Morning came too quickly.
Isabella barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it again—
The file.
The photos.
The quiet certainty in Adrian's voice.
Your family destroyed mine.
She sat at the edge of the bed, her jaw tight.
"No," she muttered under her breath. "He's lying."
He had to be.
There was no way her father—
No.
She stood abruptly, pushing the thought away.
Doubt was dangerous.
And Adrian? He thrived on it.
By the time she stepped downstairs, the mansion was already alive with quiet activity.
Staff moved efficiently.
Everything in place.
Everything controlled.
Just like him.
Isabella's gaze swept the dining area—
And landed on Adrian.
Of course he was already there.
Seated at the head of the table, reading something on his tablet, completely at ease.
As if last night hadn't happened.
As if he hadn't just shattered her sense of reality.
"Good morning," he said without looking up.
She stopped in her tracks.
"How do you always know when I'm there?"
A small pause.
Then—
"I pay attention."
Of course he did.
Isabella walked over slowly, refusing to show hesitation, and took a seat across from him.
A servant immediately stepped forward.
"Coffee, ma'am?"
"Yes."
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
She folded her hands on the table, watching Adrian carefully.
"You're up early," she said.
"So are you."
"I didn't sleep well."
"That tends to happen when your worldview starts to shift."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're very confident for someone making accusations without proof."
That finally got his attention.
He set the tablet down and looked at her fully.
"Who said I don't have proof?"
Her heartbeat quickened.
"Then show me."
Adrian leaned back slightly, studying her.
"Not yet."
Frustration flared instantly.
"Convenient."
"Strategic."
"I don't play games."
"You already are."
Their gazes locked again.
Sharp.
Unyielding.
Then Isabella leaned forward slightly.
"Let me make something clear," she said quietly. "Whatever you think you're doing—trying to manipulate me, turn me against my family—it won't work."
Adrian didn't react.Not outwardly.
But something in his eyes darkened.
"I don't need to turn you against them," he said. "The truth will do that on its own."
An hour later, Isabella was in her room, pacing.
She couldn't sit still.
Couldn't think straight.
Adrian's words kept replaying in her mind.
Who said I don't have proof?
Her hands clenched at her sides.
If he was bluffing—
She needed to prove it.
And if he wasn't…
No.
She grabbed her phone.
There was only one way to settle this.
Her father picked up on the third ring.
"Isabella."
His tone was warm.
Familiar.
Safe.
It should have reassured her.
It didn't.
"I need to ask you something," she said.
A pause.
Then—
"What is it?"
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then forced the words out.
"Our family… has there ever been any conflict with the Volkovs?"
Silence.
Not long.
But long enough.
"Yes," her father said finally. "A long time ago. It was business. Nothing that concerns you."
Her grip tightened around the phone.
"Nothing that concerns me?" she repeated. "I'm married to one of them."
"And that's exactly why you shouldn't go digging into old matters," he replied, his tone sharpening slightly. "Focus on your role now. That's what matters."
Her stomach twisted.
"Why does it feel like you're hiding something?"
Another pause.
This one heavier.
"I'm protecting you," he said.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you need."
The line went quiet for a moment.
Then—
"Isabella," he added, softer now, "trust me."
The call ended.
She stared at her phone.
Her heart was pounding.
That wasn't normal.
That wasn't how he usually responded.
Her father never avoided questions.
Never.
Unless—
Her thoughts cut off abruptly.
"No," she whispered.
But the doubt was there now.
Clear.
Unavoidable.
And growing.
Later that afternoon, Isabella made a decision.
If her father wouldn't tell her the truth—
She would find it herself.
The Cortez family estate was just as imposing as she remembered.
Tall gates.
Heavy security.
Power in every detail.
But today…
It felt different.
Colder.
As if she were seeing it through new eyes.
The guards let her in without question.
Of course they did.
This was still her home.
Or at least—
It used to be.
Inside, everything was the same.
Elegant.
Untouched.
Perfect.
Too perfect.Isabella moved through the halls with purpose, ignoring the staff's curious glances.
She knew exactly where she needed to go.
Her father's study.
The door was locked.
She expected that.
But she also knew something else.
He had never changed the code.
He didn't think she would ever need to use it.
He didn't think she would ever doubt him.
A small, bitter smile crossed her lips.
That was his first mistake.
The lock clicked open.
She stepped inside.
Closed the door behind her.
And for a moment—
She just stood there.
The room felt heavy.
Like it was holding secrets.
Waiting.
"Let's see what you've been hiding," she murmured.
She moved quickly.
Drawers.
Files.
Cabinets.
Everything was organized.
Careful.
Deliberate.
But not careful enough.
Because buried beneath stacks of documents—
She found it.
An old file.
Worn at the edges.
Untouched for years.
Her pulse quickened as she opened it.
And then—
Everything stopped.
Her breath.
Her thoughts.
The world.
Because staring back at her—
Was a name.
A familiar one.
A name she had heard just last night.
Volkov.
Her fingers trembled as she turned the page.
Photos.
Reports.
Contracts.
And one document—
Stamped.
Signed.
Final.
Her father's signature at the bottom.
Her heart slammed against her chest.
"No…"
But the evidence was right there.
Clear.
Undeniable.
Her family hadn't just had a conflict with the Volkovs.
They had destroyed them.
A sound behind her made her freeze.
The door.
Opening.
Slowly.
Her breath caught as she turned—
And her father stepped into the room.
His gaze fell on the file in her hands.
And for the first time in her life—
She saw something she had never seen before.
Not control.
Not authority.
But—
Fear.