Chapter 2
Isobel’s POV
Marco had a gift. A real, ugly little gift for lying without even a twitch. He could wrap himself in this cloak of tenderness, drape it over his shoulders like a perfectly tailored suit, and make you believe he was the hero. Only problem? I knew better. Every word of his “random attack” story rang fake, like some third-rate mob movie with actors who forgot their lines.
Tears streaked my cheeks. “I… I was just… thinking about planning a little… surprise for the anniversary,” I stammered. Smooth. Keep the smile on, Isobel. Keep the tremor hidden. Life depends on it—because in this world, it does.
Marco let out a soft, practiced sigh of relief, and reached for me. Instinct screamed at me to flinch. And I did. Just a flicker of shock in his eyes—but his mask snapped back, flawless.
“Any problem, love?”
Bitter words clawed out: “Besides being betrayed and losing my parents?”
He sighed, slow, deliberate. “Isobel… we don’t even know if you were betrayed. Could’ve been a random attack. Police and I are investigating. You need rest—strength for when you’re discharged tomorrow.”
Every word coated in poison. Every glance a lie. My stomach churned. How does he do it? Hold my gaze, pretend to care, while being the architect of my ruin?
“Isobel… why are you crying again?”
Soft. Puzzled. Like I was the problem. I touched my wet cheeks. Didn’t even realize. My body mourning what my heart refused to accept.
“I need… I need to see my mother,” I whispered.
Marco’s mask flickered—just for a second—then smoothed over. “Princess, she’s sedated. You need rest, to be strong.”
“No.” My voice snapped. “I need to see her.”
Disgust curled at his lips, vanished instantly. “If it’ll ease your heart, I’ll ask the nurse. But only a short while.”
Down the corridor, his arm steadying me, his weight pressed like a reminder: I wasn’t in control here.
My mother.