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Chapter 12: Public Betrayal
Last Updated:
2025-03-13 14:26:50
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Isla’s heart pounded as she threw open the doors to their bedroom. The echoes of the evening’s humiliation still burned in her veins, each whisper, each smirk, each dismissive glance from Killian replaying in her mind like a cruel joke. Her hands shook as she grabbed the first suitcase she could find, yanking open the closet doors with a vengeance.She had endured enough.If he wanted to treat her like she was nothing, she would show him just how easily she could disappear from his life.Furious tears blurred her vision as she pulled dresses off hangers, tossing them into the open suitcase. Shoes, makeup, jewelry—all reminders of this toxic, hollow marriage—were discarded like the illusions they had once been. She refused to be his pawn, his burden, his puppet on display while he paraded around with Celeste.A cold voice cut through the silence. “Going somewhere?”Isla froze, her fingers tightening around a silk blouse. The deep baritone of Killian’s voice sent a shiver down her spine
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The sun barely broke through the gray clouds over the Blackwood estate, casting muted light across the grand hall. Isla sat at the long dining table, untouched breakfast in front of her, eyes fixed on the steaming cup of coffee she had no intention of drinking. She wasn’t hungry. She was angry. After last night, after Killian’s warning, she had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she had let herself get tangled in his world, in his web. And worse, how she had let herself believe, even for a second, that there was something beneath his icy facade worth holding on to. No more. The butler set down a fresh plate of croissants, bowing his head slightly before stepping away. Isla sighed, pushing the food farther from her. A quiet clicking of heels against the marble floor made her tense.Celeste. The woman who had tormented her since childhood, now playing the role of Killian’s fiancée while Isla was reduced to nothing more than a ghost in her own marriage. “You look dr
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The storm had come out of nowhere. The sky, once a dull gray, had deepened into an ominous black as thunder rumbled across the horizon. Heavy raindrops pounded against the pavement, turning the Blackwood estate’s vast courtyard into a glistening sheet of water. Isla barely noticed. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else as she stormed down the driveway. She didn’t care that she had no destination. She didn’t care that her dress was soaked through, clinging to her like a second skin. All she knew was that she had to get away. Away from the suffocating walls of the Blackwood mansion. Away from Killian.Her hands clenched into fists as she replayed their last conversation in her mind—the way he had looked at her with that infuriating mix of detachment and possession. He thought he could control her. He thought she would bend and break just because he said so. Not anymore. She had been so consumed by her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the car. Not until it was t
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The morning sunlight spilled through the grand windows of the Blackwood estate, casting golden streaks across the marble floor. Isla sat at the breakfast table, stirring her tea absentmindedly, her mind elsewhere. Across from her, Killian sat with his usual air of indifference, his fingers scrolling through his phone, a steaming cup of black coffee untouched beside him.It had been a week since the accident, a week since Killian had shielded her with his own body, proving—if only for a moment—that beneath his icy demeanor, something else lurked. But after that night, he had returned to his cold, distant self, shutting her out as though nothing had changed.But for Isla, everything had changed.She was done waiting for Killian Blackwood to acknowledge her, done feeling like an unwanted ghost haunting the halls of his empire. If she was going to survive in this world, she needed to build something of her own.Placing her cup down with deliberate softness, she looked up. "I'm going out t
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Isla hadn’t expected to be noticed so quickly. Her first week at *Harrison & Co.* had been overwhelming, but she found solace in the work. There was something freeing about designing spaces, bringing visions to life. It gave her a purpose—one she desperately needed.But she hadn’t anticipated the attention that came with it.It started at a charity gala, an event her boss insisted she attend. As an up-and-coming designer in Manhattan’s elite circles, networking was key. She had been reluctant at first, but when she arrived, she realized how much she had missed feeling confident, feeling seen.And someone definitely saw her.Nicholas Vaughn.A name that carried almost as much weight as Blackwood in the world of business. He was charming, refined, and devastatingly handsome. More importantly, he was interested in her—not as Killian Blackwood’s wife, but as Isla Blackwood, the designer making a name for herself.When he approached her with a knowing smirk and an extended hand, she didn’t
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The mansion was silent except for the faint sound of the city humming outside. Isla stood near the window, arms crossed over her chest as she gazed at the endless Manhattan skyline. The night stretched before her like a vast, open road—a road she wished she could escape down, far from the chaos of Killian Blackwood.The tension between them had been unbearable since the gala. Every interaction was a battlefield. He had ignored her for days, but his presence still loomed, an ever-present storm ready to unleash its fury. The sound of approaching footsteps made her straighten, but she refused to turn around. She already knew who it was. "You’ve been avoiding me," Killian’s voice was deep, controlled, yet there was a rough edge to it. Isla scoffed, still not looking at him. "That’s ironic, coming from the man who ignores me whenever it’s convenient."A sharp exhale. "That night at the gala—"She finally turned, her gaze meeting his with defiance. "What about it?" His jaw clenched. "Ni
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The morning light streamed through the expansive windows of Isla’s room, but there was no warmth in it. She sat at the dining table, stirring her untouched coffee as her mind churned with unease. The kiss with Killian had left a wound, one she hadn't been able to bandage no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it meant nothing. It had meant something. She had seen it in his eyes—conflict, regret, something deeper he refused to name. But none of that mattered anymore, not after what she had just discovered.Her phone sat on the table, the screen still displaying the news article that had shattered the fragile illusion she had been clinging to. **Killian Blackwood and Celeste Sinclair: Manhattan’s Power Couple Still Going Strong**The headline alone was enough to send a cold chill down her spine. The article detailed an alleged private meeting between Killian and Celeste at an exclusive venue, and though the details were vague, the accompanying picture wasn’t. Killian
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Isla sat in the darkness of her room, the only source of light coming from the city skyline outside. The vast metropolis stretched before her, alive with flickering lights and distant sirens, but she felt nothing—just a numb emptiness settling deep in her bones. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap as she replayed the scene with Killian over and over in her mind.He had lied to her. Again.She should have expected it. Killian Blackwood was not a man who dealt in honesty. He was cold, calculated, and only ever did things that served his own interests. And she? She had been a fool—a fool who had let him get close enough to hurt her not once, but twice.Never again.A knock at the door startled her. Her first instinct was to ignore it, but then a familiar voice echoed through the quiet space.“Isla, open the damn door.”Killian.A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Of course, he would come. Of course, he would try to smooth things over with that same cold, detached logic he always used.
Last Updated : 2025-03-14
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Isla stared at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers gripping the cool marble countertop of her bathroom sink. The woman looking back at her seemed like a stranger—eyes hollowed with exhaustion, lips pressed into a tight line of barely contained anger and pain.Celeste had won. The world believed her lies, and Killian had done nothing to refute them. He had let Isla suffer while standing next to the woman who had orchestrated her public humiliation.She couldn’t let this continue.A sharp knock at her front door startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and after everything that had happened, she wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Still, something told her she needed to face whatever awaited her on the other side.With slow, deliberate steps, she crossed the room and opened the door. Killian stood there, looking every bit the powerful man the world revered—except for the tightness in his jaw and the storm raging in his eyes."Isla," he said, his voice a low, controlled growl.She d
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The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Isla’s penthouse, casting golden hues over the living room. Despite its warmth, she felt cold. The weight of Killian’s call still lingered, the echo of his voice rattling through her mind.She had expected him to lash out, to throw accusations her way, but instead, he had simply said, “Come home.” As if the words alone could undo the damage.Isla wrapped her arms around herself, standing by the window as the city stretched before her. Everything about Killian had always been complicated. He had never been a man of apologies or grand gestures. He was a force of nature—dangerous, unpredictable, and impossible to tame.And yet, she had tried.A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. For a moment, she hesitated. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and after last night, she wasn’t in the mood for surprises.Steeling herself, she opened the door.Liam stood there, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. “I thought y
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Isla stared at her phone long after she ended the call. The screen dimmed, but the weight of Killian’s voice still lingered in the air. Come home, he had said, as if it were that simple. As if he hadn’t just stood by and watched her world shatter at the hands of Celeste.She wasn’t going back. Not this time.Liam, who had been watching her closely, leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “So, what now?”Isla lifted her gaze to him, her fingers tightening around the phone. “I need to fight back. I need to make sure Celeste and Killian both realize they can’t keep doing this to me.”Liam arched a brow. “And how do you plan on doing that?”For the first time in weeks, a spark of determination lit up inside her. “I don’t know yet. But I refuse to be their pawn any longer.”Liam exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, he nodded. “Good. That’s the woman I remember.”His words made something tighten in her chest. She turned away, hugging her arms to herself
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The room was suffocating with the whispers of the elite. Isla could feel their gazes slicing into her like tiny, precise daggers. After Celeste’s public humiliation at the gala, she had hoped to retreat into obscurity, but the world wasn’t that forgiving.Killian had done nothing. Not a single word of defense, not a single gesture to shield her. The man who once claimed to protect her had stood idly by, letting the wolves feast on her reputation.The aftermath was brutal. The tabloids had a field day with the spectacle. Isla Sinclair—the woman who had dared to step into Celeste DuPont’s path, the woman rumored to be carrying Killian Blackwood’s child—was branded a gold digger, a liar, a disgrace.But the worst part? Killian’s silence.That night, Isla lay awake in her penthouse, the city’s lights flickering through her window. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to leave, to vanish before she was reduced to nothing.Meanwhile, across the city, Liam Caldwell sat in his office, sta
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(Isla steps into the grand ballroom, her heart pounding against her ribs. The event is one of the most prestigious gatherings of the year, and as much as she wants to disappear into the crowd, she knows she can't. Her presence has been requested—no, demanded—by Killian. The air is thick with luxury, laughter, and the scent of expensive champagne. Women in glittering gowns and men in tailored suits float through the room, whispering and stealing glances in her direction.)(She swallows down the lump in her throat. She can feel the stares, hear the murmurs. But she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she keeps her chin high and her expression unreadable.)Celeste (smirking, voice dripping with venom): My, my. Look who decided to show up. You must be braver than I thought, Isla.(Isla turns slowly, finding Celeste standing before her in a crimson gown that clings to her figure like a second skin. Her eyes are alight with cruel amusement, and Isla immediately knows she’s up to something.)Isla
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The silence in Isla’s apartment was deafening. She had locked the door behind her, resting her forehead against the wood as she tried to calm her racing heart. Her fingers trembled as she let out a slow breath, her mind still reeling from the confrontation with Killian.He had looked at her with something unspoken in his eyes, something that made her chest ache despite everything. But she couldn’t afford to be weak, not now. Not when he had made it perfectly clear that he saw her and their child as an obligation rather than a family.A knock on the door shattered her moment of solitude.Her stomach twisted. She knew who it was before she even turned around. Killian. He had followed her. Again.She closed her eyes, steeling herself, before unlocking the door and pulling it open. Killian stood there, looking just as controlled as ever, though his sharp gaze softened for a fraction of a second as he took her in. Then, just as quickly, the mask was back in place.“What do you want, Killia
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The cold evening breeze bit into Isla’s skin as she stood by the penthouse window, her arms wrapped around herself. The city lights sprawled beneath her, glittering like a sea of false promises. Despite the warmth inside the lavish apartment, she felt frozen to her core. The argument with Killian earlier had drained her, leaving nothing but frustration and pain in its wake.Her phone buzzed on the glass coffee table. A number she didn’t recognize flashed on the screen. Isla hesitated before answering, dread curling in her stomach.“Hello?” Her voice was wary.“Ms. Sinclair, this is Attorney Graham. I have urgent legal matters regarding your marriage to Mr. Blackwood. He has issued a formal contract amendment. I need you to come to my office immediately.”Her breath hitched. Legal matters? Killian was trying to formalize their arrangement again, treating their relationship as nothing more than a business transaction. A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat. After everything, he still w
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Isla sat by the floor-to-ceiling window of her temporary apartment, watching the city lights twinkle against the night sky. It had been three days since she had seen Killian—three days since he had walked out of her life without a single word.She told herself she was fine. She told herself this was exactly what she wanted. But the ache in her chest told a different story.Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of the tea cup in her hand, the warmth doing little to chase away the cold that had settled in her bones. Just as she took a sip, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment, startling her.Her heart leaped to her throat.No. It couldn't be.She set the cup down and cautiously approached the door, her fingers trembling as she reached for the handle. When she pulled it open, her breath hitched.Killian stood there, drenched from the rain, his white shirt clinging to his sculpted frame. His normally pristine appearance was in disarray—his tie hung loosely, his hair was a mess,
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The tension in the Blackwood estate was suffocating. It wrapped around Isla like an iron vice, each moment stretching unbearably long as she waited for Killian to make a choice—his fiancée or her. The weight of his silence, his hesitation, only deepened the wound that had already split open inside her.She had never truly believed she could win against Celeste. The woman was a force of nature, perfectly sculpted into the kind of partner Killian had always been expected to have. Sophisticated, ruthless, untouchable. Isla, in contrast, was the unexpected disruption, the messy storm that had unsettled the balance of his life.The morning light poured through the large windows of the estate, illuminating the grand dining room where Killian sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. Isla stood at the opposite end, her arms crossed over her chest, her stomach twisting with unease. Celeste, ever poised, was seated beside him, one hand resting on his forearm in a display of owne
