Alexander’s POVI stride down the hall, adjusting the cufflinks of my tailored white tuxedo, the soft notes of piano drifting through the air. A gentle melody echoes from the grand piano near the far end of the ballroom, mingling with the quiet hum of conversations. The weight of success settles comfortably on my shoulders.The tux fits like a second skin, and the subtle gleam of my Rolex catches the light with each step. Cynthia is by my side, her manicured fingers curled around my arm, projecting the image of a perfect, polished couple. Her presence beside me is calculated, rehearsed—just like everything else in our public life.Tonight is it.The hotel ballroom is filled with a who’s who of elites, business magnates, and influential figures. The Montgomerys sure know how to gather power under one roof. I let a smile play on my lips as the camera flashes capture the moment, bathing us in a soft glow. Golden accents on the walls catch the light of the chandeliers, casting a warm, a
Isabel’s POVA light knock on the glass catches my attention. It’s Christine, signaling to Travis that it’s time.I look up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s time, ma’am,” he says quietly, his voice calm but firm.I press my lips into a thin line, releasing out a deep sigh. The weight of what lies ahead settles over me. I can’t avoid facing them forever. If I’m going to do this, there’s no better time than now.As I step out of the car, blinding lights from countless cameras flash around me. The sharp, rapid clicks of shutters surround me—a reminder of who I am, of who they all believe I am.Claire Montgomery.The name feels heavy on my shoulders, like a cloak I’ve yet to fully embrace. Like I earlier stated, it’s the name given to me by my real mother before we were torn apart. Being Claire Montgomery is the only way to stay hidden, to stay safe. I take a deep breath, the cool night air filling my lungs. Tonight, I don’t just show up as Isabel—I show up as the daughter
Alexander’s POVI’m not dreaming. It’s real. Like, it’s fucking real. She’s here—standing before the crowd as Leonard Montgomery introduces her as their daughter. Their daughter. His speech ends, and the crowd erupts into cheers, but I can’t move. My hands stay limp at my sides as shock roots me to the spot. I turn my head slowly to look at Cynthia, her jaw still slack as though her mind is trying to piece together what we’re witnessing. Finally, she glances at me, her face tight with confusion, before excusing herself. Good. Perfect. I don’t need her buzzing around me right now. My gaze snaps back to Isabel—or is it Claire Montgomery?—as she stands poised and radiant in front of the crowd. How? How is she alive? And if she’s alive, why couldn’t I find her? But then again, I didn’t search, did I? Not really. I convinced myself it was pointless. I’d buried my guilt under a mountain of excuses—telling myself it was better to move on, that it was what she would’ve wanted. Bu
Isabel’s POVThe familiar figure catches my eye, and memories of her flood my mind. Aria.The first time we met was at the beach—Roy’s introduction, a brief, polite encounter that held more weight than I’d realized then. But how does she know my mother so well, and why is she speaking to her like family? There’s a familiarity there that unsettles me. Does she know more about my past than I realize?“Aria?” I say, my voice carrying surprise.Her eyes widen when she sees me, and for a second, we both just stare, caught in the shock of recognition. I guess I’m not the only one taken aback.Before either of us speaks, my mom steps forward, her face lighting up with that warm smile she always gives to someone she adores. “Aria, dear!” she beams, wrapping her in a hug.“I didn’t know you two already knew each other!” she exclaims, turning to me with excitement. “Well, that makes it easier then, doesn’t it?” She laughs softly, her smile widening as she introduces Aria to her business friends
Cynthia’s POVI storm out of the hall, anger, confusion, and fury clashing in my chest.Who did I just see back there? Isabel? It can’t be. Isabel’s dead.I dart my eyes around, my breath coming in gasps. My mind must be playing tricks on me, right?I clutch my chest, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. It feels like I’m going to suffocate under the weight of it all.The noise from the party grows faint as I make my way toward the other side—just any side but the hall, where I can have a moment to myself.If the person inside is Claire Montgomery, and she’s also Isabel, then… What have I done? I grit my teeth, holding my hand up to my mouth, as memories of my meeting with Claire’s representative flash across my mind.No, this can’t be! I must be hallucinating or something. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.Maybe I’ve been working too hard, or maybe it’s just the stress of handling everything with Sophia. I wonder why she’s so persistent in coming along with us.My eyes widen like
Isabel’s POVAs I walk back into the hall, my mind is still swirling with thoughts of what just happened. The conversation, the memories—all of it spins together until I hear a familiar, joyful chorus that pulls me back.“Mommy!” Scarlett and Sterling’s voices ring out in perfect harmony, their excitement lifting a weight I didn’t realize was pressing so heavily on my chest.I turn, and the moment freezes. The soft lights of the hall seem to dim, the edges of the room falling away until all I can see are my children running toward me, their faces lit with pure joy. A faint melody drifts from the speakers above—a soft piano tune that barely cuts through the sound of their laughter. Everything else blurs as I drop to my knees, not caring that my dress pools around me on the polished marble floor.“Oh, my babies,” I whisper, opening my arms wide. They crash into me, and the warmth of their small bodies melts the lingering chill in my heart. The familiar scent of baby shampoo fills the ai
Alexander’s POVI’m not at the hotel today. Instead, I’m sitting in my office at the main headquarters of our furniture and design company. The plush leather chair feels solid beneath me, but my thoughts are anything but steady.My fingers tap restlessly against the edge of the desk as I try to make sense of last night—Isabel’s return, her introduction as the Montgomerys’ daughter. How is this even possible? She’s been alive all these years, waiting for the perfect moment to resurface. Why? What exactly is going on in that mind of hers?I shake my head and lean back, fingers lacing behind it. Each time I think about it, confusion digs deeper. Dammit, I can’t wrap my head around it. She stood there, bolder than I ever remember, with those two kids… and that man. Who was he? I suck in a deep breath, my chest tightening with every chaotic thought. Those kids… Could they be hers? No, that’s impossible. I didn’t get a clear look, but something feels off.I stand and cross the room, facing
Isabel’s POVIt’s been days since my official welcome party, but the city’s rhythm hasn’t quite settled into my veins. The sprawling mansion, the unfamiliar streets, even the morning light filtering through the windows—it all feels new. Too new.I sit across from my mother at the breakfast table, her poise as steady as ever as she goes over Scarlett and Sterling’s school enrollment. She speaks with the confidence of someone who believes everything will fall perfectly into place, as it always has for her.“Scarlett will love the extracurriculars,” she says, her tone soothing, like a balm for my anxious thoughts. “And Sterling? He’s going to charm every teacher in sight, just like he always does.”I nod, but my mind struggles to keep up. “I just don’t know how they’ll cope with the change,” I admit, my voice softer than I intended. “They were starting to adjust in New York, and now… now it’s all happening again. What if it’s too much for them?”My eyes dart to her, hoping for reassuranc
Isabel’s POVI finally manage to push myself out of the living room, my legs moving before my mind catches up. The moment the heavy doors open, a gust of fresh air hits me like a slap—cold and sharp, and far too late. My lungs welcome it greedily, but my chest still feels tight, like I’m dragging a thousand bricks behind me. I stop at the top of the stairs, watching as Sabrina is shoved into the back of a police car. Her hands are cuffed, her head lowered, her face blank. No screams. No explanations. Just silence.This isn’t what I wanted.A hard lump settles in my throat as I stare at her. I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t want Sabrina to take the fall, not like this. Now that she’s confessed… how the hell am I going to prove Cynthia’s hand in any of this?“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, my fist clenching tightly at my side as frustration coils hot beneath my skin.Then—“What’s gotten you thinking so hard like this?”The voice slices through my thoughts like a jagged knife.
Isabel’s POVI scoff, folding my arms as I shift my gaze to Sabrina. “What are you trying to do, Sabrina?” My voice slices through the room, low but sharp. “How dare you lie—or worse, try to twist the truth in front of everyone here?”The officers watch, unmoving, as I take a breath, trying to hold onto the edge of control. I turn to them, my tone firm, voice steady. “Don’t mind her. I’m sure she’s been made to say all this. The Sabrina I know wouldn’t take the blame for something she didn’t do. Not like this. Besides,” I pause, looking pointedly at her, “how does she explain the evidence we have? The link we found between the Castillos and the person in question? This isn’t a story you can bury with theatrics.For a flicker of a second—barely a heartbeat—I see it. Shock. A flicker that flits across her face before it’s gone, replaced by a scoff. Slow. Hollow. She lands her gaze on me, eyes unreadable, digging into something I can’t quite understand. But there’s something off. The way
Isabel’s POVI descend the stairs with fury pulsing through every step, my heels clicking sharply against the polished marble. Each thud feels like a countdown. My jaw is clenched tight, my fists balled at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I don’t care. Let it hurt. It grounds me.Halfway down, I hear her voice.“Where are you going to?” my mother asks, stepping into view at the foot of the stairs, her brows drawn in concern, eyes searching mine.I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I pause, inhaling a deep, shuddering breath through my nose, as if I can exhale all this rage, all this pain. My hands tighten by my sides again, trembling. It’s the only thing keeping me from screaming.She notices the silence, but doesn’t push. Instead, she raises the phone in her hand. “Your father called. He’s planning to return as soon as he heard the news.”I look at her now, startled, as if those words punch a hole in the emotional armor I’ve barely held together.“He’s worried,” she continues g
Alexander’s POVI’m gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are pale. Buildings blur past my window as I drive, but my mind is stuck on Collins’ words—each one echoing like a slow, burning fuse.It’s Sabrina. Your mother.Could she have really done it?My jaw clenches as I press harder on the gas. The engine hums louder beneath me, but it doesn’t drown out the flood of thoughts crashing in my head.She never wanted me to marry Isabel. From the very beginning, my mother made it painfully clear—Isabel wasn’t good enough, not for me, not for our family. She despised everything about her. Her upbringing. Her background. The fact that she was poor. A nobody. Someone who didn’t fit into our world.She never forgave me for choosing Isabel anyway.And then I remember—that night.We were arguing in her study room. She’d been furious about how useless Isabel was during a family crisis—said she just stood there, quiet, offering nothing of value. That she had no strength, no presence,
Collins’ POVI look up, raising an eyebrow as I meet Alexander’s gaze. “So… you want me to get details on this vehicle?” I ask, tapping the paper he just slid across my desk, my tone dry, disbelieving.Alexander shifts his weight from one foot to the other, slowly nodding. But it’s the kind of nod that screams reluctance—like he still can’t believe the words are coming from his own mouth.I scoff. “You came back after storming out last time, pissed at the world, and now you want me to run a plate number on a bike?” I let the silence hang, thick and heavy, watching him squirm as he avoids saying what we both know he came here for.He doesn’t answer.Instead, he pinches the bridge of his nose, and that’s when I know—he’s wrestling with it. The discomfort is all over his face. I’ve known Alexander long enough to recognize when something’s eating him from the inside.I sigh, sinking deeper into my seat, locking my fingers together. “What’s your connection with this plate number?” I ask, s
Cynthia’s POVI pace the room, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, every step slicing through the heavy, choking silence.My mind won’t stop spinning, crashing back to Alexander’s words from last night. His tone, his stubbornness, the way he said he was going to start digging into the past. Into the truth.Panic twists inside me.If he really starts poking around, he will find it.He will find me.How I carefully, ruthlessly created a rift between him and Isabel.How I built lie upon lie, wound after wound, all to keep them apart forever.No.I shake my head fiercely, biting down hard on my thumbnail, pacing faster.That can’t happen.For years, I’ve endured—fought—to keep the truth buried. I’ve planted doubts, fueled betrayals, sowed distrust like a second skin between them.And yet—Why does fate keep spinning the damn wheel back to them?No matter how far apart I tear them, no matter how well I bury the past, something—something—always shoves them back toward each o
Isabel’s POV“Claire…” My mother’s voice breaks, hoarse with grief. “How could you have been going through all of this alone?” Her eyes are wide with pain, hands trembling as they reach toward me but stop halfway. “Countless times, Claire. Countless times you were attacked, and you just… you just hid it from me?”Tears spill freely down her cheeks as she steps closer, her voice rising into a sharp, helpless wail. “How did you think I would feel as your mother—knowing you’ve been living through all this, silently bleeding, and I never knew? And now… now I find out you’d planned to use yourself as bait at the event?” She clutches her chest like her heart might tear in two. “Why, Claire? Why didn’t you tell me?”I snap—not out of anger, but from the pressure of everything I’ve been holding in.“Because I was scared, Mom!” I cry, my voice raw and cracking. “Scared of seeing you this way. Scared that I’d shatter you.”Her breathing falters, but I push through the lump in my throat.“I know
Alexander’s POVThe door clicks open as I step inside the house with Mother.The soft tune of a jazz song floats through the living room, slow and airy like the aftermath of a toast. Cynthia dances alone—wine in hand, hair loosely pinned, her dress glinting in the light as if she’s celebrating something only she knows.My jaw clenches.I walk straight to the speaker and turn off the music.She turns slowly, surprised, raising her glass mid-air like she just noticed us.“Oh… you’re back?” she says lightly, her tone breezy. “The event’s already over?”Something in her voice irks me. I don’t miss the sly curiosity behind her words.I stare at her. My mind replays the scene—the flash of her slipping out through the hotel hallway, the way she avoided every gaze.I know what I saw.“Where were you today, Cynthia?” I ask, voice sharp.She scoffs, laughing without humor.“Impossible. Where else would I be?”Lies. I can see it in the flicker of her eyes.If you lie to me now, Cynthia, I’ll tak
Isabel’s POVI’m still frozen—still in shock—barely able to feel my own breath, much less the dull ache spreading across my chest. The only thing louder than the sound of my pulse is the voice that suddenly rips through the air.“Is this the plan you were talking about? I thought your plan was to avenge Cynthia for all she’s done. How come you had Roy involved in it too?”The voice is raw. Strained. Like it clawed its way up from a place of pain. Each word crashes into me like thunder, louder as the footsteps draw closer. And then… we all turn.Aria.Her red-rimmed eyes land on me with blistering intensity. Her face is crimson, cheeks flushed with rage, and her fists are clenched tight by her sides like she’s fighting every urge to lash out. Her chest heaves, her shoulders rigid with emotion.The silence becomes deafening. Every head turns as she walks forward—past the nurses, past the waiting chairs—right into the center of the tension. No one moves. No one speaks. We just watch, hel