Chapter Two
1189 Words
The ring feels like a shackle.
I sit stiffly in the middle of Ethan’s penthouse, glaring at the massive diamond he just slipped onto my finger. The damn thing sparkles under the chandelier light, mocking me.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, twisting it around my finger like I can rip it off by sheer will.
“You’ll wear it at all times,” Ethan says, standing over me. “No exceptions.”
His voice is calm, firm, as if he’s telling me I’ll breathe air or drink water. As if this is a law of nature I can’t argue with.
I scoff, shifting in my seat. “Afraid someone will think your fiancée doesn’t love you?”
Ethan steps closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. He doesn’t touch me, but it feels like he does. His energy is suffocating, like a magnetic field trapping me in place.
“Afraid you’ll forget this is just business?” His voice drops an octave, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade.
His breath warms my skin, and for a terrifying second, my pulse skips. I hate how my body reacts to him, how my senses betray me when my mind is screaming to resist.
I tilt my chin up. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I shove past him, needing air, space, anything to stop the walls from closing in.
Ethan doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t call after me. He knows I can’t run.
The moment I step out onto the private elevator, my phone buzzes violently.
I glance down at the screen.
Breaking News: Billionaire Ethan Sinclair Engaged to Mystery Woman!
My stomach twists. I scroll through the notifications, each headline worse than the last.
The Sinclair Engagement: Business or Love?
Isabella Hart: Gold Digger or Cinderella?
My throat tightens. I barely had time to process this nightmare myself, and now the world has a front-row seat?
The elevator doors slide open, and I step out into chaos.
Flash.
Blinding lights explode in front of me.
Shouts.
Dozens of voices overlap, each one more aggressive than the last.
A sea of reporters and cameras swarm the building’s entrance like vultures sensing fresh meat. Microphones are thrust toward my face before I can react.
“Isabella! How does it feel to be engaged to New York’s most eligible billionaire?”
“Were you Ethan’s mistress before this?”
“What’s the real reason Ethan chose you?”
Their words hit me like bullets. My breath catches. My feet freeze.
I knew Ethan was high-profile, but this? This is insanity.
I spin, desperate to escape, but strong fingers grip my elbow. Ethan.
Before I can process what’s happening, he pulls me into a sleek black car waiting at the curb. The doors slam shut, silencing the chaos outside.
My chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. I clutch the ring on my finger like I can crush it.
“What the hell was that?” My voice comes out sharp, my frustration cracking through.
Ethan leans back against the seat, completely unbothered. His tailored suit is crisp, not a single hair out of place, as if he just walked out of a board meeting instead of a media ambush.
“You expected anything less?” he says, amusement lacing his tone.
I glare at him. “A little warning would’ve been nice!”
His gaze flickers to me, unreadable. “You’re my fiancée now,” he says smoothly. “You’re public property.”
The words slap me harder than I expect.
“I’m not your property,” I snap.
Ethan smirks. “That’s not what the contract says.”
I grit my teeth, my nails digging into my palm.
I hate him.
I hate that he’s right.
I rip my hand away from him and glare at the ring. “This thing is a target.”
“It’s a statement.”
“It’s a leash.”
His smirk deepens. “Same thing.”
I open my mouth to fire back when my phone buzzes again. Another news update.
Only this time, it’s not about the engagement.
It’s about someone from Ethan’s past.
A woman.
I frown, clicking the notification. My breath stills as the image loads.
She’s stunning, with long auburn hair, piercing green eyes, high cheekbones that make her look like she stepped out of a magazine cover. But it’s not her beauty that chills me.
It’s the headline beneath it.
Exclusive: Ethan Sinclair’s Ex-Fiancée Speaks Out : A Warning for Isabella Hart.
My hands turn ice cold. I click the article, my breath shallow.
A single sentence glares back at me like a death sentence.
“Run while you still can.”
A chill snakes down my spine. My fingers tighten around the phone.
Ethan notices. “What?”
I don’t respond. I can’t.
I scroll through the article, my heartbeat hammering.
“Ethan Sinclair is not the man he pretends to be.”
“I loved him once. I thought I knew him.”
“Isabella, if you’re reading this get out while you still can.”
My stomach twists into knots.
“Who is she?” I whisper, barely able to push the words out.
Ethan’s expression hardens. His jaw tenses.
“No one important.”
My head snaps up. “Really? Because she seems important enough to warn me.”
A dark look crosses his face, his usual arrogance replaced by something colder. More dangerous.
“Stay out of it, Isabella,” he says flatly. “It doesn’t concern you.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “You drag me into a fake marriage, parade me in front of the media, and now I’m supposed to ignore the fact that your ex-fiancée is telling me to run?”
Ethan’s fingers curl into a fist against his thigh.
“That woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
I don’t believe him.
Not for a second.
But before I can press further, the car slows.
I glance out the window. We’re not at the penthouse.
We’re at a luxury jewelry store.
I frown. “What are we doing here?”
Ethan doesn’t answer. He simply opens the door, stepping out like this is normal.
I hesitate, my pulse still erratic.
Run while you still can.
I swallow hard, then follow him inside.
A sleek, well-dressed jeweler rushes forward the moment we step in. “Mr. Sinclair, Miss Hart, welcome.”
Ethan nods, then turns to me. “We’re getting you a wedding band.”
I blink. “What?”
He gestures at the ring on my finger. “The engagement ring is just the beginning.”
The jeweler presents a case of diamonds, but my mind is still stuck on the article. On her.
I don’t hear the jeweler’s sales pitch. I don’t care about the rings.
I care about the woman who was here before me.
The woman who was his.
And the warning that won’t stop replaying in my head.
Run while you still can.
I glance at Ethan, his perfect mask of control still firmly in place.
What if she’s right?
- Writer
