Chapter 3: Shattered Glass, Shattered Lies
“Explain?” Marcus’s voice was a low, guttural whisper. It didn’t sound human. It sounded like the rumble of a dying star right before a supernova.
He took a slow step toward Isabella. Then another.
Isabella pressed herself flat against the expensive silk wallpaper, her hands shaking violently. The charm, the manipulation, the carefully constructed facade of the innocent best friend—it had all evaporated, leaving only a terrified woman realizing she had just kicked a sleeping dragon.
“Marcus, please,” she begged, her eyes darting toward the door. But Richard Vance stood firmly in the doorway, blocking her only exit. Elaine, the event coordinator, was still backed into a corner, holding her phone up, secretly recording the fallout.
“You told me she was crazy,” Marcus said, his voice escalating in volume with every step. “You looked me in the eyes, in my own home, and told me my wife was losing her mind. And I… I felt sorry for you. I thought you were just concerned.”
“I was! I am!” Isabella cried out, tears ruining her makeup. “She hates me, Marcus! She’s always hated me because she knows we belong together!”
“Belong together?” Marcus erupted, closing the final gap between them. He slammed both hands against the wall on either side of Isabella’s head, trapping her. The force rattled the framed artwork next to her. “I let you into my inner circle because your father was my mentor! I tolerated you out of respect for him! You are nothing to me, Isabella. Nothing!”
Isabella flinched, the words striking her harder than a physical blow. Her twisted obsession with Marcus Thorne was the worst-kept secret in high society. She had convinced herself that if she could just get Khloe out of the picture—if she could just cause a miscarriage, force a divorce—Marcus would naturally fall into her arms.
She had miscalculated entirely.
“If my wife dies,” Marcus leaned in, his breath hot against her face, his gray eyes blazing with a murderous promise. “If my child dies… I am not going to call the police, Isabella. I’m going to make sure you cease to exist. I will bankrupt your family. I will destroy your father’s legacy. And I will personally ensure you spend the rest of your pathetic life trapped in a cage where no amount of money can save you.”
“Mr. Thorne.”
The cold, authoritative voice came from the hallway. Two uniformed police officers stepped into the room, pushing past Dr. Vance. They took one look at the blood on the floor, the shattered glass, and the furious billionaire trapping a woman against the wall.
“Step away from the woman, Mr. Thorne,” the lead officer ordered, his hand resting cautiously on his utility belt.
Isabella saw her chance. “Officers! Help me!” she shrieked, slipping out from under Marcus’s arm and running toward the cops. “He’s attacking me! They’re both crazy! His wife tried to stab me with a glass, and now he’s threatening to kill me!”
The lead officer looked at Isabella, then at Marcus. “Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down and step back.”
Marcus didn't move. He stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving, his hands stained with his wife's blood. The weight of his own stupidity was crashing down on him. He had brought this woman into their lives. He had dismissed Khloe’s discomfort. He had told his wife she was overreacting when she said Isabella made her feel unsafe. I did this, Marcus realized, the guilt threatening to crush his windpipe. I opened the door, and the devil walked in.
Before the officers could pull out handcuffs for Marcus, Dr. Richard Vance stepped forward.
“Officers,” Richard said calmly, raising the iPad. “My name is Dr. Richard Vance. I am the Chief of Medicine here. The woman hiding behind you just committed felony assault on a pregnant woman. We have it all on high-definition video. She kicked my niece in the abdomen with a stiletto heel.”
The officer paused, looking back at Isabella.
Isabella shook her head frantically. “No! It’s fake! It’s manipulated! They’re trying to set me up!”
Richard tapped the screen and handed the tablet to the police officer.
The two cops watched the thirty-second clip in absolute silence. As the video played, the atmosphere in the room shifted from tense to utterly hostile. The lead officer handed the tablet back to Dr. Vance and slowly turned to face Isabella Rossi.
“Isabella Rossi,” the officer said, his voice stripped of any previous sympathy. He unclipped the handcuffs from his belt. “Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”
“What? No! Do you know who my father is?” Isabella screamed, backing away. “You can’t arrest me! I’m a Rossi!”
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“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England,” the officer snapped, grabbing her arm with a firm, unforgiving grip. He spun her around, forcing her wrists together. The metallic click of the handcuffs echoed through the VIP suite. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
As the officer read her Miranda rights, Isabella locked eyes with Marcus, expecting a shred of mercy. She found none. He was already turning his back on her, running out the door to find his wife.
