"Brandon," she said, voice steady, "stop fooling around. Let's go home."
"Home?" he repeated, laughing bitterly. "Do you even remember what today is?"
She gave him no answer—only silence. It was the one thing he couldn't stand.
"You don't care at all," he said, his voice rising. "You're cold. Heartless. I've had enough, Isabella. I'm marrying Vanessa. I won't let her be the 'lowly mistress' you call her. And I want to break off our engagement."
The room went quiet.
For a long moment, Isabella looked at the two of them—his arm around Vanessa, Vanessa's smug little smile—and she felt something inside her finally go still.
Then she turned around and walked out.
Her steps were slow, elegant, not a hair out of place. She didn't look back. She didn't rush. She didn't crack.
Only when she closed the door behind her did the ambush unfold.
Cameras flashed. Microphones pushed forward. Reporters flooded in from both ends of the hallway.
