The silence that followed Kaelen's dismissal of Diana was short-lived.
A ripple of murmurs moved through the ballroom, growing louder—part confusion, part excitement—until the air itself felt charged with expectation.
And then, like a well-timed cue, Bella appeared.
She was surrounded by a small entourage of elegantly dressed women—wives of directors, patrons of gossip—each one watching with the gleam of someone who had been fed a story in advance. Her eyes found Kaelen first, wide and glistening, and her lips parted as though she'd just stumbled upon a crime scene.
"Kaelen…" Her voice broke softly, perfectly. "So it's true."
Kaelen stiffened beside me, the sharp line of his jaw tightening.
Bella's gaze shifted to me—slowly, deliberately—and the tremor in her breath turned the air electric.
"Is this why you've been ignoring my calls?" she asked, her voice rising in wounded disbelief. "Why you disappeared last night? I waited for you, Kaelen. I was worried sick." She took a hesitant step forward, one trembling hand pressed to her chest. "Tell me it isn't what it looks like. I'll believe whatever you tell me. Just say something..."
The whispers were instant and merciless.
Kaelen's silence was worse. His expression stayed hard, unreadable—his restraint only feeding the scandal.
Bella's voice cracked. "It's true then? You wouldn't even bother giving me any explanation? How long has this been going on?"
"Bella, stop," Kaelen said, his tone cutting low through the noise.
But she didn't stop. She took another step forward, her trembling transforming into fury.
Her voice sharpened. "How long, Kaelen? How long have you been sneaking around with her?"
The crowd gasped at her audacity, but no one intervened. They wanted to see this. They wanted blood.
Then she turned to me. Her eyes—once honeyed with false sweetness—were venom.
"You couldn't keep your hands off him, could you?" she hissed, stepping closer. "You saw what he could give you and decided to crawl your way into his bed, just like you did with Liam—"
The slap came before I could move.
The sound cracked through the ballroom like a gunshot.For a moment, I didn't even register the pain—just the shock of it, the collective gasp that rippled through silk and crystal and champagne. My cheek burned, a sharp, stinging heat spreading under my skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold humiliation that followed. I tasted iron. My fingers twitched, instinctively curling into fists, but before I could even breathe, Kaelen was there.
He moved faster than thought. One moment, Bella stood in front of me with her hand still raised; the next, I was pulled flush against Kaelen's chest, his arm a steel band around me. I could feel his heartbeat—steady, but heavy with barely contained rage.
"Don't you dare touch her again."His voice wasn't loud, but it struck harder than any shout. The space between us and Bella became charged, the air itself tightening. His eyes—flat, glacial—pinned her in place.
For a heartbeat, she looked stunned. Then I saw it—the flicker of calculation returning behind the tears.
Bella stood there, her hand suspended midair, her face a portrait of sudden horror."Oh my God," she whispered, the transformation instant. "I—oh, Elara, I didn't mean to—" Her voice broke, trembling, full of tears. "I just— I love him so much. Please, forgive me. I lost control."
Her hand fluttered to her lips, eyes shining with unshed tears. "Please," she whispered again, this time to me. "Please let him go. Don't do this. Don't take him from me."
The wives of the directors closed ranks around her—soft gasps, sympathetic murmurs. One reached to steady her shoulder. Another glared at me.
"She's so heartbroken," one whispered."Poor girl," another said. "She shouldn't have to go through this. She is such a nice person."
Bella's tears glittered under the chandelier, catching the light perfectly. Every sob was a weapon.
"Bella," Kaelen said, voice low, controlled. "You've said enough."
But she turned to him, her face crumpling in devastation. "You're still defending her, Kaelen? After everything we've been through?" Her voice broke, just enough to sound genuine. "After all those nights you said you couldn't sleep unless I was beside you?"
And then—from her clutch—she pulled it out. A photograph.
The air around us constricted.
The photograph, although dimly lit and grainy, speaks volumes.
Kaelen's shirt was half-unbuttoned, his head tilted back against the couch, eyes closed. Bella was draped beside him in a satin nightdress, her hand brushing his jaw, her body angled toward him as though caught mid-whisper. The image didn't show what happened next—because it didn't need to. It suggested.
Her voice trembled when she spoke, a perfect imitation of wounded love. "This was us, Kaelen. You and me. You can't pretend it meant nothing. You told me that no one understood you the way I did—that no one ever could."
Gasps fluttered through the circle of onlookers. Every word was a blade dipped in honey.
She looked at me, then back at him, her voice soft, breaking. "How could you do this to me?"
Kaelen didn't flinch. His voice was dangerously calm. "Put that away."
"Kaelen, please—"
"Now."
The command in his tone left no room for disobedience. Bella faltered, her fingers trembling as she lowered the photo—but she'd already won the attention, the pity, the narrative.
Her voice softened again, trembling with practiced sincerity. "I just wanted you to remember what we had. What we were. Maybe she doesn't know—how close we used to be."
The wives murmured approvingly. Someone patted Bella's hand.
And that was the final straw.
Kaelen took a measured step forward, his presence filling the space like a gathering storm. The conversations around us died instantly.
"Bella," he said, his voice quiet—but so edged with control that the chandeliers seemed to hum with it. "What happened that night was not what you're implying. You drugged my drink, you staged a scene, and you took photographs. I didn't consent to any of it. Don't you dare twist that into some fantasy about love."
A collective intake of breath rippled through the crowd.
Bella blinked rapidly, her painted sorrow faltering. "You're lying," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction.
Kaelen's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking just beneath his skin. He didn't raise his tone. He didn't need to.
"If I were lying," he said softly, "I'd be on my knees begging you to keep quiet. But I'm not—and that's why I'm still standing here."
The words landed like a thunderclap in the silence that followed. The tears in Bella's eyes froze, mid-performance. Around us, the watching crowd shifted, uncertain now, as the illusion she'd spun began to unravel.
He turned to me, his hand steady on my back, grounding me, protective. "Let's go," he said quietly.
Bella's voice followed us, a strangled whisper designed for pity. "You'll regret this, Kaelen. You both will."
But Kaelen didn't look back.
As we walked away, the crowd parted for us. The wives' murmurs dulled into silence. The sound of Bella's sobs echoed faintly behind us, pitiful and hollow.
But even as her voice faded, the sting on my cheek remained—a burning reminder of everything she'd tried to take from me. I straightened my spine, matching Kaelen's stride. The world could watch all it wanted. I wasn't the woman she thought she could break. Never was, never will be.