Chapter 2

I stumbled through the door of my Bellevue apartment, my body still wracked with pain. The memory of Ryan's cold eyes as I collapsed to the floor played on repeat in my mind. Seven years. Seven years I had given him, molding myself into his ideal partner while he—while he had been with Madison all along.

My hands trembled as I kicked off my heels, not bothering to turn on the lights. The darkness matched my mood, a black hole consuming everything I thought I knew about my life. I curled up on my couch, clutching a throw pillow to my abdomen as another cramp tore through me.

"How could I have been so blind?" I whispered to the empty room.

The soft glow of my phone illuminated the darkness. Three missed calls from my father. Eduardo Martinez rarely called me directly—he preferred to communicate through his assistant or, better yet, not at all. Whatever prompted this sudden interest in my wellbeing couldn't be good.

I was about to silence the phone when it buzzed again with an email notification. From my father, sent at 11:42 PM. The subject line read: "URGENT: BLACKWOOD PROPOSAL."

Frowning, I opened it, the blue light harsh against my tear-swollen eyes.

"Isabella," it began without preamble, "Arthur Blackwood and I have discussed a mutually beneficial arrangement between our families. His grandson, Alexander Blackwood, is seeking a wife. You are seeking an exit from your current predicament. I've taken the liberty of proposing a match."

I sat up, wincing at the pain. A match? An arranged marriage? Was this the 19th century?

"The Blackwood name will shield you from the social fallout of your broken engagement. In return, your impeccable lineage and social graces will provide Alexander with a suitable partner for his public image. Terms are negotiable. Respond by morning."

No "I'm sorry about Ryan." No "How are you feeling?" Just business, as always with my father.

I tossed the phone aside and buried my face in my hands. The Blackwoods. Everyone in Seattle knew of them—old money, vast influence, and a reputation for ruthless business acumen. Alexander Blackwood was their golden heir, a man whose rare public appearances generated breathless gossip and whose private life remained an enigma.

And my father wanted me to marry him. A stranger.

I dragged myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. In the mirror, a hollow-eyed woman stared back at me. I barely recognized myself.

"Who are you?" I whispered to my reflection. "Who were you before Ryan?"

The question hung in the air, unanswerable. I had spent so long being Ryan's Isabella that I'd forgotten who Isabella Martinez really was.

I didn't sleep that night. As dawn broke over the Seattle skyline, painting my apartment in soft gold, I made my decision. I couldn't go back to being the woman who collapsed on that karaoke lounge floor. I needed to become someone new—someone stronger.

With steady hands, I picked up my phone and composed an email to the address my father had included for Alexander Blackwood's assistant.

"I accept the proposal to meet with Mr. Blackwood to discuss terms."

Sending it felt like jumping off a cliff, terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

By midday, Seattle's gossip columns were ablaze with the news. My phone buzzed incessantly with notifications:

"BREAKING: MARTINEZ HEIRESS ENGAGED TO BLACKWOOD HEIR"

"SOCIETY SHOCKER: ISABELLA MARTINEZ TRADES UP FROM THOMPSON TO BLACKWOOD"

"SOURCES CONFIRM: MARTINEZ-BLACKWOOD WEDDING TO BE SOCIAL EVENT OF THE YEAR"

I turned off my phone, unable to face the storm. I hadn't even met Alexander Blackwood yet, and already the world had decided our fate.

What I didn't know was that across town, Ryan was seeing those same headlines, his face contorting with rage as he dialed Madison's number.

"Have you seen this?" he snarled without greeting. "She thinks she can humiliate me by running to Blackwood? She'll regret this. I'll make sure of it."

I was still blissfully unaware of his fury when, hours later, I returned from a long walk to find my apartment door slightly ajar. A chill ran down my spine as I pushed it open.

Nothing seemed disturbed in the living room or kitchen. But when I reached my bedroom, I froze. My closet door stood open, and the garment bag containing my grandmother's vintage Chanel wedding dress—the one piece of my mother's legacy I had left—was empty.

With trembling hands, I rushed to my jewelry box. The antique pearl necklace that had been passed down through generations of Martinez women was gone. In its place lay a handwritten note:

"Borrowed these for my wedding to Ryan. They'll look better on a real bride anyway. XOXO, Madison"

I sank to my knees, a scream building in my throat. They had taken the last pieces of my past. But in doing so, they had severed the final threads binding me to who I used to be.

Tomorrow, I would meet Alexander Blackwood. And I would make sure Ryan and Madison paid for what they had done.