Chapter 6 - How Could You Do This Today?“How could you do this today?”
Isabella's voice rang through the ballroom.
No whispering.
No polite restraint.
Every guest heard her.
Margaret clutched the red roses against her chest as tears streamed down her face.
“Please,” she said. “You don't understand.”
Soft gasps moved through the room.
Isabella saw people exchanging looks.
Not concern.
Judgment.
She knew exactly what they were thinking.
The poor bride was losing control.
The outsider was creating a scene.
The woman who had been invited into wealth was proving she did not know how to behave around it.
One guest near the front lowered her champagne glass and whispered something to her husband.
Isabella caught only two words.
“Prenup problem.”
A wave of humiliation burned through her.
They assumed money had caused this because, to them, money was the only reason a woman like Isabella could possibly stand beside Ethan.
She looked at Margaret.
“My father died believing he failed me.”
Margaret sobbed harder.
“Isabella—”
“You signed the papers.”
“I know.”
The guests shifted.
The silence changed.
Ethan looked between them.
“What papers?”
Margaret said nothing.
Isabella's tears came now, but she refused to lower her head.
“The company that took my father's building was controlled by your family.”
Ethan's face went still.
“That's not possible.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Isabella looked at him.
“I have the documents.”
“Where did you get them?”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes.”
That single word hurt more than it should have.
Because Ethan's first instinct was not to ask what happened to her father.
It was to question the source.
The room had trained him too.
Reputation first.
Truth second.
Margaret stepped forward.
“Ethan, please. Not here.”
Isabella laughed bitterly.
“Of course not here. Nothing ugly is supposed to happen in rooms this beautiful.”
“Stop,” Ethan said.
She stared at him.
He immediately softened his voice.
“Isabella, I'm asking you to stop for one minute.”
“No. Your family had eleven years.”
Guests watched with terrible stillness.
No one moved.
No one defended Isabella.
Money had trained the room to wait for permission.
And permission belonged to the Vales.
Margaret pressed the flowers against herself as though the red roses were the only thing keeping her upright.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“After I married your son?”
Margaret's silence was answer enough.
Isabella's rage collapsed into something worse.
Betrayal.
She looked at Ethan and waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
She needed him to walk toward her.
Instead, Ethan stepped directly between the two women.
He gently took Margaret by the arm.
Faced Isabella.
And said firmly:
“Enough. Step back.”
May you like
The entire ballroom heard him.
So did Isabella's heart.
