POV: Adrian
The entire ballroom is staring at me like I'm the villain.
Papers scattered everywhere. Emily screaming about manipulation. And Isabelle standing there in diamonds and a dress that costs more than my car, looking like a stranger.
"Adrian," she says quietly. "Let me explain—"
"Explain?" The word explodes out of me. "You've been controlling my entire life! Every contract, every success, every single thing I thought I earned—it was you pulling strings behind my back!"
The crowd presses closer, phones out, recording everything.
"You lied to me," I continue, my voice shaking with rage. "You pretended to be poor. Disabled. Helpless. You made me feel like a hero for loving you when all along you were some billionaire playing games!"
"That's not—"
"How long were you planning to keep this up?" I grab one of the papers Emily threw. It's a bank transfer for fifty thousand dollars to my firm, dated six months ago. "You've been buying me like I'm some kind of pet project!"
Vanessa appears at my side, her face pale. "Adrian, maybe we should go—"
"No." I shake her off. "I want answers. I want to know why my wife has been treating me like a puppet for three years!"
Isabelle's emerald eyes flash with something dangerous. "You want answers? Fine. Let's talk about the past three years, Adrian. Let's talk about who really played who."
"You faked a disability!" I shout. "You lied about everything!"
"I faked a disability to see if you'd love me for ME!" Her voice rises for the first time, and the crowd goes silent. "Not for my money. Not for my family name. For the person I actually am inside!"
"That's insane—"
"Is it?" She steps closer, and I smell her perfume—expensive, nothing like the cheap stuff she used to wear. "My family warned me about you, Adrian. They said you saw dollar signs instead of a person. So I tested you. I gave you exactly what you claimed to want—a woman who loved you unconditionally, who supported your dreams, who asked for nothing in return."
"You made me think you were helpless!"
"And you married me anyway, didn't you?" Her smile is cold. "You married the poor, disabled girl. The one with nothing to offer. Why, Adrian? Why marry someone you clearly thought was beneath you?"
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
Because she's right.
I did think she was beneath me. From the very beginning, I thought I was doing her a favor.
"You want to know the truth?" Isabelle's voice drops, and somehow that's scarier than her yelling. "Every business contract you ever got? I arranged it. Every client who chose your firm? My family sent them. Every dollar in your bank account? Came from me working eighteen-hour days while pretending to be a struggling freelancer."
The ballroom spins.
"The apartment you complained about? I paid for it. The car you drove? I made the payments. Your entire success story?" She laughs bitterly. "Built on my money while you cheated on me with my best friend and called me useless."
"I didn't know—"
"You didn't care to know!" Her voice cracks. "I supported you. I believed in you. I sacrificed everything for you. And what did you do? You called me a burden. A pathetic cripple you kept out of pity."
The words I said yesterday come back to haunt me. Words I meant. Words I can't take back.
"Isabelle—"
"No." She holds up her hand. "You don't get to explain. You don't get to apologize. You made your choice when you brought my best friend into our bed."
Vanessa tries to slip away into the crowd, but Marcus Ashford blocks her path.
"Not so fast, Miss Cole. We have questions about your involvement in defrauding my sister."
"Defrauding?" Vanessa's voice goes shrill. "I didn't do anything!"
"Really?" Marcus pulls out his phone and starts reading. "Because we found your diary. The one where you documented your two-year affair. The one where you described manipulating both my sister and her husband."
The crowd gasps.
My stomach drops. "Two years?"
Vanessa's face crumbles. "Adrian, I can explain—"
"You've been lying to me for TWO YEARS?" The betrayal hits me like a truck. While I thought I was sneaking around, Vanessa was playing us both.
"It's not like that—"
"What's it like, then?" Isabelle asks quietly. "Because from where I'm standing, you befriended me specifically to destroy my marriage. You whispered poison in Adrian's ear about how I was holding him back. You made him feel guilty for having a disabled wife. All while sleeping with him and planning to become the next Mrs. Kane."
"That's not—" Vanessa looks around desperately. "Adrian, tell them! We love each other!"
I stare at her. This woman I thought understood me. This woman who made me feel powerful and free.
"Do we?" I ask. "Or did you just love the architect you thought was successful on his own?"
Vanessa's silence is answer enough.
"Oh my God." The realization hits me. "You didn't know either. You didn't know Isabelle was an Ashford. You thought I was self-made. You were using me to climb the social ladder."
"No! I love you!"
"You love what I represented," I say slowly. "A successful man who could give you the life you wanted. But I'm not successful. I never was. Everything I have came from HER."
I turn to Isabelle, and for the first time, I really see her. Not the limping woman who apologized for existing. Not the burden I convinced myself she was.
I see the woman who loved me enough to give up everything. Who tested me and watched me fail spectacularly.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "God, Isabelle, I'm so sorry."
"Sorry?" She tilts her head. "You're sorry NOW? After you got caught? After your world fell apart?"
"I didn't know—"
"You didn't want to know." Her eyes are dry now. No more tears for me. "You wanted an excuse to treat me like garbage while feeling noble for staying. Well, congratulations, Adrian. You got what you wanted."
She starts to turn away, and panic floods my chest.
"Wait! Please! I love you!"
The entire ballroom goes silent.
Isabelle stops. Slowly, she turns back to face me.
"You love me?" she repeats softly.
"Yes! I know I messed up, but we can fix this. I'll do anything—"
"Anything?"
"Anything!"
She studies me for a long moment. Then she pulls something from her purse and throws it at my feet.
Divorce papers.
"Sign them," she says. "If you love me, respect me enough to let me go."
"No. I won't. I can't lose you—"
"You already lost me!" Her voice breaks. "You lost me the moment you called me useless. The moment you laughed with her in our bed. The moment you chose cruelty over kindness."
Security guards appear on either side of me.
"What's happening?"
"You're being escorted out," Marcus says coldly. "You and Miss Cole are no longer welcome at this event. Or anywhere near my sister."
"You can't do this—"
"I can do anything I want, Mr. Kane. I'm Marcus Ashford. And you're just the man who broke my sister's heart."
The guards grab my arms. I fight them, reaching for Isabelle.
"Please! Give me one more chance! I'll prove I love you!"
She looks at me with such sadness that my heart cracks.
"You already had your chance, Adrian. You had three years of chances. You wasted every single one."
They drag me toward the exit. The crowd parts, everyone staring, judging, recording.
But I only see Isabelle, standing tall and beautiful and completely done with me.
"I'll fix this!" I shout as they pull me through the doors. "I'll prove I'm worthy! I'll—"
The doors slam shut.
I'm standing outside in the cold night air, breathing hard, my world in pieces.
Vanessa stumbles out behind me, makeup ruined, crying.
"Adrian, what do we do now? Your firm, your reputation, everything—"
"Get away from me," I snarl.
"What?"
"You used me. You manipulated both of us. You're not innocent in this." I start walking toward the parking lot. "We're done."
"But Adrian—"
My phone rings. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Kane?" A woman's voice. "This is Jessica Martin from City Business Magazine. We're running a story about your marriage to Isabelle Ashford. Would you like to comment on the allegations that you married her for money and emotionally abused her for three years?"
The phone slips from my shaking hand.
Tomorrow, the whole world will know what I did.
Tomorrow, I'll be the villain in everyone's story.
And the worst part? They'll be right.
I sink onto the curb and drop my head in my hands.
Behind me, through the windows, I see Isabelle inside the ballroom. Men surround her—handsome, successful men who look at her like she's precious.
One of them makes her laugh.
The sound doesn't reach me, but it kills me anyway.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number:
"This is just the beginning of what you deserve. -M.A."
Marcus Ashford.
He's going to destroy me.
And I deserve every second of it.