FORGOTTEN BRIDE

The grand chandelier cast a warm, soft glow across the sprawling living room of the Santiago penthouse. Every piece of furniture had been chosen with a meticulous eye, from the marble floors that gleamed beneath Isabella's feet to the plush, custom-made Italian sofas arranged in perfect symmetry. To anyone else, it would have felt like a dream, the pinnacle of luxury, but tonight, the opulence suffocated her.

Isabella sat on the edge of the velvet armchair, her spine straight, hands folded tightly in her lap. She didn't dare look up at the man pacing in front of her, his footsteps heavy with frustration. Alejandro Santiago-the man she had loved, married, and spent the last three years trying to please-was in a rare state of unrest.

"I can't keep doing this, Isabella," Alejandro finally said, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. He stopped in front of her, towering over her with an intensity that sent a chill through her. "This charade... this marriage."

Her heart clenched, but she didn't let the pain show on her face. She had grown used to his coldness over the years, though it never stopped hurting. Every day she told herself that maybe, just maybe, today he'd see her for who she really was. That he'd see her love, her dedication. That he'd love her back.

But today wasn't that day.

Isabella lifted her eyes, meeting his dark, stormy gaze. "What are you saying, Alex?"

He flinched at the name-'Alex'-as if it stung to hear her say it. It wasn't the formal 'Alejandro' he preferred, the name everyone else used in his world of high-powered business deals and boardrooms. No, 'Alex' was a name meant for a different kind of intimacy, one they had never truly shared.

"I'm saying," he bit out, his jaw tightening, "that this needs to end. Our marriage. Us."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Isabella felt the ground beneath her shift, as though everything she had been standing on, every piece of hope, was crumbling beneath her.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. "Is this because of Vicky?"

Alejandro's eyes flickered for a split second-a hint of something, perhaps guilt, perhaps regret-but it was gone as quickly as it came. His face hardened once more.

"This has nothing to do with her," he lied, his tone devoid of any emotion. "This marriage was a mistake from the beginning. You know that. It was just... it was just for my grandfather's sake."

Isabella's throat tightened. She had heard this line before, the same excuse that had been used to justify everything between them. Their marriage had never been about love-at least not for him. It had been a contract, a duty to his family, to his grandfather's dying wish. But for her, it had always been real.

"And what about us?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What about the last three years?"

Alejandro's gaze was cold, unyielding. "There is no 'us,' Isabella. There never was."

She flinched, his words like a physical blow, and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. How could he stand there, so composed, so distant, when her entire world was shattering at his feet?

"You're wrong," she said softly, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. "I loved you, Alex. I've always loved you."

His expression remained impassive, as though her confession meant nothing to him. As though her love was a burden he couldn't wait to discard.

"Love isn't enough," he said flatly. "I need more than this. I need someone who understands me, someone who can stand by me in the way I need."

Isabella's heart twisted painfully. "You mean someone like Vicky."

Alejandro didn't deny it this time. He simply looked away, his jaw tightening again. "Vicky is coming back," he admitted. "We have a history, something deeper than... whatever this was."

There it was. The truth, laid bare. Vicky Soriano-the woman who had left Alejandro years ago, chasing her career in Paris, had always been the ghost in their marriage. No matter how much Isabella tried to convince herself that Vicky was in the past, she had always known that she was living in another woman's shadow.

"And what about me?" Isabella asked, her voice breaking. "What about us?"

"There is no us," he repeated, his tone final. "This was always temporary, Isabella. We knew that from the beginning."

A lump formed in her throat as she stared at him. How could he be so cold, so detached, after everything they had shared? Didn't he see how hard she had tried to make this work, to be the wife he needed, the partner he never asked for but had?

"I'm filing for divorce," Alejandro said, his voice slicing through her thoughts. "I've already spoken to my lawyer. You'll get everything you need. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

The words were supposed to be comforting, but they felt like a death sentence. He was dismissing her, casting her aside like a business transaction that had run its course.

"I don't want your money," Isabella said bitterly. "I never wanted your money."