Chapter 3

Isolde’s POV

The flashbulbs almost blinded me the second I stepped into the banquet hall. 

Dozens of reporters swarmed us, shoving microphones right into my face. The rumors about the real and fake heiresses had been feeding the tabloids all week. They were hungry for blood.

My mother shoved a crisp sheet of paper into my hand. 

"Read it," she hissed in my ear. "Word for word. Don't screw this up."

My father stood right behind me, his hand a heavy, threatening weight on my shoulder. "Just get it over with, Isolde. Make it quick."

I looked down at the typed words. 

[I was a rebellious teenager. I ran away from home, and Violet’s father kindly took me in. Since returning, I have been deeply jealous of her and targeted her at every turn. I spent the last six years in the underground reflecting on my mistakes. Today, I want to formally apologize to Violet.]

I stared at the paper, a bitter laugh almost escaping my throat. It was just absurd.

"Well?" a reporter shouted. "Miss Voss, what do you have to say about the rumors?"

Violet stood a few feet away, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, playing a fragile victim. Jaxson had his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. 

My fingers tightened around the edges of the paper. 

Then, right in front of the flashing cameras and the silent crowd, I ripped the statement in half. Then into quarters. I let the pieces fall to the floor. 

I snatched the nearest microphone from a stunned reporter. I pointed straight at Violet. 

"Why the hell would I apologize to the daughter of a human trafficker?" My voice echoed through the massive room. "She stole my identity for so many years. Isn't that enough? Now she has to steal my husband and my child, too!"

Gasps erupted from the crowd. The reporters went crazy, shouting questions all at once. 

Violet’s face went paper-white. But she recovered in a split second. Her eyes welled up with perfectly timed tears. 

"Sister, why do you always have to slander me?" she choked out, her voice trembling. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a folded document. She snapped it open and held it up to the cameras.

A certified marriage license.

"Jaxson and I are legally married," Violet cried, her voice cracking. "You’re the one who forced your way into our relationship. You're the other woman!"

I froze. I lunged forward and snatched the paper out of her hand. 

My eyes scanned the official text. Jaxson Reed and Violet Voss. The date was from five years ago.

My hands shook. No wonder Jaxson always kept our "marriage papers" locked in his safe.

I turned to Jaxson. "You..."

"Titles don't matter, Isolde," he said smoothly, looking at me like I was being unreasonable. "You know I love you. That should be enough. But you took Violet's place in this family when you came back. She needed a legitimate identity in high society. It's only fair."

Fair.

My brother stepped up to the cameras. He put on his best, most apologetic face. 

"I am so sorry, everyone," my brother said smoothly. "My sister has spent the last six years as a scavenger in the underground. She handles mutant corpses all day. The toxic environment has severely affected her mental state. She suffers from severe paranoia and delusions. Please, do not take anything she says seriously."

The crowd immediately backed away from me. The whispers started instantly. 

"A scavenger?"

"She touches corpses? Disgusting."

"God, she must be infected with something."

"No wonder she's acting crazy."

I looked at my family. They were standing together—my mother, my father, my brother, my "husband", and the trafficker's daughter. A perfect, united front. 

Suddenly, a small body barreled out of the crowd. 

Bam!

A hard head slammed right into my stomach. I stumbled backward, gasping for air. 

A little boy in a tailored tuxedo was glaring up at me, his fists clenched. 

"You bad woman!" he screamed, his face red with anger. "Don't you dare bully my mom!"

My breath caught in my throat. I hadn't seen him since the day he was born. But I knew those eyes. I knew that face. 

William. My son. 

"William..." My voice broke. I dropped to my knees, my hands shaking as I reached out to hug him. "William, it's me—"

My brother grabbed my collar and yanked me backward. 

"Don't touch him with your filthy hands," my brother hissed. He dragged me behind a heavy velvet curtain, out of sight of the cameras. 

He pinned me against the wall, pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen and shoved it right in front of my face. 

It was a blurry security video. Three years ago. A dark alley behind a fight club. A group of men dragging me into the shadows. The sound of my own screaming, begging for mercy while they tore my clothes off. 

"Listen to me very carefully," my brother whispered, his voice dripping with venom. "I know you're trying to ruin Violet. But if you don't go back out there and apologize right now, I'm leaking this video to the press."

I stared at the screen. The blood drained from my face. 

"Sure, I know it was just actors and camera tricks," he sneered, tapping the screen. "But nobody else does. To the rest of the world, it looks one hundred percent real. Do you really think the public will side with a dirty, used-up scavenger? Do you think William will ever acknowledge a mother who looks like she got passed around in an alleyway?"

The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. My vision blurred. 

"That..." I choked out, my whole body trembling violently. "That was real. They actually did that to me. I was..."

"Oh, cut the crap, Isolde!" my brother snapped, rolling his eyes in absolute disgust. "I hired those actors myself! I paid them to rough you up and do some camera tricks to scare you! I wanted to test your limits to force your awakening!" 

"I know exactly what happened. It was totally staged. Stop playing the victim just to make Violet look bad. Why are you so damn hateful?"

I stared at him.

He hired them.

He thought it was staged.

He didn't know that the men he hired had taken his money, ignored his instructions, and actually dragged me to hell.

And he didn't care.

I looked at the man who shared my blood. Something deep inside me finally snapped. My blood ran completely cold.

And then, without warning, a hand twisted violently into my hair.

My head was yanked backward, a blinding, tearing pain ripping through my scalp.