Isabella’s POV
I don’t know what it was exactly. Maybe the way the silk shimmered in the light, soft and mocking. Maybe the way the lace sleeves dangled over the chair like ghostly arms reaching for me.
But the sight of my wedding dress—stuffed into a corner of the wardrobe like some discarded rag—was the slap across the face I hadn’t known I needed.
That dress wasn’t just fabric. It was a reminder.
I wasn’t a guest here.
I wasn’t a girl on holiday in some ridiculous gilded mansion.
I wasn’t even… Dante’s little toy, no matter how much he seemed to enjoy pulling my strings.
I was a prisoner.
A kidnapped bride who never made it to the altar.
And I needed to get out.
The realization hit like cold water. My stomach twisted as I touched the ivory silk, remembering the chaos of that n
