Isabella POV
"This is your fault. All of this. You did this."
The words leave my mouth, and I watch Enzo's face turn to stone. His arms are still around me. My father's blood is on his hands. Marco's body is being covered with a white sheet behind us.
And all I can think is: I should hate him.
But I don't. Not completely. And that terrifies me more than anything else tonight.
"Get her inside," Enzo tells someone. "Now."
Strong hands pull me away from him. I don't fight. I'm too numb. Too broken. Everything that happened tonight plays in my head like a horror movie.
The dance. Enzo's warning. The screaming. My father with a gun. Marco falling. The gunshot. My father falling.
Someone leads me through the mansion. I don't see where we're going. My vision is blurry with tears. My wedding dress drags behind me, picking up blood from the grass.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
Instead, it's the day everything died.
We stop at a door. It opens. Someone pushes me gently inside, then closes the door behind me.
I'm alone.
The room is huge. Bigger than my entire apartment back home. There's a massive bed with silk sheets. Windows overlooking the garden where Marco died. Where my father shot someone. Where Enzo shot my father.
I want to scream. I want to break things. I want to wake up and discover this is all a nightmare.
Instead, I just stand there in my blood-stained wedding dress, shaking.
The door opens again.
Arthur walks in. His white shirt is still covered in Marco's blood. His face is pale. His eyes are red from crying.
My husband. The man I married six hours ago.
He looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time.
"Marco is dead," he says. His voice cracks. "Marco is dead, and it's my fault."
"It's not your fault. It's my father's—"
"No." Arthur cuts me off. "You don't understand. None of this was supposed to happen. My father promised no one would get hurt. He promised this would be simple."
I stare at him. "What are you talking about?"
Arthur walks to the window. Looks out at the garden. "This marriage. It was all planned. Every detail. My father orchestrated everything."
My stomach drops. "Enzo planned our wedding?"
"Yes." Arthur turns to face me. "He's been watching you for three years, Isabella. Following you. Learning everything about you. He found out your father owed money to dangerous people. He found out they were going to hurt you to get to your dad."
The room spins. I grab the bedpost to stay standing.
"That's not possible. I would have noticed—"
"Would you?" Arthur asks. "Think about it. How many times did you run into him at galleries? At restaurants? At charity events? You thought it was coincidence. It wasn't."
My mind races back through three years of memories. Enzo at the museum. Enzo at the opera. Enzo at my cousin's wedding. Always watching. Always nearby.
Oh God.
"Why?" My voice comes out as a whisper. "Why would he do that?"
Arthur laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Because he wants you. He's wanted you since the first day he saw you. But you were too young. Off limits. So he waited. He watched. He planned."
"That's crazy. That's—he's your father. I'm your wife."
"You're not my wife." Arthur's words hit me like a slap. "Not really. This marriage is fake, Isabella. A piece of paper to legally tie you to our family. To keep you close. To protect you from your father's enemies."
I shake my head. This can't be real. "Then why did you marry me? Why agree to this?"
Arthur's face twists with pain. "Because my father gave me a choice. Marry you and live my own life privately. Or refuse and lose everything I love."
"Marco," I breathe.
"Marco." Arthur's eyes fill with tears again. "My father knew about us. He's known for years. He said if I married you, he'd let Marco stay as my bodyguard. We could be together in secret. No one would question why we spent so much time together."
My legs give out. I sit hard on the bed. "So you married me to protect your boyfriend."
"And you married me to save your father." Arthur sits next to me. "We're both prisoners, Isabella. Just in different ways."
We sit in silence. Outside, sirens wail. Police, probably. Or ambulances. The wedding reception has turned into a crime scene.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now?" Arthur stands up. "Now you live here. In this wing of the mansion. And I live in mine. We show up together for family events. We play the happy couple in public. But in private, we stay away from each other."
"That's insane."
"That's survival." Arthur walks to the door. "My father gets what he wants. He always does. And what he wants is you, Isabella. He wants you close. Where he can see you. Protect you. Own you."
"I'm not property."
"In this world?" Arthur looks back at me. "We're all property. The only question is who owns us."
He opens the door to leave.
"Wait," I call out. "Your father—Enzo—does he really think I'll just accept this? That I'll stay here like some kept woman?"
Arthur's smile is sad. "He doesn't think, Isabella. He knows. Because where else will you go? Back to your father who tried to have you killed? Back to a home that doesn't exist anymore? You're stuck here. Just like me. Just like all of us."
"I hate him."
"No, you don't." Arthur's voice is quiet. "That's the problem. You will hate him. You should hate him. But you won't. Because my father is very good at making people love him. Even when they shouldn't."
He leaves. The door closes.
I'm alone again in this beautiful prison.
I stand up and walk to the mirror. My reflection stares back—wedding dress torn and bloody, makeup running down my face, hair falling out of its perfect style.
I look like a ghost.
I look like someone who died at her own wedding.
Maybe I did die. Maybe the old Isabella Romano is gone, and whoever I am now is someone new. Someone harder. Someone who survived tonight.
I reach up to take off my veil. My fingers find the pins holding it in place.
Something falls out.
A small black card flutters to the floor.
I pick it up with shaking hands. There's writing on it in sharp, precise handwriting:
"Your bedroom is the third door on the left in the East Wing. Mine is the last door on the right. There are cameras everywhere except in our private rooms. If you need me, you know where to find me. If you run, I will find you. You're safe now, Isabella. Whether you believe it or not. —E"
The card is warm in my hand, like someone just held it.
Like Enzo put it in my veil recently.
Maybe during the reception. Maybe during our dance.
I flip the card over. There's more writing:
"P.S. Your father is alive. He's in the hospital under guard. The choice of what happens to him is yours. Come to my room at midnight, and we'll discuss his future. Don't come, and I'll make the choice for you."
I look at the clock on the wall. It's 11:47 PM.
Thirteen minutes.
Thirteen minutes to decide if I go to Enzo's room like he's commanding me to. Thirteen minutes to decide if I'm going to play by his rules or fight back.
Thirteen minutes to figure out if Arthur is right—if I really am trapped here.
I look at myself in the mirror again. At this broken girl in a bloody dress.
Then I start taking off my wedding gown.
If I'm going to Enzo Valentino's bedroom at midnight, I'm not going as a victim.
I'm going as a woman who has nothing left to lose.
The clock ticks to 11:50.
I open my suitcase—someone brought it here while I was in the garden. I pull out jeans and a black shirt. I wash the makeup off my face. I tie my hair back.
11:55.
I walk to the door. Put my hand on the handle.
My father tried to kill my husband tonight. Enzo saved Arthur's life but took my father down. Marco died. Everything is chaos.
And Enzo wants to talk about my father's future.
What if he's planning to finish the job? What if he's going to kill my father and wants my permission first?
What if I give it?
The thought stops me cold.
Would I let Enzo kill my father? After what Dad did tonight? After he pointed a gun at Arthur? After he admitted someone told him to do it to save me?
My hand tightens on the door handle.
11:59.
I open the door and step into the hallway.
It's dark. Quiet. The mansion feels like it's holding its breath.
I walk down the hall. Third door on the left, Enzo said. That's my room. Last door on the right is his.
I reach the end of the hallway.
His door is slightly open. Light spills through the crack.
He's waiting for me.
My heart pounds. Every instinct screams at me to run. To go back to my room. To lock the door and pretend none of this is happening.
But Arthur's words echo in my head: "Where else will you go?"
Nowhere. I have nowhere to go.
So I push open Enzo's door.
He's standing by the window with his back to me. He's taken off his jacket. His white shirt has blood on the sleeves—my father's blood.
"You came," he says without turning around.
"You didn't give me a choice."
"There's always a choice, Isabella." He turns to face me. "You could have stayed in your room. I would have understood."
"And my father?"
"Would be dead by morning." His voice is flat. Honest. Brutal.
I step into the room. Close the door behind me. "Then I guess I didn't have a choice after all."
Enzo's dark eyes lock onto mine. "What are you willing to do to save him?"
The question hangs in the air between us.
And I realize—this is it. This is the moment everything changes. Whatever I say next will determine not just my father's future, but mine too.
"That depends," I say slowly. "What do you want from me?"
Enzo smiles. It's not a nice smile.
"Everything, Isabella. I want everything."
He takes a step toward me.
And the door behind me locks with a soft click.