Chapter 2
After leaving the bar, Isabella went to the hospital to treat her wound.
When she returned home, she gathered everything related to Ronan—photos, letters, gifts—and packed them all away in boxes.
Her parents arrived just as she was sealing the last container.
“Isabella,” her mother asked gently, “have you truly let go of Ronan? You’re really over him?”
Seeing their daughter nod without hesitation, both parents visibly relaxed.
“Glad to hear that,” her father said with a smile. “Lucius is busy overseas, but the Moretti family arranged a video call today to finalize everything.”
“Lucius is definitely more mature and put-together than Ronan—honestly, he’s a much better fit for you. We never even considered him an option, thought someone like him would never go for this. So yeah, we were pretty shocked when he said yes without hesitation.”
Isabella’s eyes filled with tears.
From the moment she’d made her decision, she’d known Lucius would say yes.
In her past life, the age difference and his cold, commanding presence had kept everyone at a distance—including Isabella. They rarely interacted outside of family gatherings.
All she’d known was that he was completely devoted to his work, having built a business empire from nothing, and had never married.
When he died by suicide at thirty-five, they found a stack of love letters while clearing out his belongings.
Each one was addressed “To my Stella,” and no one in the Moretti family knew who was stella.
Only Isabella knew. She was born on a night full of falling stars, and “Stella” was the nickname her grandpa always used—just his special name for her.
She’d never realized that the cold, unreachable man had loved her silently for an entire lifetime.
Now that fate had given her a second chance, she wanted to give them both an opportunity.
Lost in thought, she barely noticed her parents approaching with an elegant gift box.
“Sweetie, tomorrow’s your birthday,” her mother explained warmly. “Lucius couldn’t fly back in time, so he had his assistant retrieve this from his study. Do you like it?”
Inside lay a breathtakingly brilliant diamond ring.
Isabella recognized it immediately—”Stardust,” the most expensive engagement ring sold at Sotheby’s in the past fifty years.
She’d seen it once at an exhibition and never forgotten its beauty.
That Lucius would send such a priceless gift filled her heart with unexpected warmth.
In her past life, after their engagement, Ronan had never given her another gift.
She’d forgotten what it felt like to receive something precious from someone who cared.
The next evening, Isabella’s birthday celebration began promptly at seven in Chicago’s most luxurious hotel.
Guests offered their congratulations, and with the marriage arrangement finally settled, Isabella felt a weight lift from her shoulders. For the first time in months, she found herself genuinely smiling.
Then commotion erupted near the entrance, and every head turned toward the door.
Isabella followed their gaze and froze. Ronan had arrived—with Heyar on his arm.
But that wasn’t the most humiliating part. The worst was yet to come: a group of Ronan’s friends marched through the crowd carrying an enormous placard.
In bold letters across the center, it read:
HYPOCRITE
For: Isabella Claymore
Guests pressed forward to gawk, whispering and pointing.
Isabella’s face went pale.
Her hands clenched into fists as she stared at the troublemakers, her voice cutting through the noise like ice.
“What the hell is this?”
The group sneered at her, deliberately raising their voices for everyone to hear.
“Oh please, you tell us! Yesterday you swore Ronan wasn’t the groom, but the second he got home, his whole family was already knee-deep in wedding plans. Seriously, who plays hard to get like you do, Princess? This sign fits perfectly!”
“Please, we all knew she was faking it yesterday. She’s been chasing Ronan for years—girl left her pride at the door a long time ago. And now she suddenly doesn’t want him? Yeah, right. Classic move. Like, who else is she gonna marry? He’s the only Moretti her age.”
Cruel laughter rippled through the ballroom.
Ronan’s expression was stone-cold as he addressed her. “Isabella, stop with these hypocritical games. Don’t think this will get my attention. Once we’re married, you’ll have the Moretti name—don’t expect a damn thing more.”
She’d heard those exact words in her previous life.
And he’d kept his promise. Seven years of marriage, and the name was all she’d ever received.
The crowd buzzed with gossip as Isabella took a shaky breath and raised her voice.
“Ronan Moretti! I don’t need your name. Listen carefully—you are not my groom, and it’s not with someone my age. It’s with your—”
Before she could finish, chaos erupted.
Heyar suddenly clutched her face, red welts spreading across her skin as she collapsed into Ronan’s arms.
“Ronan… I—I can’t breathe… why are there so many hyacinths? You know I’m allergic…”
Hyacinths were Isabella’s favorite flowers, and the ballroom was filled with elaborate arrangements.
Hearing Heyar’s increasingly labored breathing, Ronan panicked, calling her name frantically before sweeping her into his arms.
As he rushed toward the exit, he shouted two commands:
To Isabella: “When we’re married, there will be no hyacinths—ever. Not in the house, not at events, not anywhere.”
To his friends: “After I leave, destroy this entire party!”
“Got it, boss. Consider it done.”
The moment he disappeared, the group descended like vandals, grabbing chairs and wreaking havoc.
The birthday cake splattered across the marble floor, crystal glasses shattered against walls, and flowers were trampled into pulp as guests fled in terror.
“Stop! You have no right to destroy my birthday party! Stop!”
“You’re marrying our boy Ronan, sweetheart! Wife obeys husband—whatever he says goes! Ha ha ha!”
Isabella screamed until her voice gave out, but couldn’t stop the rampage. Her protests only brought more cruel laughter.
Eventually, every guest had fled.
Her birthday party ended in ruins.
