Arabella's POV

My eyes remained on the open book resting in my lap as I answered him, although I had stopped reading several pages ago.

“Nothing.”

Nathaniel did not respond right away. Even without looking at him, I could feel his gaze fixed on me, sharp and probing, as if he were trying to strip away the calm façade I had so carefully constructed and uncover whatever lay beneath it. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the measured patience of a man already irritated but determined to keep that irritation under control.

“Is this about what you saw at the clinic?” he asked. “Because I have explained to you more times than I can count that there is nothing inappropriate between Genevieve and me.”

I cut him off before he could continue.

“I already told you that I’m fine,” I said as I turned another page with deliberate indifference. “You and Genevieve can define your relationship however you like. If you insist that you are simply close, then I see no reason to argue. All I want right now is a little peace and quiet because this book is finally becoming interesting.”

The dismissal was polite, but impossible to misunderstand.

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened at once. Irritation flashed across his features before he masked it, and without another word, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

Only after the door shut did I allow myself a slow breath, although it did little to ease the tension coiled inside me. The air in the bedroom felt suffocating, heavy with everything that remained unsaid. After several more minutes of pretending to read, I closed the book and headed downstairs, hoping the quiet of the kitchen might steady me.

It did not.

I braced both hands against the marble counter and lowered my head, forcing myself to breathe slowly. My pulse still pounded with the memory of everything I had learned. No amount of self-control could erase the images that now haunted me: Nathaniel’s messages, Genevieve’s smile, the files hidden in his study, and above all, the unbearable truth about Noah.

I had spent years drowning in grief, never realizing how thoroughly I had been deceived. Now that illusion had shattered so completely that even my own home felt foreign.

I did not hear Nathaniel approach until his voice sounded behind me.

“You’ve been acting strangely all day, Arabella.”

There was no softness in his voice now. Whatever patience he had tried to maintain was wearing thin.

“If something is wrong, say it.”

I turned slowly, keeping my expression composed.

“I already told you,” I said. “I’m fine.”

Then, because some wounded and furious part of me refused to remain silent, I added, “Why don’t you spend this energy worrying about Genevieve and her baby instead?”

Something changed in his face.

The shift was subtle but unmistakable. His eyes darkened, and the restraint in him began to crack.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I lifted one shoulder in a small shrug and stepped away from the counter.

“It means exactly what it sounds like,” I replied. “You seem far more concerned about her than your own wife.”

That was all it took.

The last of Nathaniel’s patience snapped.

“You’re being ridiculous again, Arabella,” he said, his voice rising. “Genevieve is your sister. I am tired of this childish jealousy and constant suspicion.”

A bitter laugh escaped me.

“I’m not jealous.”

I held his gaze without blinking.

“You deserve each other.”

For one suspended moment, silence filled the space between us.

Then Nathaniel moved.

The shove came so suddenly that my body had no time to react. His hand struck my shoulder with enough force to send me backward. My lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the counter before I collapsed onto the floor.

Pain exploded through me.

The impact sent a violent shock through my spine and abdomen, so intense that the world tilted. A cry tore from my throat before I could stop it.

Nathaniel stared down at me, his chest rising and falling.

If guilt touched him, it vanished quickly.

His face hardened.

“I have important business tonight,” he said coldly, as though I were nothing more than an inconvenience. “Don’t wait up.”

Then he turned and walked out.

The front door slammed.

Silence followed.

Only seconds later, pain surged through my abdomen in terrible waves. Instinctively, both hands flew to my stomach as dread consumed me. That dread became raw horror when warmth began spreading between my legs.

My blood ran cold.

Blood.

I looked down with shaking hands and saw crimson soaking through my clothes.

“No…”

The word broke apart in my throat.

Tears blurred my vision as panic swallowed every coherent thought. Crawling toward the wall, I reached for my phone with trembling fingers and called Nathaniel.

The line connected.

Relief hit me so hard I nearly sobbed.

“R-Dom…”

His voice came through cold and furious.

“Do not call me again until you’re ready to stop acting like a child.”

The call ended.

I stared at the screen in disbelief before trying again.

This time the call failed immediately.

He had blocked me.

The pain worsened.

So did the bleeding.

Panic devoured everything.

With what little strength remained, I called emergency services and sent my location. Even as I did, darkness had already begun closing in around the edges of my vision. The kitchen blurred. The floor beneath me seemed to vanish.

As consciousness slipped away, one final thought burned through the agony.

If I lose this child, Nathaniel will pay for everything.

Darkness swallowed me.

When awareness returned, it came slowly through the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of hospital monitors. For several seconds, I could not remember where I was.

Then memory returned.

Terror hit me so violently that my eyes flew open.

My hand shot to my stomach.

“My baby…”

The doctor beside my bed went still.

Her expression told me everything before she spoke.

She placed a gentle hand over mine, and the sorrow in her eyes shattered the last fragile piece of hope inside me.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashford,” she said quietly. “We did everything we could, but we were unable to save the baby.”

The words struck with devastating force.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Then grief tore through me with unbearable violence. A scream escaped my throat, raw and broken, before sobs followed with such force that my entire body shook. I cried without restraint as agony consumed me.

Noah was gone.

Now this child was gone too.

Nathaniel had taken both from me.

He had destroyed every future I had dared to imagine.

I cried until exhaustion left me hollow. When even tears abandoned me, I lay motionless beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling with an emptiness so vast it frightened me.

The door opened sometime later.

I lacked the strength to look.

“Hello, Arabella.”

The voice was deep, calm, and unfamiliar.

Reluctantly, I turned my head.

Matteo White stood near my bed, his steel-gray eyes fixed on me with unreadable intensity.

Genevieve’s husband.

The sight of him reopened wounds I had barely managed to contain because his presence brought with it everything I had lost.

He approached slowly before sitting in the chair beside my bed.

“I heard what happened,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

My throat burned from crying.

“Genevieve isn’t here,” I said hoarsely.

Something dark passed through his expression.

“No,” he said, his voice cool but edged with steel. “I’m not here because of that cheating wife of mine.”

Despite everything, surprise flickered through me.

“You know?”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“A week.”

His gaze never left mine.

“You?”

“This week.”

Silence settled between us.

There was something unsettling about the calm he projected. It felt less like peace and more like violence held under perfect discipline.

At last, he leaned back slightly.

“That is exactly why I came.”

Exhaustion still weighed heavily on me, but curiosity cut through the fog of grief.

“What do you want?”

Matteo studied me for several long seconds.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, cold, and completely without hesitation.

“I came because I believe we can help each other.”

I frowned faintly.

“How?”

A slow, dangerous smile touched his mouth, though it never reached his eyes.

He leaned forward slightly.

“Tell me, Arabella,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “how would you feel about destroying them together?”

Arabella's POV

“Revenge?”

The word left my lips so quietly it was almost a whisper, yet it seemed to echo through the hospital room with startling force. My heartbeat quickened as I stared at Matteo White, trying to decide whether I had misheard him or whether he truly meant what he had just said.

Matteo lowered himself into the chair beside my bed with unhurried grace. There was nothing careless about the way he moved; every gesture felt deliberate, every shift of posture controlled. He carried himself like a man accustomed to power, but unlike Nathaniel’s polished arrogance, Matteo’s presence felt colder, more dangerous. His steel-gray eyes held a restraint that somehow felt more threatening than open rage.

“Yes,” he said at last, his voice calm and unwavering. “Revenge.”

He held my gaze as though he expected me to look away first.

“Think carefully, Arabella,” he continued. “The two people who should have loved you above everyone else betrayed you in the cruelest way possible. They took your trust, your devotion, and your children as if none of it had value. If you allow them to walk away untouched, they will continue believing they can destroy lives without consequence.”

Something unsettling stirred inside me as I listened.

It was not comfort.

It was not relief.

It was something far more dangerous.

Purpose.

For the first time since learning the truth about Noah, I felt something other than grief and helplessness. The feeling rose slowly, sharp and intoxicating, from the ashes of everything Nathaniel had destroyed.

Ignoring the dull ache still radiating through my body, I shifted upright against the pillows and studied Matteo more carefully.

“So this is about Genevieve too,” I said. “You want revenge against her.”

A faint smile touched his mouth, though it brought no warmth to his expression.

“I gave her everything a husband could give,” he said. “My loyalty, my protection, my name, and every advantage that came with being Mrs. White. In return, she humiliated me.”

His eyes darkened.

“So yes, I want revenge.”

Even before he spoke again, I knew what he was thinking.

She is your sister.

The thought no longer had any power over me.

I cut him off before he could say it.

“Why come to me?” I asked. “Why involve me at all?”

That faint smile returned, colder than before.

“Because revenge rarely satisfies when pursued alone,” he said. “And because whether you realize it or not, Arabella, you are essential to what happens next.”

I folded my arms and regarded him warily.

“What exactly do you want from me?”

Matteo did not blink.

Then he answered with devastating simplicity.

“I want you to marry me.”

The words hit me like ice water.

For several seconds, I could only stare at him, convinced I had misunderstood.

But his expression remained perfectly serious.

There was no trace of humor.

No hesitation.

He meant every word.

Two days later, after the doctors finally cleared me for discharge, I returned to the Ashford estate beneath a pale golden sky.

During those two days, Nathaniel had not come once.

There had been no calls.

No messages.

No inquiries.

Nothing.

The truth settled heavily inside me.

I had spent two days in a hospital after losing our child, and my husband had not even noticed my absence.

As the car rolled toward the estate, Matteo’s proposal replayed in my mind.

I had rejected him immediately.

The idea of binding myself to another loveless marriage felt unbearable. I had already sacrificed seven years of my life to a relationship built on deception. I could not imagine willingly stepping into another prison.

Still, before leaving, Matteo had pressed a small black card into my hand.

A private number.

“In case you change your mind,” he had said.

I had told myself I would never use it.

At least, that was what I believed.

When I arrived home, my steps slowed.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce bearing the White crest stood near the entrance.

Genevieve.

Of course.

That explained Nathaniel’s silence.

The realization should have made me angry, but what I felt instead was something colder.

Understanding.

I pushed open the front doors and stepped inside.

The house was unusually quiet.

Then I heard it.

A sound.

Soft.

Breathless.

Intimate.

I froze.

My body moved before my thoughts could catch up, carrying me toward the source of the sound until I reached the hallway leading to our bedroom.

The door stood slightly open.

What I saw beyond it rooted me to the floor.

Nathaniel had Genevieve pinned against the bed, his body bent over hers while his hands moved across her waist and bare back with shameless familiarity. Their clothes lay scattered across the floor, discarded without care.

I had known.

I had read the messages.

I had heard the truth.

Still, nothing had prepared me for the brutality of seeing them together.

There is a particular cruelty in watching betrayal take physical form.

Tears blurred my vision.

Neither of them noticed me.

“My love,” Nathaniel murmured against her skin, his voice heavy with desire, “I missed you.”

Genevieve laughed softly and traced her fingers across his chest.

“Did you?” she asked teasingly. “Don’t tell me my sister still fails to satisfy you.”

Nathaniel gave a low laugh.

“She never did,” he said without hesitation. “Not the way you do.”

The words cut deeper than anything before them.

Every breath hurt.

Every heartbeat felt wrong.

Nathaniel lifted her chin and kissed her again.

“When I take full control of Ashford Holdings,” he said, “I’ll give you everything. No one will stand between us.”

For several unbearable seconds, I could not move.

Then something inside me changed.

The last fragile piece of me that still mourned the marriage Nathaniel and I once had quietly died.

I took out my phone.

Without making a sound, I recorded everything.

A few seconds.

Then more.

Enough.

I lowered the phone.

Without a word, I turned away.

In the entrance hall, Nathaniel’s car keys rested on the side table.

I picked them up.

Minutes later, sitting alone inside the car, I stared at the video on my screen.

My hand tightened around Matteo’s card.

For a long time, I simply stared at the number.

Then I dialed.

He answered on the first ring.

I sent him the recording.

Then I spoke only four words.

“I accept your offer.”

His response came immediately, as though he had expected this moment all along.

“Good,” Matteo said, his voice calm and certain. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

I leaned back against the leather seat and let out a hollow laugh.

It felt as though I had just handed my soul to the devil.

Strangely, the thought did not frighten me.

I no longer feared monsters.

I had already loved one.

Following the address Matteo had given me, I drove straight to a private legal office that specialized in high-profile divorces and corporate settlements.

Inside, a receptionist greeted me with practiced professionalism.

“How may we assist you, ma’am?”

“I’m here to see Samuel Reed,” I said. “Matteo White sent me.”

Recognition flashed across her face, followed by immediate deference.

“Of course. Mr. Reed is expecting you.”

A few minutes later, I was escorted into a private office lined with legal books and confidential case files.

A silver-haired man rose from behind an oak desk and extended his hand.

“Mrs. Ashford,” he said politely. “Please, have a seat.”

I sat across from him without hesitation.

For a moment, he studied me, perhaps expecting uncertainty.

He found none.

When I finally spoke, my voice was calm, steady, and entirely free of doubt.

“I want to file for divorce from Nathaniel Ashford,” I said.

I held his gaze.

“And I want to make sure he loses everything.”

Arabella's POV

I had barely stepped out of the car when Nathaniel came rushing through the front doors of the estate.

The panic on his face was so unguarded that even the careful mask he hurriedly assembled could not conceal it completely. His gaze darted first to the car parked outside, then to me, and although visible relief softened his features, I could still see the alarm lingering beneath it.

“Arabella,” he called as he strode toward me. “Where have you been? I was worried.”

Worried.

The word almost made me laugh.

The bitterness of it sat heavy on my tongue. Perhaps another woman might have been moved by his concern, but after everything I now knew, his worry felt hollow, another performance polished by years of practice.

I forced a gentle smile.

“I went out to prepare something for next week.”

Nathaniel slowed.

“For next week?”

I tilted my head and watched him carefully.

“For our anniversary.”

For the briefest second, his expression emptied.

“Our anniversary?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “Our wedding anniversary.”

I held his gaze just long enough to make sure he understood exactly what I meant.

“Did you forget?”

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair.

“No, of course not,” he said quickly, giving a strained laugh. “How could I forget something that important? I’ve just been overwhelmed with work lately. You know how things have been.”

Liar.

I lowered my gaze and nodded as though satisfied.

“Well, I wanted to surprise you, so I won’t spoil it. You’ll see soon enough.”

His smile returned, though it lacked ease.

“I’m looking forward to it. You should have called me. I would’ve gone with you.”

“It’s alright,” I said quietly. “You’ve been busy. I didn’t want to burden you.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

Guilt.

Or perhaps discomfort.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek, but the gesture felt lifeless. His touch, once capable of grounding me, now felt colder than marble.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

“So am I,” I lied.

I walked past him and entered the house.

Behind me, I heard the quiet breath he released.

Relief.

He believed I had seen nothing.

He believed his secrets remained buried.

If only he knew.

I climbed the stairs and entered our bedroom.

The moment I crossed the threshold, nausea rose in my throat.

This room had once felt sacred to me. It held memories of whispered promises, quiet laughter, and nights when I still believed love could survive anything.

Now every memory felt contaminated.

Every surface felt stained by betrayal.

The door opened behind me.

I turned, expecting Nathaniel.

Instead, Genevieve stood there.

She leaned against the doorway with infuriating ease, her lips curved into a smug smile while amusement gleamed in her eyes. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who believed victory had already been secured and had come only to savor the humiliation of the woman she defeated.

“You saw us, didn’t you?” she asked.

I kept my face blank.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Genevieve laughed softly and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“Oh, Arabella,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t insult me by pretending. I saw you standing there.”

I said nothing.

She moved closer, studying me with deliberate cruelty.

“You should’ve stayed longer,” she continued. “You might have learned something useful.”

I gave a careless shrug.

“If that’s all, you should leave. Nathaniel is probably waiting downstairs, and I’d like to rest.”

Her expression shifted.

That was not the reaction she expected.

For a brief moment, uncertainty cracked her confidence before she recovered.

“Very well,” she said lightly. “I suppose I should return and continue where we left off. Feel free to watch next time.”

She turned and left.

The moment the door closed, I took out my phone and sent a secure message to Matteo.

Phase one is complete. Be ready.

His response came almost instantly.

A single silver heart appeared on the screen.

Despite myself, a cold smile touched my lips.

Over the next two days, Nathaniel rarely left my side.

He hovered constantly, watching me with quiet vigilance, as though some instinct warned him that something had shifted between us even if he could not identify what. His suspicion made every step of my preparation more difficult, and by the second day, even my patience had begun to fray.

If instinct would not draw him away, jealousy would.

Using an encrypted number, I sent Genevieve a carefully crafted message.

It was cruel by design.

Nathaniel seems tired of you. He barely leaves my side now. Keep lying to yourself if you want, but he’s still mine.

I knew exactly what that message would provoke.

Genevieve’s pride would never allow her to believe she was losing control.

Before long, Nathaniel’s phone began lighting up repeatedly.

Calls.

Messages.

Repeated attempts from Genevieve.

At first, to my annoyance, he ignored every one of them.

But eventually, just as I began to worry the bait had failed, he excused himself and stepped outside to answer.

When he returned several minutes later, his expression had turned solemn.

“My love,” he said gently, “something urgent has come up overseas. I need to leave tonight.”

I lowered my eyes and feigned disappointment.

“For how long?”

“Three days.”

I let silence hang between us before answering.

“Our anniversary is in four days.”

Guilt flashed across his face.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll be back before then. I wouldn’t miss it.”

He kissed my forehead.

Inside, triumph surged through me.

Three days.

I had expected only a few hours.

Instead, he had given me exactly what I needed.

Perfect.

The next three days passed in relentless preparation.

Every document was finalized.

Every legal arrangement confirmed.

Every step of the plan secured.

Ironically, Genevieve made everything easier.

Whenever doubt threatened to weaken my resolve, she sent fresh photos and videos of herself with Nathaniel, convinced each new image would deepen my suffering.

Instead, each one hardened my resolve.

I saved every file.

Soon, she would regret sending any of them.

At last, our anniversary arrived.

It was also the day Nathaniel was due to return.

I stood alone in the grand foyer while my thoughts raced faster than my heartbeat. Slowly, I picked up my phone and sent Nathaniel one final message.

Happy anniversary. I left your gift in the grand hall.

Then I placed the signed divorce papers on the table.

Beside them, I arranged the evidence of his betrayal: the files from his study, the videos I had recorded, and the photos Genevieve had so eagerly handed me herself.

After that, I blocked both Nathaniel and Genevieve.

No calls.

No messages.

No access.

The final thread between us had been cut.

I drew a steady breath and picked up my suitcase.

When I stepped outside, Matteo White was already waiting.

A knowing smile curved his mouth.

“Ready?”

He extended his hand.

I took it without hesitation.

A private jet waited beyond the estate, its sleek silver body gleaming beneath the fading light.

I stared at it briefly but lacked the energy to comment.

As the crew prepared for departure, I turned toward Matteo.

He met my gaze.

I gave a small nod.

His smile deepened.

Then he opened his phone and executed the final step.

Within seconds, the evidence was sent to media outlets, board members of Ashford Holdings, major investors, and every influential name in high society.

By morning, the truth would be everywhere.

Nathaniel Ashford’ empire would begin burning before sunrise.

Matteo’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“Now,” he said, watching the jet engines come alive, “the real game begins.”