Chapter 6: The House of Cards
Isabella Rossi was in her element.
She stood in the VIP dressing room of a Fifth Avenue Dior boutique, sipping complimentary champagne. A terrified sales associate fluttered around her, adjusting the hem of a ten-thousand-dollar silk gown. Life was perfect. Marcus was at his board meeting, cementing his control over Thorne Industries, which meant her future as the wife of New York’s richest man was practically guaranteed.
"I'll take this one," Isabella declared, admiring her reflection. "And the diamond choker we looked at earlier. Put it on the black Amex."
The associate bowed her head, rushing to the register. Isabella took another long sip of champagne, already imagining the look on Khloe’s face when the divorce papers were finally served.
Five minutes later, the store manager appeared. There was no champagne in his hands. Only a pair of scissors and a strained, apologetic expression.
"I am terribly sorry, Ms. Rossi," the manager said smoothly. "But the card has been declined."
Isabella laughed, a sharp, condescending sound. "Excuse me? That's Marcus Thorne’s private account. Run it again."
"We did, ma'am. Four times. The account is frozen. Furthermore, I just received a direct call from the asset management firm at Thorne Industries." The manager held up the black metal credit card and, with a swift snap, cut it in half with the scissors. "They instructed me to destroy the card and inform you that you are no longer welcome to charge items to this estate."
Isabella dropped her champagne glass. It shattered against the plush carpeting, soaking the hem of the ten-thousand-dollar gown.
Panic seized her throat. She snatched her phone from her designer handbag and dialed Marcus. It went straight to voicemail. She dialed again. Nothing.
Ignoring the outraged shouts of the store manager, Isabella bolted out of the boutique in her street clothes, hailing a cab to the Thorne Tower.
When she arrived at the penthouse, the front door was wide open.
The immaculate, thirty-million-dollar apartment looked like a war zone. Antique vases were smashed against the walls. Paintings were slashed. And in the center of the living room stood Marcus, his tie ripped off, his hair wild, frantically tossing files into a leather duffel bag.
"Marcus!" Isabella cried, rushing forward. "What is going on? My cards are frozen! The boutique cut—"
"Shut up!" Marcus roared, spinning around. The sheer venom in his eyes stopped her dead in her tracks. He wasn't the polished, untouchable billionaire she had seduced. He looked like a hunted animal. "It's gone, Isabella! Everything! The company, the accounts, the offshore funds! She took it all!"
"Who? Khloe?!" Isabella gasped. "How could she—"
"Because of you, you stupid bitch!" Marcus screamed, hurling a crystal decanter at the wall next to her head. Isabella shrieked, covering her face as glass rained down on her. "You couldn't just leave her alone! You had to attack her in a hospital with cameras! She brought the board a moral turpitude case, handed them the security tape, and exposed the Cayman accounts! The FBI is already raiding my secondary offices!"
Isabella felt the blood drain from her face. "But... but we can fix this. You're Marcus Thorne! Call your lawyers!"
Marcus laughed, a dry, hysterical sound. "My lawyers work for Thorne Industries. Khloe is the acting CEO. She invoked attorney-client conflict. No one will take my calls. I am functionally bankrupt until the federal investigation clears, which it won't."
He zipped the duffel bag and hoisted it over his shoulder, walking right past her toward the private elevator.
"Marcus, wait! Where are you going?" Isabella cried, grabbing his arm. "What about me?"
May you like
He looked down at her hand, prying her fingers off his sleeve with absolute disgust. "You? You're the reason I lost my empire. If I ever see your face again, Isabella, I'll make sure you go down for corporate espionage and assault. Consider this a breakup."
The elevator doors slid shut, leaving Isabella standing alone in the ruins of the life she thought she had stolen.
