“Sign the papers and leave, beggar,” they mocked her during the divorce — until three black luxury cars pulled up outside.

The Pen That Felt Like a Sentence
The Montblanc pen felt far heavier than it should have in Isabella Reyes’ hand.

Not because it was crafted with gold and lacquer.

But because it felt like a sentence being passed.

The formal living room of the Castellano estate was quiet in the way courtrooms are quiet—thick, tense, and watchful, as if everyone was waiting for a verdict already decided.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows and stretched across the polished mahogany table.

At the center of it sat a thick stack of papers.

Thirty-seven pages.

Three years of marriage.

Reduced to a legal ending.

Isabella sat upright in the cream-colored chair, fingers wrapped tightly around the pen, staring at the line where her signature would erase her from the Castellano family forever.

A Room Full of Judges
Across from her, Camille Castellano lounged lazily on a leather sofa.

Her legs were crossed elegantly as she swirled a glass of wine, watching the scene like a spectator enjoying a show.

“Are you signing today,” Camille drawled lazily, “or should we wait until you remember how to write?”

A ripple of laughter moved through the room.

Isabella slowly lifted her eyes.

But she wasn’t looking at Camille.

She was searching for Ryan.