Chapter 2: The Table Turns
By noon, the mansion had transformed from a palace into a tomb. The staff had walked out, unpaid. The electricity had been cut off at the main grid.
Damian stood in the foyer, the same spot where he had struck Isabella only hours before. He was surrounded by a sea of legal documents delivered by a squadron of stony-faced attorneys from Montrose Global. They didn't speak; they just stacked papers.
The front door swung open. Isabella walked in.
She wasn't wearing the modest, quiet clothes she’d worn for four years. She wore a sharp, navy-blue power suit, her head held high. She didn't look like a victim; she looked like a queen surveying the wreckage of a failed rebellion.
"I believe you told me to kneel," Isabella said, her voice echoing in the hollow hall.
Damian’s pride fought his panic. "Isabella, let’s be reasonable. This is a misunderstanding. We can talk about—"
"Talk?" She stepped over the shattered coffee table. "You spent four years talking down to me. You and your mother treated me like a charity case while I was the one signing the checks that kept your lights on."
Evelyn scurried forward, her voice cracking. "Isabella, dear, we didn't know—"
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"You didn't care to know," Isabella snapped. She turned to Vanessa, who was hiding behind a marble pillar. "And you. You wanted his life? Take it. It’s entirely bankrupt. Every debt he ever hid, every scandal he ever buried, has been unsealed and uploaded to the SEC's public portal."
She pulled a single sheet of paper from her folder. "This is a warrant for your arrest, Damian. Tax evasion, embezzlement, and a history of domestic violence. You’re not being evicted from this house. You’re being evicted from society."
