivienne's eyes. Fear? Guilt?
"What did you do?" I move closer to her. "The police asked me if you threatened Isla. I said no because I couldn't imagine you being that cruel. But now I'm wondering... did you?"
"I didn't have to threaten her. She left on her own—"
"Answer the question!" My voice echoes through the empty venue. "Did you threaten Isla?"
Vivienne's phone buzzes. She glances at it and her face goes white.
"I have to go."
"No." I grab her arm. "You're not leaving until you tell me what you did."
She yanks her arm away, and something falls from her purse. A piece of paper.
My mother picks it up before Vivienne can stop her. She reads it, and her expression turns to horror.
"What is this?"
"It's nothing—"
Eleanor holds up the paper so I can see. It's a printout of an email. From Vivienne to Vincent Russo.
"The plan is working perfectly. Blackwell is distracted with me. His fiancée will be out of the picture by tomorrow. Then we can move forward with the takeover. Once I'm Mrs. Blackwell again, I'll have access to all his accounts and business files. He'll be destroyed before he knows what hit him."
The email is dated five days ago. The day after Vivienne returned to New York.
I look at Vivienne with complete clarity. "You never came back for me. You came back to help Russo destroy my company."
"Ethan, let me explain—"
"And Isla. 'Out of the picture by tomorrow.' What does that mean?" My voice is deadly quiet now. "What did you do to Isla?"
"I didn't do anything! I just... I encouraged her to leave. I sent her those photos of us together. I made sure she knew you didn't love her. But I didn't hurt her!"
"You sent her photos?" My hands clench into fists. "What photos?"
Vivienne backs toward the door. "Just pictures of us having lunch. Having dinner. Looking happy together. I wanted her to see the truth—that you belonged with me."
"Those were staged," I realize. "You made sure we were photographed together. You sent them to Isla to break her heart."
"So what if I did? She wasn't right for you anyway!"
"Get out," my mother says, her voice like steel. "Get out before I call the police myself."
Vivienne runs, her heels clicking on the floor as she disappears through the door.
I sink into one of the empty wedding chairs, my head in my hands.
"I destroyed everything," I whisper. "I destroyed her."
My mother sits beside me. "Then you fix it. You find her. You beg for forgiveness. And you spend the rest of your life proving you deserve her."
"What if she won't forgive me?"
"Then you accept it. But you try, Ethan. You actually try instead of just expecting things to work out."
My phone rings. Detective Morrison again.
"Mr. Blackwell, you need to get to the station now."
"Did you find Isla?"
"We found something better. We found out why she really disappeared. And Mr. Blackwell? Your fiancée is a lot smarter than any of us realized."
"What do you mean?"
"She wasn't running from you. She was running toward something. She's been building a case against Vincent Russo and Vivienne Hart for corporate espionage. She knew about their plan to destroy you before any of this happened."
My heart stops. "What?"
"She's been working with the FBI for two weeks. She discovered documents in your office that proved Russo was planning a hostile takeover. She saw Vivienne's name in those files and realized the woman you were falling for was actually trying to destroy you."
"Then where is she?"
"That's the problem, Mr. Blackwell. She was supposed to check in with her FBI contact yesterday. She didn't. And now they can't find her either."
"What are you saying?"
The detective's voice goes grim. "I'm saying that Isla Monroe went from being a witness in a corporate espionage case to being a missing person in a possible kidnapping. And Vivienne Hart and Vincent Russo are our prime suspects."
The venue spins around me.
Isla didn't just leave because her heart was broken.
She left because she was trying to save me.
And now she's in danger because of it.