Isla's POV
My phone won't stop ringing.
I grab it from the nightstand, squinting at the bright screen. Fifty-three missed calls. Two hundred and seventeen text messages. My social media notifications have exploded past the thousands.
Then I see the headline on my news app: "MANHATTAN'S MOST HUMILIATED BRIDE: Isla Monroe Dumped for Younger Sister."
Below it, there's a photo of me from last night. Mascara streaked down my face, dress soaked, running barefoot through the rain. I look completely broken.
I was completely broken.
The photo has three million views. Three million people have seen the worst moment of my life.
My stomach twists and I run to the bathroom, barely making it before I'm sick.
Sophia's apartment—where I crashed last night after refusing that stranger's weird revenge offer—is small but safe. At least I thought it was safe.
Someone pounds on the front door. Hard.
"Isla Monroe! Open this door right now!"
Dad.
I freeze, one hand gripping the bathroom counter. Through the door, I hear Sophia's muffled voice: "She doesn't want to see you!"
"I don't care what she wants. That's my daughter and we need to talk."
"Sir, you need to leave or I'm calling the police—"
A crash. He forced his way in.
I stumble out of the bathroom as my father storms into Sophia's tiny living room. His face is red, a vein pulsing in his forehead. He's angrier than I've ever seen him.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he shouts.
"What I've done?" My voice comes out shaky. "Derek dumped me for Natasha! In front of everyone!"
"And you ran! You made it a spectacle! These photos are everywhere, Isla. Everywhere! You've made our family look weak. Pathetic."
Sophia steps between us. "Get out. Now."
Dad ignores her, pointing at me. "The Ashford family wants an apology. From you."
I blink. "An... apology?"
"For causing a scene at what should have been a dignified announcement. Derek tried to handle things maturely and you embarrassed him."
The room tilts. "Maturely? He kissed my sister at my engagement party!"
"Because he's in love with her! Real love, Isla. Not whatever cold, difficult thing you offered him." Dad's words cut like knives. "You drove him away. Just like you drive everyone away."
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it? You're stubborn. Obsessed with your little art hobby instead of focusing on what matters—being a good wife, supporting your husband's career. Natasha understands that. She'll make Derek happy. You never could."
Each word is a punch. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.
"I want you to apologize to the Ashfords," Dad continues. "And to your sister. Then we'll find you another suitable match. Someone who can handle your... difficulties."
"No." The word surprises me. It comes out stronger than I feel.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. I'm not apologizing. I'm not getting matched with anyone. I'm done."
Dad's laugh is cold. "Done? You don't get to be done. You're a Monroe. You have responsibilities—"
"Then I quit being a Monroe."
Silence. Even Sophia gasps.
Dad's expression hardens into something scary. "Fine. If that's how you want it." He pulls out his phone, makes a call. "Richard? Yes, freeze all of Isla's accounts. Immediately. Credit cards, trust fund, everything." He pauses. "Because she's no longer part of this family."
My heart stops.
"Dad, wait—"
He hangs up, pockets his phone. "You have until tonight to clear out of your apartment. After that, the locks change."
"You can't—"
"I just did. You want to be independent? Prove you don't need family? Fine. Do it with nothing." He heads for the door, then stops. "When you come crawling back—and you will—maybe you'll have learned some gratitude."
The door slams behind him.
I can't breathe. Can't think. My entire life just vanished in one phone call.
"Isla..." Sophia touches my arm gently. "He's bluffing. He has to be."
I check my phone with shaking hands. Pull up my bank app.
Account balance: $0.00
All my cards: FROZEN
The trust fund my grandmother left me: ACCESS DENIED
"Oh my god," I whisper. "He actually did it."
I have nothing. No money. No apartment. No family.
Nothing.
My phone buzzes with a new text. It's from Natasha: Stop being dramatic. Derek and I are happy. Be a good sister and support us. Oh, and thanks for the party! The ice swans were a nice touch. 😘
Something inside me breaks. Not the sad, crying kind of break. The angry kind.
The dangerous kind.
"I need to pack," I say quietly.
"Pack what? You can stay here as long as—"
"My apartment. I need to get my things before Dad changes the locks."
Sophia drives me across town. We don't talk. What is there to say?
My apartment building—the place I've lived for three years—looks the same. But when I try my key card, it doesn't work.
"No," I breathe. "He said tonight. It's only noon—"
The doorman won't meet my eyes. "Sorry, Miss Monroe. Orders from your father. Your belongings will be sent to storage."
"Let me just grab a few things. Please. Five minutes."
"I can't. I'm sorry."
I want to scream. Want to cry. Want to break something.
Instead, I walk away because that's all I can do.
"We'll figure this out," Sophia says as we drive back to her place. "I have some money saved. We'll get you a job, an apartment—"
"With what resume? I studied art history. I've never worked a real job in my life." The truth tastes bitter. "Dad's right. I'm useless."
"Don't say that—"
"It's true! I don't know how to do anything. I've been playing at being independent while living off family money. Now I actually have nothing and I don't even know how to survive."
My phone rings. Unknown number. I almost don't answer, but something makes me pick up.
"Miss Monroe." A woman's voice, professional. "This is Katherine Chen from Chen & Associates Law Firm. I'm calling regarding your mother."
My stomach drops. "What about my mother?"
"She's requested to see you. Urgently. Can you meet her at The Plaza in one hour?"
"Why? What's wrong?"
"She didn't say. But she was very insistent that it couldn't wait." The woman pauses. "She said to tell you: it's about your future. And Richard Steele."
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone.
"Who was that?" Sophia asks.
"My mom. She wants to meet." I swallow hard. "Something about Richard Steele."
"Who's Richard Steele?"
"I have no idea."
But something in my g
ut tells me I'm about to find out. And whatever my mother wants to tell me—about my future, about this Richard Steele person—it's going to change everything.
Again.