Vanished Vows

Chapter 2

Alejandro watched as his supposed wife chartered with guests happily like the happiest bride on earth.

He scoffed.

What a fake!

He was sure she had gotten what she wanted, but she would never have his heart. The only person who would always have all of his attention was Isabella. The woman beside him, Isabella. Isabella stood at his side like she belonged there—flawless, fiery, and absolutely aware of her effect on every man in the room. Her laughter floated effortlessly above the music, a sweet, practiced sound that made people turn to look. She leaned in closer to him, her manicured fingers brushing his sleeve as she whispered something only he could hear.

Her eyes sparkled, full of secrets and silent claims, lips curving in that seductive, knowing smile she had perfected since they were teenagers. She tossed her hair over one shoulder and tilted her head, looking up at him with mock innocence.

“You’re still the same, Ale. Cold to the world, but soft under the right hands,” she teased.

I smirked, amused—and a little too comfortable.

To anyone watching, we looked like a couple in love. The ease in our body language, the way I didn't flinch from her touch, the flicker of warmth in my eyes when I looked at her... It was the kind of chemistry I would never give to Amelia, that two faced b***h, not even on our wedding day.

And Isabella knew it. She drank in every second of it like victory.

While we were in our own little world I watched my wife walk towards me. I shuddered as I called her wife in my head. She was not fit to be called that by me.

She was coming toward me.

My smile faltered as the crowd’s laughter faded into a dull hum. Amelia—his wife, in title only—moved like she owned the floor. Chin lifted, hips swaying with quiet fury, her eyes locked on him like a target she intended to burn through.

And the worst part? Everyone noticed.

Isabella's hand rested lightly on his arm, her fingers tightening. He didn’t look at her.

My gaze stayed on Amelia.

She looked… dangerous. Confident. Too confident.

It annoyed him.

The dress clung to her body like it had been painted on—elegant and modest, yes, but it hinted at curves he’d never cared to admire until now. Her hair was swept back, neck exposed like she was daring someone to touch her.

He looked away.

Why was she looking at him like that? Like she had nothing left to lose?

He hated that look. Hated how familiar it felt.

She reached their circle, the conversation around them dying instantly. Even Isabella’s practiced smile faltered.

Amelia set her untouched glass of champagne down with a quiet click on the tray of a passing waiter, then turned her full attention on him.

“Having fun, husband?” she asked sweetly—too sweetly.

There it was. That sharp tongue. That venom hiding behind roses.

I clenched his jaw, my smile icy.

“Don’t mistake charm for interest,” I replied coolly. “You're not the center of my universe, Amelia. You're just the ring on my finger.”

Her eyes flinched—but only for a second.

Then she leaned in, so close only I could hear her next words.

“Good. Because by the time this night is over… that ring will be all you have left of me.”

And just like that, she walked away again—leaving him in a silence louder than the music.

---

The air had shifted.

Isabella Marquez felt it like static in the seams of her designer gown. One moment, she was the star beside Alejandro Rossi—laughing, sipping champagne, owning the spotlight like she had for years. The next, Amelia Adams had stolen the moment with a single look, a single sentence, and a walk that made half the room forget who the real bride was supposed to be.

Isabella’s smile turned stiff. Her fingers, still resting on Alejandro’s arm, curled tighter.

He was watching her. Not Isabella. Her.

She followed his gaze, saw the way his eyes lingered just a second too long as Amelia drifted into the crowd like smoke. No stumbles. No tears. Not the obedient, dull little wife everyone expected.

No, Amelia looked like fire wrapped in silk—and Alejandro had noticed.

Isabella’s jaw tightened.

“Interesting,” she said lightly, swirling her champagne, though her voice was just sharp enough to cut glass. “She’s learning to play the game.”

Alejandro didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her.

Something cracked inside her.

She leaned in, letting her voice drop into a whisper only he could hear.

“Careful, darling. A woman like that? If you keep ignoring her, she’ll start looking for someone who won’t.”

That got his attention.

His gaze snapped to her—cold, warning. But it was there. A flicker of something.

Jealousy?

Fear?

Regret?

She smiled, slow and poisonous.

Good. Let him stew in it.

Because Isabella hadn’t waited years—through his ambition, his rise, his coldness—just to watch some broken little bride steal what was hers.

Not without a fight.

The night air was crisp as Isabella stepped outside the grand ballroom, her heels clicking across the marble. The Rossi driver opened the car door for her, but she didn’t climb in right away. She paused, one manicured hand resting on the car frame, eyes flicking back to the glowing windows behind her.

Laughter still echoed from inside. Champagne flowed. The bride and groom had officially disappeared—separately, of course.

Her lips twisted.

She could feel it—control slipping, the careful balance she’d maintained for years starting to tilt. Amelia had shown her teeth tonight. And Alejandro… he hadn’t looked away.

That was a problem.

As she turned to slide into the car, her phone buzzed. One glance at the screen stopped her cold.

A single message. No name. Just a number she hadn’t seen in years.

"He’s slipping. If you want him back, you’ll have to destroy her first."

Her heart skipped.

She looked around quickly, but the sidewalk was empty.

Then, slowly, a smile crept across her face—not charming, not socialite-perfect. Predatory.

“Game on,” she whispered.

And slid into the car, the door shutting behind her like a closing trap.