Chapter 1 - THE BELT ON MARBLE
The first strike cut across my back before my mind accepted that Nathaniel truly meant to hurt me.
By the final blow, tiny drops of blood dotted the white marble beneath my knees while Savannah stood in a champagne silk gown and smiled as if she had just won something valuable.
“Look at her,” she purred. “She’s still acting innocent.”
One manicured hand rested lightly over her flat stomach.
“Nathaniel, sweetheart, ask the maid for sparkling water. The baby can’t stand the smell of your scotch.”
Nathaniel adjusted the cuffs of his custom navy suit and looked down at me with the blank coldness of a man who had rehearsed cruelty until it felt ordinary.
“You embarrassed Savannah tonight.”
Pain spread through my ribs.
“She told your executives I couldn’t have children.”
Savannah’s smile widened.
“I only answered their questions.”
“She also told them I married you for your money.”
Nathaniel met my eyes.
“Isn’t that the truth?”
For three years I had played the perfect wife. I smiled beside him, never demanded credit, and allowed everyone to believe Nathaniel Cross had rescued an ordinary woman from obscurity. He loved that story because it made him larger.
He dropped a stack of legal papers and an expensive fountain pen onto the floor in front of me.
“I’m tired of dragging around dead weight, Isabella. Sign this postnuptial agreement, surrender your assets, and walk away quietly.”
He slipped an arm around Savannah.
“Savannah is carrying my child. She’s giving me the future of the Cross family. Your place in my life is over.”
Savannah tilted her head.
“Just sign it. Maybe he’ll let you stay in the guest suite.”
They thought they had broken me.
They mistook silence for surrender.
I pressed my blood-smeared thumb to the top page, leaving a crimson print that looked like a seal.
Then I reached into my pocket and dialed a private satellite number.
Nathaniel snatched the phone away with a laugh and hit speaker.
“Calling your broke mechanic father?” he mocked. “Listen carefully, old man. Your daughter is barren and completely useless—”
A deep voice cut across the hall before he could finish.
“Nathaniel Cross.”
Everything froze.
It was not the unsteady voice of a struggling mechanic.
It was Edward Whitmore, founder of Whitmore Global, the man Nathaniel quoted in investor meetings and watched on morning business television like scripture.
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“You have just made the final mistake of your pathetic life,” my father said.
Then the line went dead.
