Chapter 8 - The Wedding Eve
Two hours later, the grand luxury estate was dead silent.
Isabella was sitting nervously in the massive, opulent study, sipping a glass of expensive wine. Her corrupt guards had released her from the trunk, and she was eagerly waiting for the phone call confirming that Dominic and his secret family were dead. Tomorrow was supposed to be their grand high-society wedding. She was hours away from legally inheriting his entire multi-billion-dollar empire.
The heavy mahogany doors of the study slowly swung open.
Isabella looked up with a victorious smirk, expecting her hitmen.
Her blood turned to absolute, freezing ice.
Dominic walked into the study. His white shirt was splattered with blood, but he was completely unharmed. He didn't use a cane. He walked with the terrifying, imposing authority of an undefeated apex predator.
"Dominic!" Isabella gasped, her wine glass slipping from her trembling fingers and shattering against the marble floor. "You're... you're alive! The guards told me you were attacked in the city! I was so worried!"
She desperately tried to play the innocent victim, backing away against the massive oak desk.
Dominic didn't yell. The cinematic realism of his absolute, unbreakable calm paralyzed her. He reached into his pocket and tossed a heavy, blood-stained burner phone onto the desk.
"Your hitmen talk too much when they're bleeding out, Isabella," Dominic whispered, his voice vibrating with a lethal, demonic promise.
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Isabella physically staggered, realizing her entire flawless manipulation was completely, undeniably exposed.
👉 Isabella desperately reached for a weapon to finish the job herself, but Dominic’s ultimate trap had already snapped shut.
