Crown of Ashes

The Interrogation

MARCUS

Marcus forced himself to walk back to the table with measured steps, even though every instinct screamed at him to chase after Isabella, to demand answers, to make her understand that she couldn't just—

"Marcus." James Hendricks's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "Are you going to tell us what that was about?"

Marcus slid into his chair, reaching for his scotch with a hand that trembled slightly. He took a long drink before answering, buying himself precious seconds to construct a response that wouldn't make him look like a man losing control of his life.

"Nothing," he said finally, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Just... an unfortunate coincidence."

"Coincidence." Katherine Walsh's tone was flat, skeptical. She leaned forward, her eyes sharp with curiosity and something else—

judgment, maybe. "That was Isabella Moreau, wasn't it? Your—"

"Former fiancée," Marcus said quickly. Too quickly. He could hear the defensiveness in his own voice and hated it. "Yes."

"The woman who left you at the altar three days ago." James's expression was carefully neutral, but Marcus could see the calculation behind it, the way his business associate was reassessing everything about this meeting, about their potential partnership. "And she just happened to show up here tonight. At the same club. On the same night you're having what you called a 'crucial business meeting.'"

Marcus felt his jaw tighten. "She's a member. Her family has belonged to this club for generations. She has every right to be here."

"Of course she does," Katherine said smoothly. "But the timing is... interesting, don't you think?"

"What are you implying?" Marcus demanded, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and moderated his tone. "She probably didn't even know I'd be here. This is just—it's just bad luck."

"Bad luck," James repeated slowly, as if testing the words. He exchanged a glance with Katherine that Marcus couldn't quite read.

"Marcus, I'm going to be direct with you. That woman didn't look like someone who was embarrassed or upset about walking away from her wedding. She looked like someone who made a calculated decision and is standing by it."

"She's just trying to save face," Marcus said, but even he could hear how weak it sounded. "She's pretending to be fine when she's clearly—"

"Clearly what?" Katherine interrupted. "Because from where I was sitting, she looked confident. Composed. Completely unbothered by your presence." She pulled out her phone, her fingers moving across the screen. "And apparently, the rest of the world agrees."

She turned her phone toward him, and Marcus felt his stomach drop.

The screen showed Twitter, the #CrawfordWedding hashtag trending again—but this time, the narrative had shifted in a way that made his chest tighten with panic.

@SocialiteScoop: BREAKING: Isabella Moreau spotted at the Meridian Club looking FIERCE. No sign of tears or regret. Meanwhile, Marcus Crawford looks like he's seen a ghost. #CrawfordWedding #SheUpgraded

@EliteGossip: The bride who walked away just walked INTO the Meridian Club like she owns the place. Marcus Crawford's face? PRICELESS. Someone get this woman a crown. #CrawfordWedding

@WealthWatch: Isabella Moreau at the Meridian Club tonight: confident, gorgeous, unbothered. Marcus Crawford: visibly shaken. The narrative is shifting, folks. #CrawfordWedding

Marcus's hands clenched around his glass. "This is—this is ridiculous. She's just—"

"She's just what?" James asked quietly. "Making you look like a fool? Because that's exactly what's happening, Marcus. Three days ago, you were the victim of a runaway bride. Now? Now you look like a man who did something so terrible that his fiancée walked away and never looked back."

"I didn't do anything!" The words burst out before Marcus could stop them. "She's the one who left. She's the one who embarrassed me, who humiliated my family, who destroyed months of planning—"

"And yet she's the one who looks powerful right now," Katherine said, her voice cool. "While you look desperate."

Marcus felt his face flush with anger and humiliation. He pulled out his own phone, his fingers shaking slightly as he scrolled through Twitter, through i********:, through every social media platform where his life was being dissected and judged by strangers.

The photos were everywhere. Isabella in that stunning emerald dress, her head held high, her expression serene and confident. And in the background of several shots, barely visible but unmistakable—him. Looking shocked. Looking shaken. Looking like a man who'd just realized he'd lost something he'd taken for granted.

@FashionElite: Isabella Moreau serving LOOKS at the Meridian Club. That dress. That confidence. That "I don't need you" energy. Marcus Crawford could NEVER. #CrawfordWedding

@BusinessInsider: Sources say Marcus Crawford's crucial business meeting at the Meridian Club was interrupted by his ex-fiancée's surprise appearance. Associates reportedly questioning his judgment. #CrawfordWedding

@GossipGuru: Plot twist: What if Isabella Moreau didn't have cold feet? What if she just realized she was marrying the wrong man? #CrawfordWedding #TeamIsabella

"This is—" Marcus's voice came out strangled. "This is her doing. She planned this. She knew I'd be here, she knew—"

"If she planned this," James interrupted, "then she's smarter than you gave her credit for. And that raises some interesting questions about what else she might know. What else she might be planning."

Marcus felt ice water flood his veins. "What are you talking about?"

Katherine set down her phone, her expression serious. "Marcus, we're going to be blunt with you. We came here tonight because you pitched us on the Singapore expansion. You told us you were stable, reliable, that your personal life wouldn't interfere with business.

But in the past three days, you've been abandoned at the altar, exposed for having an affair, and now publicly confronted by your ex-fiancée in front of half the business elite in the city." She paused. "That doesn't scream 'stable' to us."

"My personal life has nothing to do with my business acumen," Marcus said, but his voice lacked conviction. "Isabella is just—she's emotional. She's acting out. This will blow over."

"Will it?" James leaned back in his chair, his expression skeptical. "Because it looks to me like she's just getting started. And honestly, Marcus, we have to wonder—what did you do to make her this angry?"

"I didn't do anything!" Marcus's voice rose again, drawing glances from nearby tables. He forced himself to lower his volume. "She's the one who left. She's the one who's making a scene. I'm the victim here."

"Are you?" Katherine's tone was sharp. "Because those photos of you with Sienna Hart suggest otherwise. And the fact that your mistress was at your wedding—as someone's plus-one, no less—suggests a level of arrogance that's... concerning."

Marcus felt his world tilting. "That's—Sienna wasn't—it's not what it looks like."

"Then what is it?" James asked. "Because from where we're sitting, it looks like you were having an affair, got caught, and now you're trying to spin it as your fiancée being irrational."

"She is being irrational!" Marcus insisted. "Isabella has always been so... agreeable. Supportive. She understood her role. She knew what was expected of her as my wife. And now she's just—she's acting like a completely different person."

The silence that followed his words was deafening.

Katherine and James exchanged another glance, and this time Marcus could read it clearly: disgust.

"Her role," Katherine repeated slowly. "What was expected of her. Marcus, do you hear yourself?"

"I just meant—" Marcus scrambled to recover. "I meant that she understood the responsibilities that come with being part of the Crawford family. The social obligations, the—"

"The obligation to tolerate your infidelity?" James's voice was cold. "Is that what you meant?"

"That's not—" Marcus felt panic clawing at his throat. "You're twisting my words. I'm just trying to explain that Isabella was always so loyal, so devoted. She loved me. She wanted to marry me. So something must have happened to make her act this way. Someone must have—"

He stopped abruptly as a new thought crystallized in his mind.

Someone must have gotten to her. Someone must have manipulated her, turned her against him, convinced her to walk away.

And he knew exactly who.

"Ezra Kane," Marcus said, the name tasting like poison on his tongue. "He was here tonight. At the bar. Watching."

Katherine's eyebrows rose. "Ezra Kane? What does he have to do with this?"

"I don't know," Marcus admitted, but his mind was racing. "But it's too much of a coincidence. Isabella shows up here, looking like that, acting like that—and Kane is here too? He's been trying to destroy me. Ever since the Meridian deal."

"The deal where you undercut his bid and cost him millions?" James's tone was dry. "That Meridian deal?"

"That was business," Marcus said defensively. "He would have done the same thing if he'd had the chance."

"Maybe," Katherine said. "But if you're suggesting that Ezra Kane somehow convinced Isabella to leave you at the altar just to get revenge on you for a business deal... Marcus, that sounds paranoid."

"Does it?" Marcus pulled up Twitter again, scrolling frantically. "Look at this. Look at the timing. The photos of me and Sienna were leaked three days ago—the same day Isabella disappeared. Professional photos, taken by someone with resources. And now she shows up here, at the same place I'm having a crucial meeting, looking like she's ready for war. That's not coincidence. That's coordination."

He looked up at his associates, desperate for them to understand, to see what he was seeing.

But Katherine and James were looking at him with something that made his stomach turn: pity.

"Marcus," Katherine said gently, "I think you need to consider the possibility that Isabella simply... left. That she found out about your affair and decided she deserved better. That she's moving on with her life, and you need to do the same."

"No." Marcus shook his head violently. "No, you don't understand. Isabella wouldn't—she couldn't—she needs me. She's always needed me. Her family's money is old but it's not what it used to be. She was marrying into the Crawford fortune, into our connections, our power. She wouldn't just walk away from that."

"Unless she decided that her dignity was worth more than your money," James said quietly.

The words hit Marcus like a physical blow.

"I need to talk to her," he said, more to himself than to his associates. "I need to make her understand that this is—that we can fix this. That she's making a mistake."

"Marcus." Katherine's voice was firm now. "I don't think she wants to talk to you. And honestly? Chasing after her right now would only make things worse. The entire club is watching. If you go after her again, it's going to look desperate. It's going to look like you're losing control."

"I'm not losing control," Marcus said, but his voice cracked slightly on the words.

"Then prove it," James said. "Sit here. Finish this meeting. Show everyone that you're not affected by her presence, that you're focused on business, that you're—"

"I can't." Marcus stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I can't just sit here and pretend everything's fine when my entire life is falling apart."

He grabbed his phone, his hands shaking as he scrolled through the endless stream of posts, comments, speculation. Every refresh brought new humiliation, new judgment, new evidence that the narrative had shifted irrevocably against him.

@CorporateWatch: Hearing rumors that Marcus Crawford's business associates walked out of their meeting at the Meridian Club tonight. His ex-fiancée's appearance reportedly "destabilized" the negotiations. #CrawfordWedding

"That's not—" Marcus looked up at Katherine and James. "You're not walking out. We're still meeting. We're still discussing the Singapore expansion."

But Katherine was already gathering her purse, and James was signaling for the check.

"Marcus," Katherine said, her voice not unkind but utterly final, "we came here tonight to discuss a potential partnership. But what we've seen—the instability, the poor judgment, the way you talk about Isabella like she's property rather than a person—it's made us reconsider."

"You can't be serious," Marcus said, desperation bleeding into his voice. "This is just—it's just a personal matter. It has nothing to do with my business capabilities."

"Doesn't it?" James stood, buttoning his jacket. "Because the way you handle your personal life tells us a lot about how you handle pressure, how you make decisions, how you treat people when you think no one's watching. And frankly, Marcus, we don't like what we're seeing."

"Please." The word came out before Marcus could stop it, and he hated himself for it. "Please, just—give me a chance to explain. To fix this. The Singapore expansion is crucial for—"

"For your reputation," Katherine finished. "Yes, we know. But right now, your reputation is the problem. And until you figure out how to manage that—until you figure out how to take responsibility for your own actions instead of blaming everyone else—we're not interested in tying our names to yours."

They walked away, leaving Marcus standing alone at the table, his scotch forgotten, his carefully prepared pitch dissolving into nothing.

Around him, he could feel the weight of eyes watching, judging, speculating. He could practically hear the whispers, the gossip that would spread through the club like wildfire and then explode across social media within the hour.

Marcus Crawford, abandoned at the altar, confronted by his ex-fiancée at the Meridian Club. She looked stunning. He looked shattered. His business associates walked out on him. His empire is crumbling.

Marcus sank back into his chair, his phone clutched in his trembling hands, and watched as his world fell apart one tweet at a time.

How had this happened? How had everything spiraled so completely out of his control?

Isabella had always been so perfect. So understanding. She'd never questioned him, never challenged him, never made demands. She'd been exactly what he needed—beautiful, intelligent enough to hold a conversation but not so ambitious that she'd compete with him, content to support his career and his goals.

She'd been his.

And now she was—what? Rebelling? Having some kind of breakdown? Trying to punish him for a mistake that hadn't even meant anything?

Sienna had been a distraction, nothing more. A release valve for the pressure of building an empire, of living up to the Crawford name, of being everything his father expected him to be. Isabella should have understood that. Should have recognized that what he had with Sienna was physical, temporary, and meaningless compared to what he and Isabella were building together.

But instead, she'd walked away. And now she was coming after him with Ezra Kane at her side.

Marcus's hands tightened around his phone as the realization crystallized into certainty.

This wasn't Isabella having a breakdown or making an impulsive decision. This was calculated. Coordinated. Strategic.

She was working with Ezra Kane to destroy him.

But why? What had he done that was so terrible it warranted this level of retaliation?

The affair with Sienna was unfortunate, yes. But it wasn't—it didn't justify this. Isabella should have been hurt, maybe angry, but ultimately understanding. She should have recognized that men like him had certain needs, certain pressures, and that Sienna had been a release valve, nothing more.

She should have forgiven him.

Instead, she'd walked away. And now she was systematically dismantling everything he'd built, everything he was.

Marcus pulled up his contacts, his fingers hovering over his lawyer's number, his PR team, his parents. Someone who could help him figure out how to contain this, how to fight back, how to regain control.

But as he stared at the screen, he realized something that made his chest tighten with fear.

He had no idea what Isabella was planning. No idea what she knew, what she had, what she was capable of.

For the first time in his life, Marcus Crawford was facing an opponent he didn't understand.

And he was terrified.