THE ROSSETTI HEIRESS HAS STOPPED BEGGING

CHAPTER FIVE

Arthur left for Singapore the next morning.

He didn’t say goodbye. He just walked past me in the hallway while I was still moving slow from the burns, phone pressed to his ear, already talking numbers with someone on the other side of the world. Toria stood at the top of the stairs in a silk robe the color of blood and watched him go with a little smile, like she was counting the hours until the front door closed.

The second the car pulled away, the house changed.

She came for me before lunch.

I was in Leo’s bathroom trying to rinse the smell of vomit out of my hair with one bandaged hand when she pushed the door open without knocking. She had a glass of orange juice in her hand and that same look she always got when Arthur wasn’t around to play referee.

“You look disgusting,” she said, leaning against the frame. “Like something the cat dragged in and then regretted.”

I didn’t answer. I just kept the water running.

She stepped closer and set the glass down on the counter hard enough that juice sloshed over the side. “you threw up watching us. Pathetic. Most women would kill to be in that room, watching Arthur f**k me senseless until I couldn't breathe. You just stood there and got sick like a child.”

My fingers tightened on the edge of the sink. The bandages pulled.

“Get out, Toria.”

She laughed. Soft. Mean. “Or what? You’ll slap me again? Go ahead. I’ll scream loud enough for the whole staff to hear and then I’ll call Arthur and tell him his broken little wife is still causing problems. He’ll fly back early just to deal with you. You know he will.”

I turned the water off. My reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger — gauze wrapped around my neck and the side of my face, eyes too big, mouth pressed into a flat line so I wouldn’t say something that got me locked in that room again.

She reached out and flicked the edge of one of the bandages on my shoulder. The pain flared white-hot.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, almost curious. “Good. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before walking into rooms that don’t belong to you.”

I shoved past her. She let me. That was the worst part. She didn’t even need to stop me. She already knew she had won the morning.

The rest of the day she made sure I felt it.

She had the staff move all of Leo’s clothes into the guest wing “so he could be closer to her.” When I tried to go in and get him for his afternoon snack, the nanny blocked the door with a tight little smile and said Miss Toria had given new instructions. Leo’s voice floated out from behind her — small, confused, calling for me once before someone distracted him with a toy.

I stood in the hallway until my legs started shaking, then I went back to the laundry room and folded the same shirt four times because if I stopped moving I was going to scream.

By evening the whole house smelled like Eleanor’s perfume.

She had decided to host a family dinner. Last minute. Formal. The kind of dinner where the silver was polished and the staff walked like they were afraid of making noise. Arthur was still in the air somewhere over the Pacific, which meant there was no one to temper anything.

I was told to wear something “appropriate.” The maid laid out a long-sleeved black dress that covered the bandages on my arms and neck. When I looked in the mirror I looked like I was attending my own funeral.

They seated me at the far end of the table.

Eleanor at the head. Toria to her right, already laughing at something the older woman said, diamonds flashing at her throat — the same ones she had accused me of stealing. Two of Arthur’s distant cousins sat across from them. I was placed so far down I might as well have been staff.

The first course hadn’t even been cleared when Eleanor set her glass down and looked straight at me.

“I hear there was an incident in the master suite yesterday.”

The table went quiet.

Toria’s smile was soft. Concerned. “It was unfortunate. Isabella walked in while Arthur and I were… private. She became ill. On the rug.”

One of the cousins made a low sound of disgust.

Eleanor’s eyes stayed on me. “In my day a wife knew better than to enter a room uninvited. Especially when she has already proven herself untrustworthy with other people’s belongings.”

I kept my hands in my lap so no one would see them shaking. “I didn’t steal anything.”

“No?” Eleanor tilted her head. “Then explain how Toria’s jewelry ended up in your vanity. Explain why the staff found it exactly where she said it would be.”

“Someone put it there.”

Toria’s voice trembled just enough. “Isabella, please. We all know you’ve been struggling. The jealousy. The outbursts. Arthur has been so patient, but there are limits.”

I looked at her. Really looked. The perfect hair. The perfect tears already starting to gather. The way she leaned toward Eleanor like a granddaughter seeking comfort.

“You poured hot water on me,” I said, quiet. “You stood there and watched.”

Eleanor’s fork hit the plate. “That is enough.”

“She framed me—”

“I said enough.” Eleanor’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “You will not sit at my table and accuse the woman who has shown this family more loyalty than you ever have. You are here because my grandson has not yet signed the papers. That is the only reason. Do not mistake it for welcome.”

Toria reached over and covered Eleanor’s hand. “It’s alright. She’s in pain. The burns… they must be affecting her judgment.”

One of the cousins muttered, “Maybe she should eat in the kitchen until she learns manners.”

No one told him he was out of line.

I sat there with the taste of bile still ghosting the back of my throat and the bandages pulling every time I breathed too deep. The rest of the dinner happened around me like I was already gone. They talked about Arthur’s trip. About a charity gala. About how well Leo was adjusting to spending more time with Toria.

At one point Eleanor looked down the table and said, almost conversationally, “When the divorce is finalized we will need to discuss the child’s surname. Knight is a legacy. It should not be diluted.”

I stood up so fast the chair scraped.

Every head turned.

My voice came out low and shaking. “You don’t get to take his name. You don’t get to take him.”

Eleanor didn’t even raise her voice. “Sit down before you embarrass yourself further.”

Toria’s eyes shone. “Isabella, you’re scaring the staff—”

I looked at the closed dining room doors. Somewhere upstairs my son was probably already asleep, not knowing any of this was happening. Not knowing how close they were to erasing me.

I sat.

Not because I wanted to.

Because if I kept standing I was going to say something that got me locked away again, and then I wouldn’t see Leo at all.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of silverware and cold voices. When it finally ended I walked out without being dismissed. No one stopped me.

In the hallway the younger maid who sometimes snuck me updates on Leo caught my eye. She looked terrified, but she still whispered, “He’s in the blue room tonight. She had them move him again.”

I nodded once and kept walking.

My hands were still bandaged. My neck still burned. The image of Arthur and Toria on that bed was still burned behind my eyes. And now Eleanor’s voice lived there too, calm and certain, talking about my son’s surname like it was already decided.

I went up the stairs one step at a time, every movement careful, and I did not cry.

Not because I was strong.

Because I was saving it.

There was a storm coming. I could feel it in the way the house had started holding its breath whenever I entered a room. Toria was getting bolder. Eleanor was done pretending. Arthur would come back from Singapore and the divorce papers would be waiting.

I stopped outside the blue room and rested my forehead against the door for a second, listening to the quiet.

Then I whispered to the wood, so soft no one else could hear it.

“Not yet. Just not yet.”

And I went to find my son.