Chapter 18: Scandal
Isabella stood frozen in the center of the master bedroom, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Kian’s words still echoed in the heavy silence between them. He wasn’t letting her go. He wasn’t taking the easy way out she had handed him on a silver platter.
Cold fear settled deep into her stomach. In her past life, she had been so sure he wanted her dead, so sure that she was just a burden he couldn’t wait to cast aside.
But this reaction made no sense at all. He should have been relieved.
He should have used the scandal to dump her, take her father’s money, and walk away clean with Alice.
Instead, he was standing there with that horrifyingly gentle tone in his voice, talking about forgiveness.
"You’re exhausted," Kian said softly, stepping closer. His large hand reached out, his warm thumb gently wiping a tear from her cheek.
His touch was light, almost tender, but it sent a violent shiver down her spine. "You’ve been manipulated, Bella. You don’t know what you’re saying."
"I do know what I’m saying!" Isabella’s voice broke as she tried to pull back, her hands pushing against his broad chest. "I want a divorce, Kian! I don’t love you!"
Kian didn’t flinch. He didn’t lose his temper. He simply cupped her face in his hands, his fingers brushing against her hairline with a quiet, terrifying patience.
"We’ll stay right here until you feel like yourself again," he murmured gently. "You’re not leaving this room, Bella. Not until you come back to your senses."
Isabella’s blood ran cold. "What?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What do you mean?"
"It means exactly what I said," Kian replied, his tone as smooth and steady as if he were talking about the weather.
"You are going to rest. You’re going to stay in this room, and we are going to fix this. I won’t let you ruin our lives because of a mistake."
Panic surged through her. She grabbed at his suit jacket, her fingers clutching the dark fabric tightly. "Kian, no! You can’t lock me in here! This is my house! You can’t do this!"
"I am doing this for your own good," he said softly. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her temple.
"I love you, Bella. You’ve always loved me. You told me yourself I’m the only man you’ll ever need. I won’t let Aaron Kazarov mess with your head."
"Let me go!" she cried, tears spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. "Kian, please!"
He didn’t answer with anger. He gently unclasped her fingers from his coat, one by one, holding her wrists firmly until she couldn’t reach him anymore. He stepped backward toward the door.
"Get some sleep," he said gently. "I have things to take care of."
"Kian!"
She scrambled forward, her hands outstretched in the dark, but he was too fast. The heavy wooden door clicked shut right in front of her face.
Then came the sounds.
’Click.’
’Click.’
’Snap.’
The deadbolt engaged.
Isabella slammed her hands against the hard wood. "Kian! Open the door! Kian, let me out!" She pounded her fists until her knuckles throbbed, her breathing loud and ragged in the empty room. "Please! Don’t do this! Kian!"
Outside, the heavy footsteps moved away down the long corridor, growing fainter and fainter until there was nothing left but absolute silence.
She was locked in.
Isabella backed away from the door, her knees trembling so badly she could barely stand. Her sightless eyes strained against the dark, but there was nothing to see.
The bedroom, a place she thought she knew by heart, suddenly felt huge and terrifyingly unfamiliar. Every shadow felt like a wall; every quiet corner felt like a trap.
"My phone..." she stammered to herself, her hands shaking violently as she turned around. "I need my phone..."
She stumbled forward, her hands sweeping across the top of the bedside table.
Nothing. She felt along the desk, knocking over a leather notepad and a pen. Nothing. Kian had already taken it. He had cleared the room before they even left for the gala.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as a sudden wave of dizziness hit her. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her chest tightening so much she couldn’t catch her breath.
’No, no, no...’
In her panic, she turned too quickly. Her foot caught the leg of the vanity chair, and she went tumbling down, her elbow crashing Into the small glass side table.
The heavy crystal vase on top slid off the edge and shattered across the hard floor.
Isabella gasped, scrambling backward on her hands and knees. The jagged glass scraped against her skin, and a sharp, blinding pain shot up from her left foot as she stepped down directly on a broken shard.
"Ah!"
She collapsed onto her side, clutching her bleeding foot. Fresh tears overflowed, hot against her cheeks. The pain in her foot was nothing compared to the suffocating terror In her chest.
She pulled her knees up to her chin, curling into a tight ball on the cold floor among the glass pieces.
She pressed her hand against the back of her head, right behind her ear, where the strange mark burned hot against her skin.
It felt like a ticking clock, a quiet reminder that she was slipping closer and closer to the same dark ending.
"Dad..." she sobbed into her knees, her voice small and broken. "Dad, I’m sorry... I should have listened to you... I’m so sorry..."
She was completely helpless. Without her sight, without a phone, locked inside a heavy wooden room at the end of a private hallway, she was entirely at Kian’s mercy.
And for the first time in both her lives, she realized she had never truly known what Kian Carter was capable of.
Downstairs, the atmosphere in Kian’s private study was dead quiet.
Kian stood by the large window, staring out into the dark gardens. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled back just enough for the pale moonlight to hit his face.
He looked entirely calm. His hair was neat again, his dark suit jacket buttoned, his tie pulled straight. If not for the faint tension in his jaw, no one would have guessed he had just locked his wife in her room after a massive public scandal.
Behind him, the heavy door opened softly.
Luke stepped into the room, followed by the secondary driver who had been assigned to Isabella’s escort detail over the past month. Both men stood near the center of the Persian rug, their hands folded in front of them, waiting.
Kian didn’t turn around immediately. He took a slow breath, pouring himself a glass of straight bourbon from the crystal decanter on his desk.
"How?" Kian asked quietly.
His voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it cut through the room like a cold draft.
Luke cleared his throat, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. "Sir, we checked the gate logs and the security footage from the past three weeks. There are no records of Aaron Kazarov or his men near the estate. Miss Isabella never left the grounds without a full escort."
Kian took a sip from his glass. He slowly turned around, his eyes dark and empty as he looked at Luke.
"I didn’t ask for a security report, Luke," Kian said softly. "I asked you ’how’."
"Boss—"
Before Luke could finish his sentence, Kian dropped the glass, crossed the space between them in two long strides.
’Crack.’
His heavy fist struck Luke squarely across the jaw.
The force of the blow threw Luke off balance, his body crashing onto the hard floor. Blood immediately sprayed from his split lip, staining the light carpet.
The secondary driver flinched, stepping back, his face turning pale as paper, but he didn’t dare interfere.
Kian didn’t stop. He stepped over Luke, grabbing him by the front of his suit collar, hauling him halfway up, and driving another heavy punch straight into his face.
"How did he touch her?!" Kian growled, his voice dropping into a low, vicious snarl as he slammed Luke back down against the floor.
"I gave you one job! Protect my wife! Keep her safe! and you let that bastard parade her in front of every camera in the city!"
He raised his fist again, his knuckles already red and bruised.
Luke didn’t fight back. He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, breathing heavily, his eyes staring up at his boss.
"She didn’t meet him, sir..." Luke rasped out, his voice thick with blood. "I watched her every single day. She never spoke to him. She never saw him. It... it doesn’t make any sense."
Kian’s fist hovered in the air.
He stared down at Luke’s battered face, his chest heaving with cold, heavy breaths.
Luke was right.
Luke was a professional. He had worked for Kian for five years, and he never made mistakes. Isabella was blind.
She couldn’t read a secret text message unless it had to be read aloud. She couldn’t drive a car. She couldn’t slip out of a guarded estate in the middle of the night without someone noticing.
Slowly, Kian unclasped his hand, letting go of Luke’s collar. He stood up straight, pulling a white linen handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood off his knuckles.
"Get up," Kian said quietly, his rage settling back into a flat, icy calm. "And clean this room."
"Yes, sir," Luke muttered, wiping his face as he pushed himself up from the floor.
It was a lie. It had to be a lie. Aaron and Isabella were playing some kind of twisted game to humiliate him, to break his authority. Isabella was just confused, or maybe Aaron was holding something over her head. But no matter what it was, Kian wasn’t going to let them win.
...
By three in the morning, the news had completely taken over the internet.
What started as a quiet luxury charity gala had turned into the biggest public disaster of the year. The video clip recorded by the young socialite on her live stream had already gained millions of views across every social media platform.
Every news channel had a banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen:
’BREAKING: ISABELLA KINGSTON CONFESSES TO AFFAIR WITH AARON KAZAROV AT PRESIDENTIAL GALA.’
In tea shops, night-shift offices, and online chat rooms, people were talking about nothing else.
"Did you see her face?" one comment read under a viral video clip. "She looked totally out of it. She’s blind, how did she even meet Aaron Kazarov?"
"Kian Carter looked like he wanted to kill someone right there on stage," another user wrote. "Imagine being one of the richest men in the city and your wife does that to you on live TV."
"She’s so ungrateful," a woman wrote on a popular gossip forum. "Kian took care of her after her father died. She’s a charity case, and now she’s sleeping with his worst enemy? She’s a snake."
At the same time, Alice sat in her bedroom, her laptop glowing bright in the dark room.
A slow, nasty smile spread across her face as she scrolled through the online articles. She had spent the last two hours secretly sending anonymous tips and money to three different celebrity gossip blogs, giving them fake details about Isabella’s past.
Within minutes, new headlines started popping up:
’INSIDERS CLAIM ISABELLA KINGSTON HAD SECRET LOVERS BEFORE MARRIAGE.’
’WAS THE BLIND HEIRESS USING KIAN CARTER ALL ALONG?’
Alice leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of cold water. "Let’s see how much Kian loves you now, Isabella," she whispered to herself, her eyes shining with quiet delight.