An hour crawled by, and I sat alone at our table, my fingers curled around a half-empty glass of wine. Across the grand ballroom, Marco was twirling Natalia under the chandelier’s light — a dazzling display of charm and deceit. They looked like a magazine spread from hell, the kind of image that ruined people quietly.

I took another sip, the taste sharp against my tongue. But behind my eyes, I saw Mateo. His laughter echoed — that sweet, airy giggle that once filled our kitchen. I could still see him there, barefoot on the tiles, frosting smeared across his cheeks as he proudly showed me his messy cupcakes.

“Mama, look what I made!”

My chest tightened.

I swear to you, Mateo, I thought, I’ll make them pay for everything. But first, I have to walk out of this prison alive.

“Another glass, Mrs. Cortez?” The waiter leaned closer, bottle in hand. I nodded absently — but Marco noticed.

From the dance floor, he froze mid-step, his hand dropping from Natalia’s waist. His stare cut through the crowd and locked on me. It wasn’t love in his eyes — it was ownership. Fury. Fire.

Within moments, he was crossing the marble floor, abandoning Natalia without a glance. His grip closed around my arm, hard enough to bruise.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re my wife, not some spoiled brat flirting with the help.”

I slipped my arm free and met his glare evenly. “Maybe if you’d remembered I was your wife before tonight, we wouldn’t be here.”

Then I turned on my heel and walked off, my pulse steady but burning with rage.

I pushed into the powder room, closing the door behind me. The silence was heavy, broken only by my shallow breathing — until it wasn’t.

The door creaked open again. Natalia stepped in, shutting it quietly behind her.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of ruins,” she said sweetly, her voice dripping with mock pity. “Still pretending anyone in that room listens to you?”

I didn’t answer.

She smirked, eyes glinting. “You couldn’t even protect your own child. What kind of mother lets her son die like that?”

My hand twitched at my side.

“He was, what… six?” she continued, her tone almost playful. “He must’ve screamed when the timer started. Did he call for you? Did he beg you to save him?”

That was it. The last crack in my restraint. I lunged — but before my hand even connected, she moved faster.

Natalia slapped herself. Hard. Then again, leaving red streaks on her own face. She clawed at her collarbone, dragged her fingers down her neck, then flung herself against the sink with a scream that could split glass.

“Help! Somebody help!” she shrieked. “Isabella’s gone mad!”

The door burst open moments later, but she was already halfway out, sobbing hysterically.

When I stepped out behind her, chaos had already bloomed. Natalia was on the ballroom floor, tears streaking her ruined makeup, the red marks on her skin glowing under the lights. She looked like a victim straight out of a crime scene.

Marco reached her first, catching her before she fell. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice sharp, panicked.

“She—she attacked me!” Natalia gasped between sobs, clutching his jacket. “She slammed me into the mirror! Look at my face!”

Marco’s expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Smith! Take Isabella out of here. Now.”

Two of his men stormed in, seizing me by the arms. I didn’t struggle. There was no point. My heels scraped against the marble as they dragged me forward.

Every head turned. Every whisper grew.

The music had died, replaced by murmurs and gasps. Some guests looked scandalized; others watched with a hunger for gossip. Even those pretending to ignore it couldn’t look away.

Natalia lay trembling in her mother’s arms, her sobs pitifully rehearsed.

“My poor baby!” her mother cried dramatically. “What kind of monster would do this?”

Her father shook his head, voice booming for everyone to hear. “She’s suffered enough! Always too forgiving. Too kind.”

Marco’s grandmother strode forward, her face twisted with disgust.

“Disgraceful!” she spat. “You humiliate this family before our allies — on our anniversary, no less! You’ve shamed our name beyond repair!”

Then came Marco’s grandfather, striking his cane hard against the marble floor.

“I’ve tolerated your coldness long enough,” he roared. “But this? Hurting an innocent guest? You’re done, Isabella. You are no longer one of us!”

I lifted my head slowly, heart hammering, chest tight. Then I snapped.

“Innocent?” My voice cracked through the silence like lightning. “You want to talk about innocent?”

I turned straight to Marco, my eyes blazing. “She’s the reason Mateo’s dead.”

The entire room froze. The silence was suffocating — heavy, unbreathing. Even the musicians had stopped moving.

“She told you he wasn’t yours,” I continued, trembling but unbroken. “She poisoned you against your own son. She despised him. And now he’s gone because of her.”

Marco’s brow furrowed, confusion warring with disbelief.

Then Natalia struck again, voice slicing through the air. “She’s lying! I saw Mateo earlier today!” she cried. “He was fine — running around a friend’s house! She’s gone insane! She’s saying her son is dead just to make me look guilty!”

She turned to the crowd, tears streaming. “Look at what she did to me! Look at my face! This woman needs help!”

That was all it took.

Marco’s rage erupted. He stormed toward me, and I didn’t move.

The first slap came hard and fast.

Smack.

Then another.

Smack.

By the third, my head snapped sideways. The fourth blurred my vision.

The fifth sent me crumbling to the marble floor.

Blood filled my mouth, my cheek blazing with heat. I barely caught myself with one trembling hand, eyes fixed on the polished floor as Marco lifted Natalia into his arms and carried her out.

Applause. Whispers. Disgust. Pity. I couldn’t tell anymore.

I stayed where I fell.

+++

I don’t remember leaving the hall. One moment I was lying on cold marble, and the next, I was staring at the ceiling of our bedroom. My face throbbed, my lip split open. But none of it matched the ache hollowing my chest.

That night marked the end. The last time I shed tears for Marco Cortez.

Just one tear. One breath. That was all he’d ever get from me again.

Then my phone rang.

I almost ignored it — until I saw the unknown number.

“Hello?” I murmured.

A man’s voice, polite but cheerful, answered. “Good evening. Am I speaking to Miss Isabella Reyes Cortez?”

“…Yes.”

“Wonderful! Your father will be thrilled to hear this.”

My heart stopped. “My father?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said warmly. “I’m his lawyer and personal secretary. He’s been searching for you for years. We finally found you.”

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

“When you’re ready, Miss Isabella,” he continued, “I’ll send you his number and address. He’s been waiting a long time to see you.”

The line disconnected, and I just sat there — phone still in hand, pulse racing.

For the first time in years, something deep inside me stirred again.

Not grief. Not pain.

Hope.

After what felt like a lifetime of silence, I finally forced myself to move. My reflection in the mirror was a stranger—blood-streaked, eyes hollow. I cleaned the dried crimson off my face, dabbed at the split in my lip, and swallowed back the tears that threatened to rise again. My entire body ached from the beating Marco gave me, every bruise a reminder of what I’d lost. Yet none of that compared to the pain festering inside my chest. My heart wasn’t just broken anymore—it was decaying, piece by piece.

The room sat in heavy stillness. Until the peace shattered.

The door burst open with a violent slam, and Marco’s men flooded in. Their faces were stone, their eyes hollow, their silence deafening. I didn’t even have the chance to stand before one seized my arm, fingers digging into my flesh. Another clamped onto my wrist as if I were some criminal caught red-handed.

“What’s happening?” I tried to ask, but my voice barely left my throat. No one replied.

They dragged me out like trash, barefoot and stripped of any dignity I once had. My body was hauled through the hallways of the house I used to call home, the marble floors cold beneath my feet.

Outside, a black SUV waited. I was shoved inside, doors locked immediately. No words, no glances—just silence and the faint hum of the engine as we drove to a private medical facility bearing the Cortez family name.

By the time the elevator doors opened to the top floor, I already knew I wasn’t going to like what I would find. They threw me into a private suite, and what greeted me made bile rise in my throat.

Natalia’s parents lay in twin hospital beds, both swathed in white bandages. Her mother’s face was entirely covered except for her eyes—one bloodshot, one glassy. Her arms were mummified in gauze, and when she spoke, her voice was little more than a rasp slipping through a breathing tube.

“She… she tried to kill us,” she croaked, voice trembling. “We were in the car when it exploded… we barely made it out alive.”

Her husband stood by the bedside, his arm in a cast, face pale and tear-streaked. “I dragged her out myself,” he declared hoarsely, staring past me and straight at Marco, who had just entered the room. “She’d be dead if I hadn’t.”

Then I noticed the three unfamiliar men kneeling on the floor. They were sobbing uncontrollably, snot and tears dripping down their faces.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am Isabella!” one of them blurted out between sobs. “We just followed your orders!”

“You said to burn the car—to make it look like an accident!” another howled.

My entire body froze. My lungs forgot how to breathe. It didn’t make sense—none of it. How far were they willing to go to bury me?

And then I saw her.

Natalia sat in the corner, clutching her elbows like a fragile little girl, tears streaking her cheeks and mascara smudged just enough to look artfully tragic. Her trembling voice filled the air, the picture of false innocence.

“Why, Isabella?” she whispered. “Why would you hurt my family? Just because I love him? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

I didn’t respond. There was no point. The trap had already been set.

Marco’s steps echoed as he moved forward, his expression carved in stone, his jaw twitching with restrained rage. He didn’t bother asking for my side of the story. He didn’t need to. His mind was already made up.

“You’re a fucking monster,” he hissed. “I gave you everything—and this is what you turn into?”

My mouth opened to defend myself, but before I could speak, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Grandma Cortez had slapped me hard enough to make my head whip to the side.

“You think we’ll let you keep disgracing this family?” she snarled. “You should be ashamed of yourself! If you want to stay under our name, then kneel!”

I looked at Marco. He just stood there—silent, unmoving, soulless. I didn’t kneel. So she shoved me down herself, her bony fingers digging into my shoulders until my knees hit the cold tile.

I stared up at him—my husband. Or at least, the man who used to be. His eyes didn’t even flicker.

Then chaos struck again. Natalia’s mother gasped, clutching her chest. Her head lolled to the side, and she muttered something inaudible before her body went limp.

“Doctor! Hurry! She’s crashing!” Natalia screamed, tears streaming down her face.

The door burst open, and a man in a lab coat ran in with a stethoscope bouncing against his chest. “Blood pressure’s collapsing. She’s hemorrhaging internally,” he announced, tone clipped and urgent. “We need a transfusion now. Her blood type is AB negative—extremely rare. Check the database.”

Everyone froze.

“That’s a near-impossible match,” the doctor added grimly. “Only a handful of donors are compatible.”

Natalia pressed a delicate hand to her stomach. “I’m AB negative,” she whispered, voice trembling, “but I can’t donate.”

The entire room turned toward her.

“I’m pregnant,” she said faintly, her gaze flicking toward Marco, as if seeking comfort. “I can’t risk the baby. It’s Marco’s.”

A cold wave rolled through me. My stomach twisted violently.

Grandma gasped, covering her mouth. “A child… an heir…” she murmured, voice quivering with sudden joy.

Grandpa’s face hardened, but his eyes gleamed with pride. Marco looked at her like she was the miracle he’d been waiting for.

Not one of them looked at me.

Then the doctor broke the silence. “There’s another match,” he said. “Isabella Reyes Cortez. She’s compatible.”

Marco’s expression darkened instantly. His boots pounded against the floor as he stalked toward me. His hand clamped around my arm like a vise. “You heard the doctor.”

I jerked back. “She’s lying!” I shouted. “She’s faking everything—she’s not pregnant, this is all staged!”

Marco’s grip tightened. “I said take her blood!” he barked. “As much as it takes.”

Two men pinned me down as I kicked and screamed. “Don’t touch me! She’s lying! You’re letting her destroy us!”

“Shut her up!” Grandma shrieked. “Get it done!”

Leather straps bit into my wrists as they forced me into the chair. The metallic scent of sterilized instruments filled my nostrils. A needle pierced my vein, and the blood began to flow—too fast, too much.

“She’s turning pale,” the doctor muttered nervously. “We should slow it down—”

Marco shot him a cold glare. “Continue.”

My head started spinning. My vision blurred at the edges. Across the room, Natalia stood by the bed, one hand resting on her stomach, crocodile tears painting her cheeks. When our eyes met, her lips twitched ever so slightly—an almost-smile.

“She’s losing color,” a nurse called out.

My arms felt like ice. My fingertips went numb.

“She’s about to crash!” another voice shouted.

The room tilted. The ceiling swam. The machines blared beside me, a chorus of urgent beeps.

“She’s going into shock! Move her to the emergency wing!” someone ySofiad.

My breath came shallow and uneven. My body refused to respond. Only one thought echoed in my mind as the world faded to gray:

They’re going to kill me before I ever get out of here.