Chapter 2 — The Woman Who Lied
Chapter 2 — The Woman Who Lied
By six the next morning, Isabella Rossi had become the victim.
At least, that was the story the newspapers were already preparing to tell.
She sat in a private lounge three floors beneath the hospital's executive wing, wrapped in a cream-colored coat, her hair perfectly arranged despite the fact that she had supposedly spent the night traumatized.
Her mother sat beside her.
Across from them, attorney Julian Mercer closed a leather folder.
“The hospital has confirmed that security footage exists,” he said.
Isabella's fingers tightened around her coffee cup.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Her mother looked at her.
“Enough for what?”
Julian didn't answer immediately.
Then:
“Enough to establish that Isabella initiated physical contact.”
The room went silent.
Isabella stared at him.
“Can they prove the recording is authentic?”
“The footage is backed up on multiple systems.”
“So?”
“So we can't make it disappear.”
Her mother leaned forward.
“Then challenge it.”
Julian shook his head.
“That would be worse.”
Isabella's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because if we challenge the recording and they produce the backup logs showing you accessed the security system, the prosecution won't see a frightened woman reacting to an attack.”
He looked directly at her.
“They'll see someone who knew exactly what she was doing.”
Isabella's face hardened.
“I didn't hurt her badly.”
Julian went still.
Her mother slowly turned toward her.
“You kicked a pregnant woman.”
“She wasn't supposed to fall.”
The words escaped before Isabella could stop them.
Julian closed his eyes.
“Never say that again.”
Isabella looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because that's not a defense.”
She leaned back.
“You're supposed to protect me.”
“I am.”
“Then fix it.”
“I can reduce the damage.”
“I don't want reduced damage.”
Her voice became cold.
“I want Marcus.”
Julian stared at her.
“And that,” he said quietly, “may be the part you no longer understand.”
Marcus had not slept.
He remained outside Khloe's room until sunrise.
Every time a nurse entered, he stood.
Every time someone mentioned the baby's heart rate, his stomach tightened.
At 5:43 a.m., Dr. Grant finally approached.
“She made it through the night.”
Marcus looked up.
“And the baby?”
“Stable.”
He closed his eyes.
“Thank God.”
Dr. Grant studied him.
“Mrs. Thorne doesn't need stress.”
“I know.”
“She needs rest.”
“I know.”
“And she needs to feel safe.”
Marcus nodded.
“I understand.”
The doctor looked at him for another second.
“Do you?”
Marcus didn't answer.
The doctor walked away.
The question stayed.
At 7:10 a.m., Marcus entered Khloe's room.
She was awake.
Her face looked pale beneath the morning light.
He stopped several feet from the bed.
“Can I come closer?”
Khloe looked at him.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I should have asked before.”
She said nothing.
Marcus approached slowly.
“I spoke to the police.”
Khloe's eyes hardened.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
“Which truth?”
“That Isabella attacked you.”
Khloe stared at him.
“And?”
“And I was wrong for doubting you.”
She looked toward the window.
“Did she admit it?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
Marcus sat in the chair.
“She accessed the security system before the attack.”
Khloe looked at him.
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“Then she planned it.”
“That appears to be the case.”
Khloe's expression changed.
“No.”
“What?”
“She didn't just plan the attack.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“What do you mean?”
Khloe took a slow breath.
“She knew exactly where the camera was.”
Marcus went silent.
“She looked at it before she came toward me.”
“I saw that.”
“No.”
Khloe shook her head.
“You saw the footage.”
She looked directly at him.
“I saw her face.”
Marcus frowned.
“What did you see?”
“Confidence.”
Downstairs, Isabella was already making calls.
One to a journalist.
One to a public relations consultant.
One to a family friend on the hospital board.
Each conversation followed the same pattern.
She didn't deny the recording.
She simply changed the story around it.
“She was emotionally unstable.”
“Khloe had been threatening to expose Isabella.”
“Isabella was frightened.”
“Marcus and Khloe's marriage had been failing for months.”
“She was defending herself.”
None of those statements were technically identical.
That was the point.
A lie was strongest when it contained enough truth to make people uncomfortable.
Isabella knew this.
She had spent years watching wealthy families survive scandals.
Not by proving themselves innocent.
By making everyone else uncertain.
At 8:26 a.m., Marcus's chief financial officer, Daniel Reeves, entered the hospital.
Marcus met him in the corridor.
“What happened?”
Daniel looked exhausted.
“We have a problem.”
“What kind?”
“Three accounts were frozen overnight.”
Marcus frowned.
“Why?”
“Compliance review.”
“From whom?”
“Two banks and one private lender.”
“That's impossible.”
Daniel handed him a tablet.
Marcus scanned the documents.
Then his expression changed.
“These transactions.”
“Yes.”
“They're not mine.”
Daniel nodded.
“I know.”
“Who authorized them?”
“We're trying to determine that.”
Marcus looked at him.
“How much?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Thirty-eight million.”
Marcus's face went cold.
He remembered Khloe's words.
Thirty-eight million.
“How did you know that number?”
Daniel looked confused.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Marcus stared at the documents again.
“Show me every transfer.”
Daniel opened the file.
Several payments had been routed through shell companies.
Then consulting firms.
Then an investment vehicle.
And finally—
Isabella Rossi's private foundation.
Marcus stopped breathing.
“That's impossible.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Sir?”
“Who approved these?”
Daniel enlarged one document.
“Your electronic authorization.”
Marcus stared.
The signature was his.
But he hadn't made it.
“Someone forged it.”
Daniel nodded.
“We think so.”
Marcus looked toward Khloe's room.
She had known.
She had known about the money.
And she had never told him.
Why?
At 9:02 a.m., Victor walked into the conference room.
Marcus turned.
“Victor.”
“Sit.”
Marcus did.
Victor placed a folder on the table.
“You're missing thirty-eight million dollars.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Khloe told you.”
Victor's eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“What else did she tell you?”
“That Isabella may be involved.”
Victor studied him.
“May be?”
Marcus looked down.
“I'm trying to understand.”
Victor's voice hardened.
“Then understand this first.”
He pushed the folder toward Marcus.
“The money started disappearing four months before Isabella moved into your house.”
Marcus opened the folder.
His eyes widened.
Four months.
Before the engagement.
Before the public relationship.
Before anyone knew Isabella was more than a social acquaintance.
“She was already taking money?”
“Someone was.”
Marcus looked at him.
“You think she planned this from the beginning.”
“I think you need to stop asking what Isabella wanted from you emotionally.”
Victor leaned back.
“And start asking what she wanted from your company.”
At noon, Isabella entered the executive wing.
Security stopped her.
“I need to see Marcus.”
“You're not authorized.”
She smiled.
“I am his fiancée.”
The guard didn't move.
“Not anymore.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Who said that?”
“Mr. Thorne.”
She looked toward the elevator.
Victor was standing there.
Their eyes met.
Isabella's expression became cold.
“You're making a mistake.”
Victor walked toward her.
“No.”
He stopped directly in front of her.
“I'm correcting one.”
She lowered her voice.
“You don't know what you're doing.”
“I know exactly what I'm doing.”
“You're humiliating me.”
“No.”
Victor looked at her.
“You did that yourself.”
She clenched her jaw.
“Marcus loves me.”
Victor smiled without warmth.
“If that's true, why are you so afraid of the recording?”
Isabella froze.
Just for a moment.
Victor saw it.
He walked away.
That single reaction told him more than an hour of interrogation could have.
At 1:15 p.m., Marcus confronted Isabella.
They met in an empty conference room.
She entered first.
He followed.
She turned.
“Marcus.”
He closed the door.
“Why did you access the security system?”
Her face remained calm.
“I was scared.”
“Before you attacked Khloe?”
“I wanted to know where the cameras were.”
“Why?”
“To protect myself.”
“You knew Khloe wasn't going to attack you.”
“I didn't know that.”
“You lied.”
Her eyes flashed.
“I was terrified.”
“You told everyone she attacked you.”
“She did push me.”
“No.”
Marcus placed a tablet on the table.
He played the recording.
Isabella watched herself shove Khloe.
Once.
Twice.
Then kick her.
She looked away.
“Turn it off.”
Marcus didn't.
“Turn it off.”
He stopped it.
“You nearly killed my daughter.”
Isabella's eyes filled with tears.
“I was angry.”
“You planned it.”
“I lost control.”
“You checked the camera first.”
Silence.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“Because I knew nobody would believe me.”
“You had the entire room believing you.”
“Not you.”
Marcus froze.
“What?”
She whispered:
“You never believed me completely.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No.”
Her expression changed.
For the first time, the tears disappeared.
“You want an answer?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
She stepped closer.
“I wanted Khloe gone.”
Marcus stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because she was standing between us.”
“You were already destroying my marriage.”
“She was already losing you.”
“No.”
Marcus shook his head.
“She wasn't.”
That hurt Isabella more than he intended.
Her face hardened.
“You think this is about love?”
“Isn't it?”
She laughed.
A short, bitter sound.
“You really are blind.”
Marcus stared.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Khloe knows things about you that you don't even know yourself.”
“What things?”
Isabella smiled.
“You should ask her.”
Marcus's voice dropped.
“What did she find?”
“I won't tell you.”
“Then tell me why you stole from my company.”
Her face went still.
There.
Marcus saw it.
The smallest flicker.
Fear.
“You have no proof.”
“I have thirty-eight million dollars in transfers.”
“You don't know they came from me.”
“I know where they ended.”
“That's not enough.”
“Maybe.”
He leaned closer.
“But it's enough to make your life very uncomfortable.”
Isabella stared at him.
Then whispered:
“You have no idea what happens if I go down.”
Marcus looked at her.
“What happens?”
She smiled.
“Everyone goes down.”
At 2:03 p.m., Khloe asked for Victor.
He entered immediately.
“Are you okay?”
“I need you to do something.”
“Anything.”
“Find out what Isabella was doing six months ago.”
Victor frowned.
“Why?”
“Because this started before she met Marcus publicly.”
“We know.”
“No.”
Khloe looked toward the window.
“We know the money moved.”
She touched the edge of the blanket.
“But we don't know why.”
Victor sat.
“What are you thinking?”
Khloe's voice dropped.
“I think Isabella didn't choose Marcus.”
Victor stared at her.
“What?”
“I think someone told her to choose him.”
At 3:20 p.m., the hospital received an anonymous package.
No return address.
No sender.
Inside was a single flash drive.
The label contained three words:
ASK ABOUT 2019.
Victor inserted it into an isolated computer.
A folder opened.
One video.
One photograph.
One document.
He opened the photograph first.
It showed Marcus at a private business meeting six years earlier.
Beside him stood a man Victor recognized immediately.
Robert Rossi.
Isabella's father.
Victor's face changed.
The document was a bank transfer.
Date:
March 14, 2019.
Amount:
$12 million.
Sender:
Thorne Holdings.
Recipient:
Rossi International.
Reason:
Strategic acquisition.
Victor stared.
“That deal never happened.”
Then he opened the video.
The footage was grainy.
Marcus sat in a private office.
Robert Rossi sat across from him.
And between them lay a contract.
Victor turned pale.
Because the contract contained a clause he had never seen.
A clause that could explain everything.
He paused the video.
Then called Marcus.
“Where are you?”
“Hospital.”
“Come to the security office.”
“Why?”
“Because I just found out your engagement may have been arranged six years ago.”
Silence.
Then Marcus said:
“What?”
Victor looked at the frozen image on the screen.
“Isabella didn't enter your life by accident.”
He paused.
“Someone sent her.”
That night, Isabella sat alone in her hotel room.
She removed her engagement ring.
Placed it on the table.
Then stared at it.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice spoke.
“You failed.”
Isabella's face tightened.
“She survived.”
“That wasn't supposed to happen.”
“I know.”
“You were supposed to make Marcus blame her.”
“I tried.”
“You failed.”
She stood.
“I need more time.”
“You have none.”
“What do you want me to do?”
A pause.
Then:
“Get the original file.”
Isabella's face went white.
“Which file?”
“You know which one.”
She swallowed.
“The 2019 file?”
“Yes.”
“But Victor has it.”
Silence.
Then the man said:
“Then take it from him.”
The call ended.
Isabella stared at the phone.
For the first time, she looked genuinely afraid.
Because the man on the other end wasn't threatening her.
He was reminding her.
He had control.
And if the 2019 file became public, Isabella wouldn't be the only one exposed.
At 11:48 p.m., Marcus returned to Khloe's room.
She was asleep.
He stood beside the bed.
He looked at her swollen stomach.
Then at the monitor.
A steady heartbeat.
His daughter.
He whispered:
“I should have protected you.”
Khloe opened her eyes.
“You should have believed me.”
Marcus froze.
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“Did you find out why?”
“Why what?”
“Why Isabella did it.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“I think it has something to do with 2019.”
Khloe's eyes widened.
“You found it?”
“Victor did.”
She took a breath.
“Then you finally know.”
“Know what?”
Khloe looked at him.
“Isabella didn't come into your life because she wanted your love.”
Marcus waited.
“She came because she wanted your company.”
Silence.
“And someone sent her.”
Marcus stared.
“Who?”
Khloe's expression became unreadable.
“I don't know.”
Then her phone vibrated on the bedside table.
A message.
One sentence.
ASK YOUR HUSBAND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS FIRST PARTNER IN 2019.
Marcus read it.
His face changed.
Khloe looked at him.
“You never told me about him.”
Marcus stared at the message.
His memory went back six years.
A business partner.
A sudden resignation.
A disappearance from the corporate world.
A settlement nobody was allowed to discuss.
A man named Adrian Vale.
Marcus slowly looked at Khloe.
“I thought he left.”
Victor's voice came from the doorway.
“No.”
Both of them turned.
Victor held the 2019 file.
“He didn't leave.”
Marcus stood.
“Then where did he go?”
Victor looked at him.
“He disappeared three days after signing the contract with Robert Rossi.”
Marcus felt the blood leave his face.
Victor opened the file.
“And according to this document…”
He stopped.
“Adrian Vale was the original owner of the account that transferred thirty-eight million dollars.”
Silence.
Marcus looked toward the door.
Khloe's hand went instinctively to her stomach.
The truth was no longer hiding behind Isabella.
It was buried deeper.
May you like
Six years deeper.
And someone had just started digging.
