Chapter 15 - Isabella ReturnsIsabella Rossi had never been good at losing.
As a child, she broke dolls whose dresses were prettier than hers. At boarding school, she ruined girls who won awards she wanted. In adulthood, she discovered beauty worked faster than cruelty, and cruelty worked faster than truth.
But now truth had cameras.
Truth had prosecutors.
Truth had Khloe Thorne breathing in a private hospital room while Isabella’s name rotted online.
She should have left the country.
Nolan had arranged it.
A car. A passport. A private jet from Teterboro.
Instead, Isabella went to St. Aurelia.
She wore navy scrubs stolen from a laundry cart, a surgical mask, and her hair tucked beneath a cap. Her face was too recognizable, but hospitals were full of exhausted people who saw uniforms before features.
She entered through the staff garage at 11:06 a.m.
Her stolen badge belonged to Margot Ellis, deactivated but not yet physically recovered.
At the first checkpoint, it failed.
The guard frowned.
Isabella laughed softly and touched his arm.
“I’m sorry. They reset everything after that Thorne mess. I’m late to NICU.”
The guard looked at the growing line behind her.
He waved her through manually.
That mistake would cost him his job.
Isabella did not go to NICU first.
She went to Khloe.
Because in Isabella’s mind, everything began and ended with her.
Khloe had been moved back to a recovery suite beside a secured neonatal corridor. A police officer stood outside. Isabella waited around the corner until a doctor dropped a stack of papers near the nurses’ station. For six seconds, everyone looked away.
Six seconds was enough.
She slipped into a supply closet across from Khloe’s door.
Inside, she removed a syringe from her pocket.
Not poison.
Nothing so dramatic.
A sedative.
Enough to make Khloe confused.
Enough to make her words slur.
Enough for a video.
One final performance.
Pregnant billionaire wife unstable after traumatic birth.
Khloe heard the closet door open.
She had not been asleep.
Pain kept her awake.
So did instinct.
When Isabella entered the room, Khloe did not scream.
She reached under her blanket and pressed the emergency call button Elias had placed there himself.
Then she looked at Isabella.
The woman in scrubs removed her mask.
Khloe’s blood turned cold.
“You look terrible,” Isabella said.
Khloe’s voice was calm. “You look desperate.”
Isabella smiled.
“There she is. The brave little victim.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
Isabella stepped closer.
Khloe glanced at the syringe.
Isabella noticed.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. That would make you important forever.”
“You already made me important.”
The smile vanished.
Khloe continued, “That’s what destroys you, isn’t it? You tried to erase me, and now everyone is looking.”
Isabella’s hand tightened around the syringe.
“You think Marcus loves you?”
Khloe’s heart moved painfully, but she said nothing.
“He loves guilt. He loves rescuing broken things. Once this is over, once the baby survives or doesn’t—”
Khloe’s face changed.
Isabella smiled again.
There it was.
The wound.
But before she could twist it deeper, Khloe said, “Julian will survive.”
Isabella flinched.
A name made the baby real.
She hated that.
“He should have been mine.”
Khloe stared at her.
“Marcus?”
“The life,” Isabella snapped. “The house. The name. The child. Everything.”
Khloe’s voice softened in a way that somehow cut worse than anger.
“You don’t love Marcus. You love winning.”
Isabella rushed forward.
The door opened before she reached the bed.
Elias stood there.
Behind him were two officers.
Isabella froze.
The syringe was visible in her hand.
Khloe looked at Elias.
“Took you long enough.”
Elias’s face was thunder.
The officers moved.
Isabella screamed.
Not gracefully.
Not beautifully.
She fought like a cornered animal, knocking a tray to the floor, clawing at one officer’s face before they forced her down.
Khloe watched without blinking.
For weeks, Isabella had made her feel small.
Now she looked exactly as she was.
Not powerful.
Not elegant.
Just cruel.
And caught.
At the same moment, two states away, Marcus burst into the dark Maine wine cellar behind federal agents.
Celeste sat on the floor, bleeding from a cut above her brow, pistol beside her, laptop clutched against her chest.
One attacker lay unconscious near the stairs.
Another had fled.
Marcus dropped beside his mother.
For one second, neither moved.
Then Celeste looked at him.
“She came back, didn’t she?”
Marcus stared.
“Who?”
“Isabella,” Celeste whispered. “I knew she would. Girls like that never run from the stage.”
Marcus’s phone rang.
Elias.
He answered.
Listened.
His face went white with fury.
Celeste closed her eyes.
“I was right.”
Marcus stood slowly.
On the laptop screen, one file had successfully uploaded before the power cut.
Daniel Reed.
May you like
The truth was no longer hidden.
And Isabella Rossi, still screaming in a hospital corridor, had no idea that her second attack had just destroyed the last protection her family had left.
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