Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of Isabella
Isabella tried to maintain her composure, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. She forced a fragile, sympathetic smile onto her face as Luca walked toward her.
"Luca... oh, thank God she’s going to be okay," Isabella breathed, stepping forward. "This is just horrifying. The staff must be so careless with their food safety—"
Luca stopped three feet away from her. He didn't blink. He didn't speak. He simply reached out, grabbed Isabella firmly by the wrist, and dragged her across the open marble floor right to the spot where Elena was still lying, gasping for breath on the ground.
"Luca! What are you doing? You’re hurting me!" Isabella shrieked, trying to pull away, her face flushing crimson as hundreds of eyes turned toward them.
"Look at her, Isabella," Luca whispered, his voice dangerously, chillingly soft.
"I—I am looking at her! She’s a clumsy maid who probably ate something she shouldn't have—"
"Dr. Harris," Luca called out without breaking eye contact with his fiancée. "Did she eat something spoiled?"
The doctor stood up, holding a sample collection vial containing the remnants of the liquid from the shattered mug near Elena. "Negative, Mr. Moretti. This wasn't food spoilage. This is a heavy dose of crushed almond extract mixed with synthetic muscle relaxers—a compound specifically designed to induce rapid throat constriction in someone with severe nut allergies."
The color drained entirely from Isabella’s face. She looked like she had just been struck by lightning.
"That’s... that’s absurd!" Isabella stammered, her voice pitching up into hysteria. "You can't possibly think I—I was across the room talking to Camilla! Ask her!"
"I didn't say you put it in her cup yourself, Isabella," Luca said, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "I said you wanted her punished."
Luca turned his head slightly. "Marco."
Marco stepped out from the crowd holding a heavy black laptop. He opened it, tapping the screen, and spun it around toward the projection monitors mounted above the ballroom stage.
The high-definition security footage of the estate’s private service pantry began to play for all five hundred guests to see.
On the screen, crystal clear and undeniable, Isabella Vance was seen slipping into the pantry while the string quartet played. She pulled a small glass vial from her designer clutch, uncorked it, poured the contents directly into Elena’s personal thermos of herbal tea, and casually walked back out, smoothing her dress with a smug smile.
The video played in absolute silence across the massive room.
Isabella stared at the screen, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. The sophisticated, untouchable heiress had been completely exposed in front of the entire New York elite.
"No," Isabella whispered, backing away, tears of pure rage springing to her eyes. "No, this is a frame-up! She planted that! She wants to ruin me!"
"Shut up," Luca said. It wasn't a shout. It was a sentence.
He looked at Marco. "Take her away. Strip her of every access key, every credit card, and every privilege tied to the Moretti name. Throw her out into the snowstorm with the clothes on her back. If her father has a problem with it, tell him to come speak to me personally."
"Luca, you can't do this to me! I’m your fiancée! We’re getting married!" Isabella screamed hysterically as two massive security guards grabbed her arms, hauling her kicking and thrashing across the polished floor toward the service exit as the guests watched in stunned, horrified silence.
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The heavy doors slammed shut behind her.
The gala was over.
