Chapter 4
Isa's POV
The vase came flying past my head and SHATTERED against the wall.
Shards exploded everywhere. A jagged piece sliced across my cheek. I felt something warm trickling down my face.
"You went through my phone? MY phone?" Vito wheeled toward me, fury radiating as he snatched it from my hands. "Jesus Christ, Isa—is there NO trust between us?"
I stumbled backward, my back hitting the wall.
"Don't. Don't come near me." I raised my hands defensively, voice trembling.
Vito stopped. He saw the blood on my face. His expression shifted instantly.
"You're bleeding." His voice softened. "Isa, I didn't mean to—I just—"
"Don't TOUCH me!"
His hand froze mid-reach. The silence was suffocating, broken only by my ragged breathing.
Three years. I'd lost count of how many times I'd flinched from those hands.
Vito's phone suddenly buzzed. He glanced at the screen—something lit up in his eyes.
"Clean up that cut." He pulled back, tone turning clipped. "And don't go through my stuff again. We're married, but everyone needs privacy. Right?"
Before I could respond, he wheeled out.
The door clicked shut.
I heard him in the hallway, voice muffled but unmistakable—that tenderness he never used with me.
I slid down the wall, wrapping my arms around myself. The cut throbbed, but I barely felt it.
Two more days. Just two more days and I'd be free.
The next morning, I woke to find Vito in the kitchen.
He came in with a breakfast tray, that familiar smile in place. "Hey, you're awake. Made you breakfast. Try some."
I stared at him silently.
"Isa, last night—that was on me." He sat on the bed's edge. "I shouldn't have lost it. Shouldn't have thrown anything. And your face..."
He reached toward my cheek. I jerked back instinctively.
His hand hung in the air. Hurt flickered across his face.
"I swear it won't happen again." He lowered his hand slowly. "Let me take you shopping today. Get you whatever you want. My way of making it up to you."
My voice came out flat. "You've said that before."
"This time's different." Vito grabbed my hand. "I really want to change. Just give me one more chance. Please?"
I met his eyes directly. "If you do it again, I want a divorce."
Vito's face went dark.
His grip on my wrist tightened painfully. His eyes turned cold, dangerous.
"What the hell did you just say?"
"I said if this happens one more—"
"NO." He cut me off, each word sharp as glass. "Isa, we promised forever. Till death do us part. I will NEVER agree to a divorce. You hear me? NEVER."
He stared at me with an obsession that chilled my blood. "I'll change. I swear I will. But don't you EVER mention divorce again."
Terror crawled up my spine. I forced out, "I was just kidding."
Vito studied me for a long moment before slowly releasing my wrist.
"Good." He stood, warm smile sliding back into place. "Eat up. We'll head out after."
At the boutique, Vito played the perfect doting husband.
"What about this one?" He held up an evening gown. "Go try it on."
The sales associate hurried over. "Mrs. Castro, this just arrived from Paris. It would look stunning on you."
I stepped into the fitting room and changed. Beautiful fabric, exquisite tailoring. Completely wrong for my style.
"Gorgeous." Vito smiled. "We'll take it."
As I turned to change back, I heard the associate say quietly, "Mr. Castro, that custom gown you had us fly in from Paris last week arrived. Would you like to see it now?"
Vito's eyes flickered. He lowered his voice. "Put it aside. I'll pick it up later."
I stood before the mirror, fingers clenching the fabric.
Of course.
After changing, I pretended I'd heard nothing. When Vito went to pay, I said casually, "I need the restroom."
"Sure. I'll wait here."
I headed that direction but stopped around the corner.
Vito's phone rang. His whole face softened when he answered.
"Elena? What is it? What happened?" His voice turned gentle, tender. "Okay, I'm coming now. Stay at the café. Don't move, alright?"
After hanging up, he told the associate, "Wrap that dress. I'll come back for it."
I walked out as if just returning.
"Isa, something came up at work." Vito approached me. "Head home first. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Okay." I nodded.
After Vito left, I didn't leave. I stood by the window display. Waiting.
Less than ten minutes later, a car pulled up.
Elena stepped out, wearing a flowing dress, her belly slightly rounded.
Vito rushed to her side, carefully helping her into the boutique.
I watched through the glass. Watched him drape a coat over her shoulders so tenderly. Watched him kneel to adjust her dress—helping her try on that gown from Paris.
Elena suddenly turned. She spotted me standing outside the window.
She froze for a heartbeat. Then her lips curved into a triumphant smile. She raised her hand and waved at me—slow, deliberate, claiming victory.
I turned and walked away.
No heartbreak this time. No crushing pain.
I simply hailed a cab. "JFK Airport."
Inside the boutique, Vito pulled out his phone to call Isa.
The call wouldn't go through.
He frowned, tried again. Same result.
"Something wrong?" Elena asked.
"Nothing." Vito pocketed his phone. "Probably just bad signal."
But unease twisted in his gut.
His phone rang. Marco, his right-hand man.
"Boss." Marco's voice came tight, urgent. "There's a lawyer here to see you. Says Mrs. Castro retained him." A pause. "He's talking divorce papers."
