This man wasn’t just skilled—he was a force of nature.
His reflexes were honed to perfection, sharp as a blade and quick as lightning. It was clear he’d been trained from childhood, just like her. Reflexes like his weren’t learned in some sterile classroom or polished dojo. No, they were forged in the crucible of life-or-death battles, where survival carved you into something lethal.
He was the kind of man who didn’t just fight to the end—he’d drag you down into hell with him.
That kind of ruthlessness ran deep, like ink spilled into water, impossible to wash away.
You could see it in his eyes—he thrived on risk, even when the odds were stacked against him.
The best way to handle a man like that? Simple: don’t provoke him.
No need to invite trouble when you could walk away.
As these thoughts flickered through her mind, Isabella’s phone buzzed violently, like a swarm of wasps. At first, she ignored it, but the relentless vibrations refused to stop. Finally, she swiped the screen open—flooded with missed calls.
It was already 8:30.
She was supposed to meet Ethan for the divorce.
Glancing down at herself, Isabella exhaled a slow, weary breath. Her clothes were a disaster—buttons missing, fabric torn, as if she’d been caught in a storm. If she stepped outside like this, people would assume she’d just brawled in an alley.
She rummaged through her closet, pulling on a fresh blouse with quick, efficient movements. As she dressed, she shot a text to her friend.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ll explain later.”
Before leaving, she paused at the edge of the bed, her gaze sharpening as it landed on the nightstand. She grabbed a scrap of paper and some cash, tucking it beneath the gun resting there.
“Your performance was pathetic. Consider this your tip—minus deductions.”
It wasn’t just the ruined clothes. He’d left her to clean up the mess of a night he clearly wanted to forget.
Generous? Maybe.
But that didn’t mean she had to be naive.
As she strode toward the door, Isabella adjusted her blouse and smoothed her hair, dialing the cruise manager with one hand.
“Erase every trace of me. Wipe the surveillance too.”
“Understood, Ms. Sinclair. It’ll be handled,” came the crisp reply.
She sped to the courthouse, but by the time she arrived, she was already thirty minutes late.
Oddly, the sadness she’d expected never came.
After three long years of clinging to false hope, it seemed the well had finally run dry. All that remained was a hollow silence where emotions used to live.
Ethan stood outside, leaning against his car like a statue, checking his watch every few seconds. Sophia clung to his arm, whispering in his ear, her eyes gleaming with adoration.
“Ethan, don’t defy your grandfather…”
There it was.
The moment Ethan spotted Isabella, his expression hardened into stone, his brows knitting into a scowl.
“If you’re here to stall or back out last minute, save it. I’ve already decided to marry Sophia. Don’t waste my time with games.” His voice dripped with impatience, as if he’d already anticipated her every move.
“I told you yesterday,” she added coldly, “not even tears will change my mind.”
Isabella stepped out of the car just in time to catch his words. Her stomach twisted—partly from skipping breakfast, partly from something far worse. She’d always known Ethan was cold, but this… this was something else entirely.
She met his gaze, unflinching.
“I have no regrets. Not then. Not now.”
The truth was, Isabella had known for years that the man standing before her wasn’t the same one who’d once promised her the world. But she’d held onto hope—foolishly—that maybe, just maybe, he’d remember. That the boy he used to be would resurface.
But now, with the final act about to close, she saw it clearly.
Ethan wasn’t just different—he was a stranger. Someone she barely recognized. Someone she didn’t even like anymore.
With a calm that surprised even herself, she said, “Instead of accusing me of playing games, why don’t we just get this over with?”
She didn’t wait for a reply.
Pulling out her documents—including the divorce papers—she strode toward the courthouse doors, her face an unreadable mask.
