Chapter 3

Isabella returned three days later, not with an apology, but with Jules in tow, looking smug. The Austin trip had clearly been a success for him.

She found me in the study, packing a single duffel bag. My old pickup truck was parked downstairs.

"What is this?" she demanded, her voice tight with irritation. "Are you going somewhere? I need you to call the caterers for tonight. Jules wants a party."

No greeting. No acknowledgement of her absence, or the gala she' d missed.

"I'm leaving, Isabella."

I kept my voice calm. Inside, a storm raged, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing it.

"Leaving? Don't be ridiculous, Ethan. Where would you go?" She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "You' re being clingy again. It' s unattractive."

I turned, held up the separation agreement.

"You signed this. Remember? Before you left for Austin."

She frowned, trying to recall. "I signed some company papers. Marc brought them."

"This was among them."

Her eyes scanned the document, her brow furrowing. Then, a flicker of understanding, quickly replaced by anger.

"You tricked me!"

"You signed it, Isabella. You were too busy chasing him to care what it was."

I placed the other documents on her desk – the ones detailing my stake in Rossi Construction, her father' s bequest.

"Your father wanted me to have this. He wanted me to be a guardian of his legacy."

I picked up my duffel bag. It contained a few clothes, some books, nothing more. My father' s old watch was on my wrist.

Marc appeared at the doorway, his expression worried. He' d seen my truck.

"Ethan? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Marc. Thanks for everything."

He nodded, his gaze shifting to Isabella, who stood frozen, the papers in her hand.

"He means it, Izzy," Marc said quietly.

I walked out of the study, out of the penthouse. Marc followed me to the elevator, silent.