After They Humiliated Me I Ended Their Wedding

Chapter 3

The crowd was still buzzing.

Garrett was tense, irritation in his brow.

He stepped in front of me and held out an arm to block the microphones and cameras. "Sorry, no interviews here. Everyone needs to leave. Now."

The reporters kept pressing. Questions kept flying.

"Mr. Croft, can you comment on what's going on?"

"Why was Isabella in that hotel room?"

Garrett's face went cold. His voice dropped, leaving no room for argument. "This is a private matter. If you keep crowding us, I'll call security."

Then he pulled me into the car.

When we got home, the house was pitch dark.

I slumped against the couch, too drained to speak.

Garrett looked at me—worn out, a mess—and a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes.

He picked up the thick blanket from the corner of the couch. He leaned down and carefully covered my thin, shaking body.

For a moment, I drifted.

Then I thought back to when I first joined the troupe.

Back then, I was a nobody. Some people in the troupe targeted me on purpose, and everyone else slowly shut me out.

Garrett stormed into my workplace and snapped at them, "If I ever catch anyone bullying Isabella again... You don't want to mess with me!"

After that, no one in the troupe bullied me again.

But now, all my pain was because of him and Hannah. They had done this to me.

Just then, my phone on the coffee table started buzzing like crazy.

My best friend Zenobia Cruse blew up my phone with texts.

Zenobia: Isabella! Check online! You're trending!

My heart sank. I opened the app.

The hashtag was at the top of the trending list and stung my eyes. #ActressRunsOutOnWeddingForLateNightHotelTryst.

Clips of the private photos playing on the wedding screen, video of my wedding dress being ripped, and photos the reporters took outside the hotel room—all of it was online.

In the photos, my clothes were a mess. The cropped shots were being twisted to fit any narrative.

My chest tightened.

Then my phone rang. It was Janelle Swain, the troupe's director, calling. The ring cut through the room.

"Isabella..." Janelle sounded exhausted. "Things online have gotten out of hand. Next week's headlining show... you're off it. Take a break."

The phone slipped from my hand.

It hit the floor.

My reputation, my career, everything I'd fought so hard to hold together were all ruined.

"It was Hannah." I jerked my head up and stared at Garrett, my eyes red. "The photo of my dress slipping—only she had that angle. The private video—she stole it. And the reporters at the hotel? She called them."

"Isabella, what the hell are you talking about?" Garrett shot to his feet and snapped. "Hannah is kind. How could she do any of that? She brought the reporters there to save you."

I stared at the hateful man in front of me.

The man who once stood by me and supported all my hopes was hurting me over and over again.

I didn't cry. I didn't yell.

My tears were gone.

I picked up my phone. My knuckles were white from gripping it so hard.

I called Janelle. My voice was hoarse, but every word was firm. "Janelle, this is my last chance. Please, let me perform. I'll prove them wrong on stage. The rumors won't break me."

There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, she sighed. "Isabella, this is it. One shot. If you fail, you can forget about ever working in this industry again."

I nodded. "Thank you, Janelle."

After I hung up, I dug my fingers into my pocket. I held tight to the thumb drive with the evidence.

I looked up, my eyes cold. "Garrett, we're over."