CHAPTER 7 — THE NIGHT BEFORE THE GALA
CHAPTER 7 — THE NIGHT BEFORE THE GALA
The night before the gala, Isabella Rossi received a message that would change everything.
At the time, she thought it was an opportunity.
By sunrise, she would understand it was a warning.
And by the following evening, a pregnant woman would be lying injured on a hospital floor while Marcus Thorne watched security footage that exposed the first layer of a conspiracy far larger than their affair.
But the beginning happened quietly.
No cameras.
No witnesses.
No screaming.
Just a black car waiting beneath the rain.
At 11:42 p.m., Isabella stood in front of the mirror in her penthouse.
The red dress lay across the bed.
She had chosen it deliberately.
Marcus liked red.
He had once told her that she looked impossible to ignore when she wore it.
She smiled at the memory.
Then her phone vibrated.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
One message.
Come alone. Parking garage. Level B3. 11:55.
Isabella frowned.
She typed:
Who is this?
The answer came immediately.
Someone who knows what happens tomorrow.
Her smile disappeared.
She stared at the message.
Then another arrived.
If you want Marcus, come alone.
That sentence was enough.
Ten minutes later, Isabella entered the underground garage.
The rain outside had turned the concrete floor glossy.
Her heels echoed through the empty structure.
She stopped beside a black sedan.
The rear window lowered.
“Get in.”
She hesitated.
“Who are you?”
“Get in, Isabella.”
She recognized the voice.
Not the man.
The voice.
Cold.
Measured.
Familiar.
She opened the door.
Inside, a man sat in the shadows.
His face remained hidden.
“You're late.”
“I came as soon as I could.”
“Good.”
He handed her a thin envelope.
She didn't open it.
“What is this?”
“Your future.”
She laughed nervously.
“You said you could help me get Marcus.”
“I can.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because tomorrow is your last chance.”
Isabella's expression changed.
“Last chance for what?”
“To become Marcus Thorne's wife.”
She swallowed.
“And if I fail?”
The man looked at her.
“You disappear.”
She opened the envelope.
Inside were photographs.
Marcus and Khloe.
Walking together.
Entering the hospital.
Khloe's swollen stomach.
Marcus touching her hand.
Another photograph showed Khloe standing beside the Thorne family lawyer.
Isabella's fingers tightened around the edges.
“She has to go,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Divorce?”
“No.”
Isabella looked confused.
“Then what?”
The man leaned closer.
“Make Marcus believe she is dangerous.”
“She isn't.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“You want me to frame her?”
“I want you to make him question her.”
Isabella stared at him.
“How?”
He handed her another photograph.
A medical document.
Khloe's name was at the top.
The report suggested psychological instability.
Isabella looked at it.
“Where did you get this?”
“Does it matter?”
She read the final paragraph.
A recommendation that Khloe should not make independent financial decisions.
Her eyes widened.
“This is perfect.”
“No.”
The man's voice hardened.
“This is only the beginning.”
He reached into his coat.
And placed a small USB drive in her hand.
“Tomorrow night, Marcus will attend the gala.”
“Yes.”
“Khloe will be there.”
“Yes.”
“And you will make her leave.”
Isabella frowned.
“How?”
“You don't.”
“What?”
“You make someone else do it.”
She stared at him.
“Who?”
He smiled.
“Marcus.”
Isabella returned home at 1:13 a.m.
She placed the USB drive on the kitchen counter.
Then stared at it for almost an hour.
Finally, she inserted it into her laptop.
A video opened.
It showed Khloe entering a doctor's office.
The date was months earlier.
Isabella watched.
Khloe was crying.
A doctor sat across from her.
The audio was distorted.
Then a sentence became clear.
“I don't trust them.”
The screen went black.
Another clip appeared.
Khloe signing a document.
Then another.
Marcus standing outside a hospital room.
Then another.
Khloe alone.
The final video lasted only fourteen seconds.
A man's voice spoke off-camera.
“If Marcus discovers the truth, you lose everything.”
Isabella paused the video.
She whispered:
“What truth?”
The screen suddenly displayed a file name.
PROJECT HEIR.
Isabella's heart began pounding.
She clicked.
The folder was empty.
Except for one document.
BIRTH PLAN — PRIVATE
Her hands began shaking.
She opened it.
The document contained dates.
Medical appointments.
Hospital access codes.
Security schedules.
Even the expected delivery window.
At the bottom was a sentence:
The child must never reach the trust without external control.
Isabella stared.
She had believed the objective was to destroy Khloe's marriage.
Now she realized something much bigger was happening.
The child was the objective.
Marcus was merely the obstacle.
At 2:06 a.m., Isabella called the man.
“You lied to me.”
Silence.
“You said I would become Marcus's wife.”
“You still can.”
“You never told me about the baby.”
“That wasn't information you needed.”
“It was everything I needed to know.”
“No.”
His voice became colder.
“It was information you could have used against us.”
“Us?”
Isabella froze.
“Who is us?”
The line went silent.
Then:
“You're asking questions you shouldn't.”
“I want answers.”
“You want Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“Then do exactly what you're told.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
“What happens tomorrow?”
“You will attend the gala.”
“Yes.”
“You will stay close to Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“You will provoke Khloe.”
“What if she refuses?”
“She won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we've already made sure she believes Marcus is betraying her.”
Isabella's heart skipped.
“You planted something?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A message.”
“To whom?”
“Khloe.”
Across the city, Khloe woke suddenly.
Her phone vibrated.
She reached for it.
One new message.
No number.
Just an image.
Marcus and Isabella.
Together.
The photograph appeared intimate.
Too intimate.
Khloe stared at it.
Her heart sank.
Then another message appeared.
Tomorrow night, ask Marcus where he was after midnight.
Khloe's fingers trembled.
She deleted the message.
But the photograph remained burned into her mind.
At 3:15 a.m., Marcus was still awake.
He stood inside his study.
His grandfather's documents were spread across the desk.
He was reading the trust agreement again.
One sentence kept bothering him.
The protected heir shall remain beyond the reach of all marital claims.
Why would Victor have created such extreme protection?
Unless he had known someone would try to use marriage to steal the inheritance.
Marcus reached for another document.
Then his phone rang.
It was Khloe.
He answered immediately.
“Are you okay?”
There was silence.
Then:
“Were you with Isabella tonight?”
Marcus frowned.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because someone sent me a photograph.”
Marcus's stomach tightened.
“What photograph?”
Khloe didn't answer.
Instead she said:
“Marcus, I need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If something happens tomorrow…”
“Nothing is going to happen.”
“Promise me.”
He closed his eyes.
“I promise.”
She whispered:
“Don't let anyone separate me from our son.”
Marcus stood completely still.
“Why would you say that?”
“I don't know.”
“Khloe.”
She hesitated.
“Someone is trying to scare me.”
Marcus's expression hardened.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Send me the photograph.”
“I deleted it.”
Marcus knew she was lying.
Not because he distrusted her.
Because he could hear fear in her voice.
“Khloe.”
“I'll see you tomorrow.”
The call ended.
Marcus stared at the phone.
He immediately called Daniel.
“I want every security camera around Khloe's residence checked.”
“Why?”
“Someone is contacting her.”
Daniel paused.
“Threats?”
“I don't know.”
“I'm on it.”
Marcus looked out the window.
The city lights blurred through the glass.
Something was coming.
He could feel it.
At 8:00 a.m., Isabella arrived at the gala venue.
Everything looked perfect.
Flowers.
Crystal chandeliers.
Black-tie guests.
Security personnel.
Press cameras.
Politicians.
Investors.
The Thorne name was everywhere.
Isabella smiled as she entered.
She looked like she belonged there.
But beneath the red dress, her hands were shaking.
A man approached.
Not the mysterious man from the garage.
Someone else.
A doctor.
Dr. Adrian Thorne.
Marcus's uncle.
Isabella recognized him immediately.
He smiled.
“You received the instructions?”
“Yes.”
“And the drive?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“What happens after tonight?”
He stared at her.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you follow instructions.”
She swallowed.
“And Khloe?”
His expression became emotionless.
“She will leave.”
“Where?”
“That isn't your concern.”
“But the baby—”
Adrian's eyes sharpened.
“Do not ask about the baby.”
Isabella went silent.
He leaned closer.
“Your only job is to make Marcus distrust his wife.”
“And if I can't?”
Adrian smiled.
“Then someone else will.”
He walked away.
Isabella watched him disappear into the crowd.
For the first time, she felt genuinely afraid.
Because she had always believed she was the dangerous one.
Now she understood.
She was disposable.
At 7:30 p.m., Marcus arrived.
The gala began.
Cameras flashed.
Reporters surrounded him.
Investors shook his hand.
He smiled mechanically.
But his eyes searched the room.
Then he saw Khloe.
White gown.
One hand resting over her stomach.
She looked beautiful.
And frightened.
Marcus walked toward her.
Before he could reach her, Isabella stepped between them.
“Marcus.”
He stopped.
“We need to talk.”
“Not now.”
“Please.”
“No.”
She grabbed his arm.
He pulled away.
“Isabella.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I'm pregnant.”
Marcus froze.
The room seemed to disappear.
“What?”
She whispered:
“I'm pregnant with your child.”
Marcus stared at her.
Across the ballroom, Khloe had heard every word.
Her face went pale.
She slowly stepped backward.
Marcus turned toward her.
“Khloe—”
But before he could explain, the lights went out.
The ballroom erupted in screams.
Glass shattered.
Security rushed forward.
Someone shouted.
Then the lights returned.
Khloe was gone.
Marcus's heart stopped.
He pushed through the crowd.
“Find my wife!”
Daniel ran toward him.
“Sir!”
“Where is she?”
“We lost visual.”
Marcus looked around wildly.
Then his phone vibrated.
One message.
You were warned.
A second message followed.
The child belongs to us now.
Marcus stared at the screen.
His blood ran cold.
Then he heard a scream from the private hospital suite upstairs.
He ran.
Security followed.
He reached the door.
It burst open.
And there she was.
Khloe.
On the floor.
Isabella standing over her.
Broken glass everywhere.
Marcus froze.
For one horrifying second, he couldn't breathe.
Then he saw Khloe's hand wrapped around her stomach.
He saw the blood.
He saw Isabella's red dress.
And something inside him shattered.
“Isabella…”
His voice was barely recognizable.
“What did you do?”
She opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, Marcus's phone vibrated.
A message from Daniel.
Sir. We have the complete security footage.
Then another.
You need to see who entered the suite before Isabella.
Marcus looked toward the hallway.
His face hardened.
Because the gala attack had not begun with Isabella.
She had only been the final piece.
And somewhere inside the hospital—
May you like
the person who had ordered everything was still watching.
TO BE CONTINUED…
