Chapter 3

The silence in the room was thick enough to choke o.

Isabella clearly hadn't dreamed I'd walk away from marrying into such wealth. Her face flushed crimson.

As she sputtered, searching for a retort, Wesley smoothly inserted himself between us, the perfect, unctuous assistant.

"Don't worry, Ms. Young," he soothed, patting her arm. "Good riddance to this freeloading trash!"

Isabella bit her lip, a flicker of genuine panic in her eyes. "But Wesley... the press... the Vogue spread is scheduled! I'll be a laughingstock!"

Wesley shot me a malicious glance. "An opportunity, then. Ms. Young, you recall Preston Vanderbilt? Of Vanderbilt Global Media?"

Instantly, Isabella's eyes lit up. "Wesley, you mean...?"

Wesley nodded emphatically, excited. "Vanderbilt Global just closed their Series B on Wall Street. Preston, as the sole heir, is worth billions."

"It's the perfect opportunity for Young Enterprises to break into overseas markets!"

Isabella lowered her head coyly. "But... would he marry me?"

Wesley thumped his chest confidently. "Absolutely!"

"I just got word! Preston is on his way here right now!"

Seeing this, the pieces clicked.

The so-called "Intimacy Agreement"?The manufactured outrage.

It wasn't just Isabella's pettiness, it was a corporate raid, and Wesley was the inside man, collecting a kingmaker's fee.

"That's enough," I cut in, my voice slicing through their little fantasy.

"Ms. Young, while I've ended our farce of an engagement, Isabella, procuring a replacement groom before my seat is cold is... undignified, even for you."

I turned my full attention to Wesley, my gaze cold and assessing. "Right now, I just want to know one thing. Whose idea was that agreement? The specific, degrading clauses."

Knowing Isabella, she was arrogant and spoiled, but this reeked of a more calculated malice.

Something else was at play.

Her reflexive, guilty glance towards Wesley was all the confirmation I needed.

"What does it matter whose idea it was? It's none of your concern!"

"A man of your word, right? Surely you're not backing out now?"

I let a cold, humorless smile touch my lips. "Second thoughts? No. I'm having revelations. I just suspect someone deliberately poisoned the well between us!"

I turned my gaze fully onto Wesley. "Ms. Young, doesn't this whole setup feel... orchestrated?"

I tried to warn her gently, out of respect for her father, but she wouldn't hear it.

"Sebastian Shaw! I warn you, stop trying to drive a wedge between us!"

"Weren't you just so eager to wash your hands of me? Changed your mind already?"

Her words left me disappointed. How could a family dominating the business world for decades produce someone so naive?

"You heard the lady," Wesley sneered, gesturing grandly toward the door. "Time for you to exit stage left.".

I didn't move. "The performance isn't over, Wesley. You got your understudy to break a leg. Isn't it time the real lead made his entrance?"

As if summoned by the director himself, the dressing room door swung open.

Preston Vanderbilt stood there, flanked by a publicist holding a phone, clearly filming for social media. He struck a pose, a cocky, media-trained smile plastered on his face.

"Isabella Young," he announced, his voice pitched for the cameras. "How about we give these people a real wedding to talk about?"