CHAPTER 3: THE GIRL HE THOUGHT WAS ALONE

Ethan had met Isabelle under another name.
Isabelle Hart.
A quiet event consultant with sharp eyes, expensive manners, and no visible family behind her. That was how she wanted the world to see her after her mother's death. No heiress. No billionaire's daughter. No last name that made men bow while secretly reaching for her father's money.
Richard hated the disguise.
Isabelle needed it.
She had spent too much of her life watching people love the door her father could open, not the woman standing in front of it. So when Ethan appeared at a fundraiser six months earlier, charming and careful, she let him believe she was ordinary.
He was perfect at first.
Flowers sent without cards. Coffee remembered exactly. Compliments made in private, never loud enough to feel cheap.
Then came the questions.
Who approves the gala donor list?
Who has access to the private foundation ledgers?
Could she introduce him to families with old money but weak sons?
Isabelle noticed.
She always noticed.
Tonight, when she found him in a locked service corridor with a folder from the foundation office, his beautiful mask finally fell.
He grabbed her arm.
She told him to let go.
He hit her once.
Just once, as if one time could stay small.