Prepare the divorce and ruin your husband by Mark Twain 17
Chapter 17
A gown hanging under soft lights, silver and dark and dangerous, like it was made for a queen. My queen.
I reached for it.
Another hand grabbed it at the same time.
I snapped, “Let go. I saw it first.”
The woman didn’t even look at me. She tugged it closer like I was invisible. “No. I’m buying it.”
My blood boiled instantly. “Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to?”
She pulled harder and I stumbled, nearly falling. My face burned with humiliation.
“You crazy bitch!” I shouted. “I will sue you. I will shut this whole place down.”
Slowly, painfully slow, she turned.
She lifted her sunglasses.
My world tilted.
That face.
My heart slammed so hard I thought I might choke.
“Isabella?” I whispered. “You’re- you’re dead! I watched you die.”
She blinked at me, calm, almost bored. “Dead? You must be confused. My name is Nadia. And you’re staring at me like I murdered your soul.”
I couldn’t move. My legs felt like jelly.
She smiled slightly, cold and distant. “Whoever this Isabella is, you must have treated her terribly. People don’t shake like this for no reason.”
She turned away, handed her card to the cashier, paid without a second glance, and walked out like the world owed her nothing and everything at the same time.
I stood there like a fool.
I ran after her, but by the time I burst outside, she was already gone.
I stumbled into my car, slammed the door, gasping like I couldn’t get enough air.
“No,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel. “No no no. Isabella is dead. That woman is dead. That was just a lookalike. Just someone with the same damn face.”
My hands were shaking but I still lifted my phone and snapped a picture.
Just in case.
I followed her car from a distance, heart pounding, eyes burning. She drove straight to
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the seaside, to a massive villa that looked like it belonged in a billionaire fantasy.
And then a man walked out.
Young. Relaxed. Smiling at her like she was the only thing that mattered. She smiled back. My nails dug into my palm. But then I laughed, sharp and relieved.
“That’s not Isabella,” I told myself. “If it was her, she’d be crawling back to David already. That woman lived for him. She’d never be here, laughing with some random guy like she forgot her whole past.”
I stared at the photo on my phone, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Not Isabella. Just a cheap copy.”
And copies are easy to destroy.
600
ISABELLA’S POV
I saw her car the second it slipped in behind me, shiny and desperate, keeping just enough distance to pretend it wasn’t stalking. Roxanne never learned subtlety. I didn’t speed up. I didn’t slow down. I let her follow. I even adjusted the mirror so I could watch her panic bloom, inch by inch.
My lips curved. Calm feels dangerous when you earn it.
When I pulled into the villa, I took my time. Parked clean. Stepped out slow. Let her see the gates, the guards, the way this place didn’t belong to someone fragile or dead.
Ax opened the door before I reached it, barefoot, hair a mess, coffee in hand like the world had not a single problem.
“Damn,” he said, eyes dragging over me. “You look lethal today. What happened, did someone from your past trip over your shadow?”
I set my bag down and smiled, the kind that never reaches the eyes. “I ran into a ghost.”
He leaned against the doorframe. “Yours or theirs?”
“Hers,” I said lightly. “She looked like she’d seen hell and realized it remembered her name.”
Ax laughed, sharp and pleased. “Please tell me you didn’t ruin the fun. You didn’t introduce yourself, did you?”
I met his gaze. “I told her my name isn’t Isabella.”
He blinked once. Then twice. Then he grinned like a man watching a fire spread.
“Oh, that’s cold,” he said. “You’re finally enjoying the game.”
Before I could answer, I felt it. That shift in the air. Heavy. Controlled. Familiar in a way
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that still twisted something low in my chest.
Colt stepped out from the back hall.
He didn’t say anything. He never needed to. His eyes swept over me, slow and thorough, like he was making sure I hadn’t slipped through his fingers while he wasn’t looking. He passed close enough that his shoulder brushed mine, heat and smoke and danger clinging to him like a second skin.
“Back early,” he said quietly.
“Ran out of patience,” I replied. “And dresses.”
His mouth tilted, barely there. “You found one.”
“I did,” I said. “And I think someone else found me.”
His jaw tightened just a little. Enough for me to notice. Enough for me to enjoy.
Ax leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Boss was worried you’d disappear on him.”
I laughed under my breath. “I don’t run anymore. And I don’t steal from the man who dragged me out of hell.”
Colt’s eyes lingered on me for a second longer than necessary. “Good.”
From the far side of the house, I heard Ryle’s tutor calling out numbers, his soft voice repeating them back, steady now, focused. He was learning again. Laughing again. Healing in ways no one else could see.
I breathed easier.
…
That night, a box waited on my bed. White. Clean. No name. Just a ribbon tied with military precision.
Inside was a dress that clung like a promise and a threat all at once. Simple. Sharp. Deadly.
A note rested on top, written in Colt’s handwriting. Clean strokes. No wasted words. Wear this tonight.
I pressed my fingers to the fabric and smiled.
Mafia gala.
Roxanne was going to be there. And this time, I wasn’t the one shaking.
…
By evening my glam was done, soft and lethal. Barely-there shimmer on my lids, cheeks flushed like I’d just sinned and gotten away with it, lips painted a quiet rose that looked innocent until you got too close. I slid into the gown and smoothed it down my hips and for once I didn’t feel watched. I felt untouchable.
Chapter 17
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11:10 Wed, Jan 28
“Wait, that’s Dr. Caius Felipe right?”
“No, idiot, that’s Colt Blackwood.”
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