Inside the mansion, Victoria Chamberlain was on her knees before Ethan Blackwood, her voice trembling with desperation. “Mr. Blackwood, weren’t you planning to surprise Miss Kensington on the yacht tonight? Please, let me fix this mistake.”
She had served Sophia for years, memorizing every detail of her preferences.
Ethan’s frown deepened. Sophia had arrived unannounced, and the venue wasn’t even prepared. He glanced at his watch—only three hours remained.
“One chance,” he muttered coldly. “Fail, and you’re finished. Not just out of the Blackwood family—next stop, court.”
A lifeline and a threat, wrapped in one. Victoria swore under her breath as she scrambled away.
Ethan turned, his gaze landing on the untouched feast spread across the dining table. Frustration coiled inside him, sharpened by the memory of Isabella slapping Victoria earlier. She had kept her composure, but something about her had shifted—cold, unyielding, nothing like the obedient woman he once knew.
The thought flickered and died. To him, Isabella would always be that dull, submissive wife. Without him, she was nothing.
Outside, a sleek Lamborghini pulled up.
“Isabella, darling!” Olivia Montgomery rushed forward, pulling her into a fierce embrace. “You know my home is yours forever, right?”
Olivia, the sole heiress of the Eternity Group, owned half the city’s skyline. A roof over Isabella’s head was the least of her concerns.
“So, what the hell happened tonight?” Olivia pressed, her cheek against Isabella’s shoulder. “You still smell like cooking oil. Don’t tell me you were slaving away for that bastard again.”
Isabella’s throat tightened, warmth seeping into her bones from Olivia’s hug. “Let’s talk in the car.”
Inside the Lamborghini, Isabella recounted the day’s events, her voice steady. But Olivia’s temper ignited like dry tinder.
“Unbelievable! Ethan got dumped by Sophia on their wedding day, and now he’s divorcing you to get back at her? They’re perfect for each other—both toxic as hell.” Olivia’s nails dug into the leather seats. “And his family! Three years of your life wasted catering to them, and this is their gratitude?”
She exhaled sharply. “Listen, his childhood amnesia doesn’t excuse this. You’ve paid your dues. Stop pretending to be the woman he wants. The slate’s clean.”
Isabella slumped in her seat, watching the city blur past. “It’s over. We’re done.”
For three years, she had molded herself into Ethan’s ideal—ditching her stilettos, pinning up her hair, drowning in modest clothes she hated—all to mimic Sophia. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she could never compete with the woman he truly loved.
“Isabella, the Blackwoods don’t deserve you.” Olivia’s voice softened, thick with emotion. “Divorce takes time, but until then, you’re staying with me. You’re family.”
A faint smile touched Isabella’s lips. “Okay.”
Raised in an orphanage, she had never known family. But Olivia had always treated her better than blood ever could.
Their conversation halted as they arrived at an elite makeup studio. Olivia rolled down the window, grinning at the renowned artist waiting outside.
“Charlotte! Got a project for you.”
Isabella rubbed her temples. “I’m exhausted. Maybe another night.”
“Oh, come on! You’re not seriously keeping that ‘waiting for him’ look, are you?”
“Definitely not.”
“Good!” Olivia beamed. “Relax and let the pros work. These are world-class artists. Tonight, they’ll unveil the real you.”
Thirty minutes later, the transformation was undeniable.
Isabella’s striking features, once dulled by exhaustion, now gleamed. Her feline eyes, enhanced by subtle shadow, held a mesmerizing depth. A delicate beauty mark near her eye added a rebellious edge.
Even Olivia gasped. “This… this is the Isabella I remember!”
She gestured to a rack of designer gowns being wheeled in. “Pick whatever calls to you. Tonight, we’re celebrating your freedom on a luxury yacht—with eight gorgeous escorts. It’ll be unforgettable.”
Isabella waved a hand. “Not in the mood for men.”
Olivia shot her a knowing look. “Three years, Isabella. Don’t tell me you haven’t had… needs.”
Isabella hesitated.
In three years of marriage, Ethan had “saved himself” for Sophia, refusing to touch her. She was still a virgin.
She wasn’t a saint—she had desires. But she wouldn’t force anything.
Olivia studied her, sensing her lingering attachment. Time for the trump card.
“You know the CEO of Charisma Perfumes will be there, right? The mastermind behind the brand. Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”
Charisma—the most prestigious perfume house in the country. Isabella had once crossed paths with its elusive CEO at an international competition. His creations were art, eerily reminiscent of her mother’s style.
Yet, like her, he was a ghost—never seen, even as Charisma conquered the world. She had even hacked their database once, finding nothing.
“Fine,” Isabella relented, curiosity winning. “Let’s go.”
