Daniel Kingston sat across from Isabella in a perfect tuxedo, not even meeting her eyes. Instead, his attention lingered on Charlotte Whitman—the elegant blonde with her hand possessively pressed to his chest.
Everyone knew Charlotte had been his mistress for months. Everyone knew Isabella—the orphan who grew up in a Miami children’s home—had never quite fit.
Isabella lowered her gaze. She remembered meeting Daniel at a charity event at her school. He had seemed enchanted by her warmth, her simplicity. He promised love, security, a family she had never truly had.
But six months after their wedding, the charm faded. Criticism replaced affection. Invitations stopped coming. Her background became an embarrassment. When she confronted him about the affair, he didn’t deny it. He simply said she didn’t belong.
Now she was signing an agreement that left her with nothing, bound by a prenuptial contract she had signed in blind trust.
“Hurry up,” Richard Kingston called, swirling brandy in the corner.
She signed the first page. The second. The third.
On the final page, she looked up one last time, searching Daniel’s face for regret. He was laughing at something Charlotte whispered.