Rebirth Heiress; The Billionaire's Forsaken Wife

Isabela Vargas stood in front of the grand mirror, her reflection as breathtaking as the chapel behind her. She was dressed in a white silk wedding gown, laced with delicate silver embroidery and a veil that trailed behind like mist. Her face looked perfect. Almost too perfect. But her heart wasn’t smiling. Around her, maids rushed about, fixing her dress, fluffing her veil, whispering compliments. But none of that mattered. Her eyes were fixed on the heavy oak doors at the end of the corridor. Beyond those doors, her life would change forever. Isabela’s father, Armando Vargas, had arranged this marriage long before he died. It was supposed to be a merger between two powerful families. A union of wealth, tradition, and business. Leonardo Del Monte was the perfect match in the eyes of society. Handsome, rich, respected. But to Isabela, he was a stranger. Still, she agreed. For her father's honor. For the legacy of the Vargas name. And maybe... maybe because a small part of her thought love could grow after marriage. She was willing to try. Her mother had died when she was a child, and her father had raised her like a princess. Protected her. Guided her. Loved her beyond reason. He always said, “A Vargas never bows her head, unless it’s to fix her crown.” And today, she was wearing a crown made of pearls. The music began to play. "Señorita, it's time," the wedding coordinator whispered. Isabela nodded and picked up her bouquet. She took one last breath, fixing her smile like armor. The doors opened. Flashbulbs exploded. Guests turned to watch. Paparazzi behind velvet ropes gasped at the sight of her. The Vargas estate chapel was filled with Mexico's elites—politicians, billionaires, celebrities, all waiting for the event of the year. Her arm slipped into Emilliano’s, her father’s oldest friend. He would be walking her down the aisle. His eyes were soft with sympathy. He had raised her like a second daughter after Armando died. “You look like your mother,” he whispered. “Thank you.” She tried to muster up a cheerful smile, but couldn't. “Try to put up a small smile at least, everyone’s watching.” he said, almost in a whisper. Isabela swallowed hard. “Do I look that unhappy?” He didn’t answer, she looked on. At the end of the aisle stood Leonard Del Monte. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair slicked back. A tailored suit that probably cost more than some of the guests' homes. He had a face carved by angels but eyes that felt colder than marble. Their eyes met. He didn’t smile. Neither did she. The ceremony went by in a blur. Vows were said. Rings were exchanged. Cameras flashed. Applause followed. When the priest said, “You may kiss the bride,” Leonardo leaned forward, brushed a brief kiss on her cheek, and turned away before she could meet his lips. It was like kissing air. **** The reception was grand, held at the Del Monte estate, with golden chandeliers, white roses, and champagne fountains. But there was no joy. Isabela smiled for the cameras, greeted guests, danced with the governors and CEOs. But her eyes searched for her husband. Leonardo kept his distance. He only danced with her once. The wedding waltz. A stiff, cold three minutes that ended with him whispering, “You did well. Let’s keep up the performance.” Isabela blinked. "What do you mean?" He didn’t reply. He walked away. **** Hours later, in the honeymoon suite, Isabela waited on the edge of the bed. The room was beautifully decorated—rose petals, candlelight, soft jazz music playing. But the groom never came. Isabela waited in her sexy night gown for Leonardo to show up to consummate their marriage, but he never did until midnight when she had dozed off. It was around 2 a.m that Isabela woke up to see she was all alone in bed. Leonardo never came into the room to meet her. She was broken. She curled under the silk sheets and cried quietly into the pillow. While crying, she thought to herself if this was really the marriage her father had planned for her before he passed? A marriage of pain? **** The next morning, Leonardo strolled into the suite, already dressed for a business meeting. Isabela woke to the little sound his presence had made. She was also shocked to see that he was all dressed up for work. Who goes to work the next day after their wedding? Why did he even sleep last night? How did he feel leaving his newly wedded wife on their wedding night all alone? All these things went through Isabella's head as she watched him check himself out in front of the dressing mirror before she finally said something. “Good morning, Leo.” She greeted, but didn't get any response from him like he wasn't the one she was talking to. She swallowed hard before talking again. “You didn’t come last night,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I had work,” he said flatly. Isabela blinked at him in complete surprise. He had work to do on their wedding night? “It was our wedding night,” Isabela said, trying to speak out how she truly felt, but he interrupted her. He turned to her, cold brown eyes meeting hers. “This marriage isn’t about romance, Isabela. Let’s not pretend it is.” She flinched. “I didn’t pretend,” she said softly. “I hoped..” He scoffed. “Then you’re more naive than I thought.” Leonardo left without another word. Isabela sat there, stunned. This was her husband. This was her life now, but had hoped it wasn't and he only reacted because of her question. **** A week passed. Then two. The mansion felt like a gilded prison. Isabela tried everything—cooking for him, waiting for him to come home, sending him messages—but he remained cold and distant. They lived like strangers. Her only friend was Emilliano, who visited weekly and brought her books, news, and updates from her father's company that he helped her oversee and reports to her afterward as the manager. One afternoon, Emilliano found her in the garden, staring at the koi pond. "You deserve better, dear," he said after watching her closely for a while before finally speaking up. It's clear that even he could see the pain in her eyes without her relating much to him about it. Isabela smiled weakly. “I made my bed, uncle. Now I must lie in it.” He sighed. “You don’t have to suffer to be strong.” But Isabela didn’t believe that. Not yet. She was holding on to the hope that Leonardo would change. That love would blossom. That her father had made the right choice. She didn't want to be heartbroken by the thought that her father to whom she loves dearly might have made the wrong choice of alliance. She believes that her father meant well for her with this alliance.