Isabelle's POV My conversation with Diana was cut short when August arrived, and she practically fled the house without even looking at him. August didn't press me about what his sister had been doing there. He probably assumed it was another matter involving Isaac and Oliver that wasn't worth his attention. "So, how did your meeting with Marcellus go?" "Perfect. We discussed strategies, and I'm starting work there next week. He invited both of us to Sunday lunch. Marcellus is a family man and wants to meet you. He even said it's always good when a man settles down and starts a family." In other words, my marriage to August was still a strategic advantage for him. "Of course," I replied, forcing a smile. "I'm curious to meet the famous Marcellus." August seemed satisfied with everything, far too relaxed. I thought about telling him about his father, but I didn't want to ruin the moment. Maybe I was also putting off that conversation because I was afraid of what would come

Isabelle's POV I left the apartment without looking back, tears blurring my vision. The humiliation and injustice of it all were exhausting. I dismissed the security guards and driver. I wanted to get away from everything that reminded me of my involvement with August. I went straight to Camille's house, the only place where I knew I would find comfort. Surely, this was the end of my marriage to August. Even though I was deeply disappointed and hurt, I was determined not to let myself be consumed by my tears. I had cried enough, and once I managed to calm down, I decided that my life wasn't going to remain like this. Only when I reached my street did I remember that Karen also lived in that house. The thought of running into my sister after everything that had happened, knowing that she was probably responsible for leaking the contract too, made me stay inside the car. I thought about how determined she seemed to be to destroy my life in every way possible. I couldn't underst

August's POV My hands were still clenched when I heard the office door open. My father and I were at war. Every sentence was a direct attack. I had no idea how long we'd been shouting. I only knew one thing. If I stayed there another minute, I would do something irreversible. "Enough." Caesar's voice cut through the air. My brother walked into the room, staring at our father. He didn't ask what was happening. He didn't need to. The atmosphere said everything. My father remained motionless, watching me the way he always did when he believed he was still in control. "Get out, Caesar," I growled. "This isn't your business." "Yes, it is," he replied calmly. "The moment you two start shouting loudly enough for people downstairs to hear, it becomes my business." My father opened his mouth to speak, but Caesar raised a hand, a rare gesture from him. He almost never confronted our father. "Not now." Then he looked at me. "August, look at yourself." I took a deep breath, f

Diana's POV In the past, I would have been relieved by what happened to August. In fact, I might even have regretted not coming up with the idea myself sooner. But now, with the weight of the pregnancy and the mounting family tensions, I didn't have time to think about it. I was being swallowed by my own problems, and they grew heavier with each passing day. I called Isabelle. I knew she loved my brother, and in a way, she didn't deserve all that suffering. But honestly, my problems were bigger. I was carrying a secret that even my own mother didn't know about, and it was becoming harder and harder to pretend everything was normal. As the days passed, the pressure on me increased. I had to make a decision, and soon. I couldn't hide my pregnancy much longer. It was risky. Over the past few days, I'd been forced to disguise my nausea, my fatigue, any sign that something was wrong. I pretended I was fine, but inside, I felt empty, exhausted, lost. How was I going to face my

August’s POV Even the cat looked at me strangely, as if judging me with every step I took. Popcorn, who was usually a whirlwind of fur and mischief, now kept to himself. Everyone in that house missed Isabelle. I didn't want to admit it. I tried to convince myself that this was a reprieve, a necessary period apart. But by the second day, it became impossible to ignore how painfully quiet the house was without her. How the bed seemed far too big for one person. By the third day, I couldn't wait any longer. Isabelle was everywhere. In the objects she had left behind, in the little habits she had brought into my life, in the scent of her still lingering on the sheets. But it wasn't just the house. She was inside me, too. The guilt hit me hard. So did the regret over everything I'd said, over hurting her when, deep down, none of it had been her fault. I tried calling countless times. Isabelle wouldn't answer. And when she finally did, it was only to ask for her belongings. She menti