Chapter 15: "I want a divorce"
The silence that followed was total.
It was like somebody sucked every bit of air out of the room. The orchestra didn’t make a sound. Waiters froze in place with trays balance on their hands. Even the camera flashes stopped for three whole seconds.
"What...?" a reporter near the stage stammered, dropping his pad.
At Table Twelve, Alice’s mouth fell open. Her head was spinning in circles.
’What did he just say? Is he crazy?’
Kian’s hand clamped around Isabella’s wrist so hard she let out a sharp little gasp. His eyes were wide, red veins showing in the corners as he stared down at Aaron.
"What did you just say?" Kian whispered, his voice shaking with a mix of confusion and pure rage.
Aaron didn’t flinch. "You heard me fine, Carter. Isabella belongs to me."
Kian stared at him for a long, heavy moment, then let out a rough, bitter laugh. He shook his head, trying to play it off for the crowd, though his face was gray.
"You’ve lost your mind. You really have. You still chasing that stupid dream from three years ago? Thinking she’d ever look at a man like you?"
He turned a bit toward the crowd, raising his voice. "You think because you chased her before our wedding that she ever wanted you? She’s my wife. She loves me."
Aaron didn’t argue. He didn’t raise his voice.
He just pulled the black leather glove off his right hand, peeling it off finger by finger, never taking his eyes off the stage.
"Well then," Aaron said softly. "If you’re so sure... why don’t we ask her?"
Nobody moved. Nobody even breathed.
Kian felt her go rigid behind him.
It hit his gut like a sack of lead. His heart started hammering up against his ribs, this nasty, cold doubt creeping right into his chest.
’No,’ he told himself, panicking. ’No way. She’s blind. She doesn’t leave the house. She tells me she loves me every morning. We were just kissing an hour ago.’
He turned his head real slow, looking down at her. His voice lost all its bite, coming out soft, almost begging. "Bella... tell him. Tell this idiot he’s out of his mind."
Isabella’s lip trembled. She kept her chin down, her hands balled into tight little fists against the pink silk of her dress.
"Bella?" Kian said again, his voice cracking right in the middle. He reached out, grabbing her by the shoulder. "Look at me. Tell him to fuck off."
He forgot she was blind. In the panic, he completely forgot she couldn’t look at a damn thing.
She didn’t say a word.
Very slowly, she just slipped her hand right out of his. She didn’t yank it away. Her fingers just slid right off his palm, and she took half a step back on the wood floor.
That tiny little pull felt louder than a gun going off in the room.
Kian’s breath got caught in his throat. His hand just hung there in the air, totally empty.
Aaron let out a small, quiet hum, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
"See? Not so quiet now."
The room just blew up into a hundred sharp whispers.
"Why isn’t she saying anything?"
"Look at her face..."
"Is she actually thinking about it?"
Over at the side table, Alice grabbed Vivienne’s arm, her nails going right through the fabric.
"This is unbelievable," Alice muttered, eyes wide as saucers. "She’s totally bluffing."
Up on stage, Kian’s brain was spinning out of control.
Things were flashing through his head fast—that faint little bruise two weeks back, the way she pulled her face away whenever he tried to kiss her, how she kept asking to go to that old bakery down the street, those long hours she spent sitting by the window staring at nothing.
It all caved in on him at once.
"Bella..." he whispered, his whole voice shaking. "Please."
Isabella took a long, slow breath, forcing the air down into her lungs.
Her heart was beating so fast she felt sick to her stomach, but under all that cold fear, something hot and sharp took over.
She raised her head, pushing her chin up toward the bright lights.
She couldn’t see the five hundred people staring at her. She couldn’t see the cameras pointed at her face. But she knew they were there.
"It’s true," she said.
It wasn’t loud. It was soft, polite, shaking a little at the edges, but in that dead-quiet room, it hit every wall like a bell.
Kian blinked, his mouth falling open. "...What?"
Isabella swallowed hard, taking another step back from him. Her voice got clearer, harder, carrying every bit of her name with it.
"It’s true," she said, head held up high. "Mr. Kazarov is my lover."
The room went completely insane.
A glass shattered on the hard floor nearby as some woman dropped it.
People gasped, chairs dragged back against the floor, and three reporters shoved right past the rope to point their mics up at the stage.
"Holy shit!"
"Did she just say lover?!"
"On live TV?!"
"Is she serious? Kingston’s daughter?!"
A girl over by the side holding a phone dropped her jaw, staring at the screen.
"Are you guys hearing this?! She just said it! Carter’s blind wife is sleeping with Kazarov!"
Alice fell back into her chair, chuckling. "Hah! This bitch really said it."
On stage, Kian looked like he’d been hit by a truck. All the color ran out of his skin, leaving him gray. He stood there, mouth open, looking at his wife like she’d turned into a ghost.
"No," Kian whispered, his voice tiny, wrecked, stripped of everything he had.
"No... Bella, stop it. Stop lying."
He took a wild step toward her, hands coming up to grab her shoulders again.
"Tell me he’s forcing you to say this! Tell me he threatened you! I’ll kill him right here, Bella! I’ll have my guys put a bullet in his head before he gets to his car! Just tell me you don’t love him!"
He didn’t ask if she’d cheated. He didn’t ask how many times they’d met up. The only thing his brain could hang onto was that one word.
’Lover.’
Isabella turned her blind eyes toward the sound of his messy, frantic voice. A single tear ran down her cheek, leaving a wet line through her makeup, but her chin didn’t drop.
"I’m sorry, Kian," she whispered real soft. "I can’t do that."
Kian jerked back like he’d been stabbed right in the gut.
Down at the stairs, Aaron watched with a cold, quiet look in his eyes. He took one slow step up the first marble stair, his voice dropping low, taking total ownership of her.
"Come here, my love."
It was like throwing a match into gas.
"Don’t you touch her!" Kian screamed, spinning on Aaron with this wild, blind anger, his knuckles white as he balled his fists up. "Don’t you dare call her that!"
"Why not?" Aaron said back, totally calm, not even flinching at the shouting. "She just told the whole room who she belongs to."
Kian turned back to Isabella, chest heaving under his jacket, his breathing heavy and ragged.
Tears of pure anger and humiliation burned in his eyes as he looked at her. "Bella... please. Don’t do this to me. Not here. Not like this."
Isabella stood under those hot stage lights, small and pale, but totally solid. She didn’t yell. She didn’t make a scene. She just said four quiet words into the frozen room.
"I want a divorce."