Chapter Eight

Isabelle sighed heavily and drained her glass of champagne, tilting her head back as the bubbly liquid slid down her throat. She looked down at the empty glass, absently turning it between her fingers, wondering how many she had already consumed—but she didn’t care. Not tonight. Not after everything.

She sighed again, blinking furiously against the sting in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them. No, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. She wouldn’t let that evil witch see that she had gotten under her skin.

She set her empty glass aside with a soft clink, gripping the edge of the banister with white-knuckled fingers as she gazed down at the ballroom below.

They were still there.

Dancing.

The objects of her pain.

Her heart twisted painfully as she watched them glide across the floor—Khalil and Cassandra, wrapped up in each other as though the rest of the world didn’t exist. His hand rested firmly on Cassandra’s waist, guiding her expertly through the waltz. They moved in perfect sync, her silver gown shimmering under the chandelier lights.

Cassandra’s laughter rang out like bells, light and carefree, as she tilted her head back at something Khalil whispered into her ear. Isabelle’s chest tightened at the sight, something sharp and ugly clawing its way through her. That should be her down there. She should be the one in his arms, swaying to the music, basking in his attention, being paraded around like a proper Luna.

Instead, she stood above them, watching from the shadows, miserable and angry and hurting.

She forced her gaze away, snatching another glass from a passing waiter’s tray without a word. She needed it. She wasn’t going to survive this night without drowning herself in alcohol.

The champagne was sweet and sharp, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache.

She took another sip, eyes flicking back toward the dance floor, drawn to them against her will. Cassandra leaned in again, whispering something else that made Khalil chuckle softly—deep and rich, the sound vibrating through the air.

It was unbearable.

As if sensing her gaze, Cassandra’s eyes flicked upward. Their gazes locked, and a slow, knowing smile spread across Cassandra’s lips. Without breaking eye contact, Cassandra leaned in even closer to Khalil and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth. She whispered something in his ear, and he laughed again.

Isabelle’s breath caught painfully in her throat.

She couldn’t look away fast enough. Her head snapped to the side, her heart slamming against her ribs. She didn’t understand why it hurt so much. She should have been grateful—should have been relieved that Khalil had no interest in her. This was the deal, after all. He had married her for politics, for convenience. He wanted a quiet alliance, not a loving wife.

She should have been glad. She was safe now. Respected. Waited on. She no longer had to endure the cold, harsh living conditions she’d known for so long. She had everything she’d once thought she wanted.

But she wasn’t satisfied. She was greedy. She wanted more.

She wanted him.

She wanted to be the one in his arms, the one who made him smile. She wanted to feel his gaze soften when it landed on her, to hear her name spoken with warmth instead of indifference. She wanted his love. His attention. His protection.

She wanted it all.

But deep down, as she watched them dance, she knew it would never happen. That would always be a fantasy meant for someone else.

She let out another heavy sigh and glanced toward the towering windows, wondering how much longer this event would drag on. The night was still young, but all she wanted was to go home. She wanted to slip away into her room and bury herself beneath her blankets, away from the stares, away from the pain.

“Isabelle, fancy seeing you here.”

Her entire body stiffened at the grating, mocking voice.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, praying to the Moon Goddess that it wasn’t who she thought it was. But of course, fate wasn’t kind.

She cursed softly under her breath, her heart sinking as she slowly turned around to face them.

Fiona and Annabelle.

Her stepmother and stepsister stood before her, dressed in their finest gowns, their faces twisted into smug, condescending smiles.

“Hello, Anna. Fiona,” Isabelle greeted coolly, forcing a brittle smile to her lips as she clutched her glass like a lifeline.

Fiona’s eyes roamed her figure with slow, deliberate scrutiny, her gaze dripping with disdain. “Surely, it is you,” she said, her voice sharp and cutting.

Isabelle fought back the wave of discomfort that rose under the weight of her stare.

“Yes,” Isabelle said, her tone edged with mock sweetness. “You look surprised.”

Annabelle’s face twisted into a sneer at Isabelle’s words. “You’re misplaced in such polite company,” she spat, her voice laced with venom.

Isabelle’s temper flared, her patience already stretched thin. She cocked her head, a bitter smile curling her lips.

“And yet, here I am,” she replied, her voice steady and cool.

Something inside her snapped. She was tired—tired of always bowing her head, tired of letting them walk all over her. She was married to one of the most powerful Alphas in the land, yet she was still expected to endure their cruelty.

No. Not tonight.

She wasn’t theirs to control anymore.

She watched in satisfaction as the smug expression slipped from Fiona’s face, replaced by something sharper—something angry and wary.

Fiona stepped closer, towering over her, expecting Isabelle to shrink back as she always had.

But Isabelle didn’t move.

Whether it was the alcohol or the anger boiling in her veins, she stood her ground, her chin lifted high.

“You think you’re someone now, don’t you?” Fiona hissed, her words low and biting. “Just because you married that man?”

Isabelle shrugged, her expression careless. “Well, yes,” she said, her smile widening. “I think I am. I think I always will be.”

Annabelle’s eyes flashed with fury as she stepped forward. “You are nothing,” she spat. “You will always be nothing.”

Isabelle’s smile only grew. Her voice turned cold as ice. “Funny,” she said. “That’s exactly what they’ll say about you one day, Anna.”

Annabelle’s face paled.

“Mark my words,” Isabelle continued, her voice rising with each sentence. “Daddy will do to you exactly what he did to me. And it’ll be worse for you. He’ll

marry you off—”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Annabelle interrupted, her voice trembling.

But Isabelle ignored her, pressing on mercilessly. “He’ll sell you to the highest bidder. Just like me. And when that man becomes Alpha, you’ll become nothing. A stranger in your own home. You’ll have no say in your life, no say in your future. You’ll be discarded like trash, just like I was.”

“That is enough!”

The furious shout rang out, silencing the entire ballroom.

Isabelle gasped, her heart lurching painfully as she spun around. Khalil stood just a few feet away, his expression thunderous, Cassandra lingering smugly at his side. Isabelle’s stomach dropped as she took in the scene...everyone staring, watching, listening.

Her eyes darted back to Fiona and Annabelle, who now wore satisfied smirks, pleased with their victory.

They had baited her, and she had fallen right into their trap.

Heat rushed to her cheeks, her face burning with humiliation. Her throat tightened painfully as she realized just how many people had witnessed her outburst.

She couldn’t breathe.

Panic clawed at her chest, and before she could stop herself, she pushed past Khalil and fled the room.

She heard him calling after her, his voice sharp and commanding, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t care where she was going. She just needed to get away.

She needed to escape.