Chapter3

The next morning I was jolted awake by the rumble of trucks in the yard.

I had barely made it to the window before I saw Olivia standing on the lawn like a queen, directing a crew of movers.

"Faster! Get that box in there!" she barked, coffee in hand, her small but noticeable bump on full display, her face bright with satisfaction.

Before I could get downstairs to stop them, they were already carrying my things out.

My bridal design sketches—drawings I had poured sleepless nights into—along with my precious art books, were being stuffed into the storage room like trash.

And then, to top it off, they hung an enormous portrait of Olivia—a gift from Sebastian—in the most prominent spot in the living room.

"You're up?" Olivia spotted me. She thrust out her belly and walked over. "Look, this is my home now. Sebastian said he prefers having me here."

The sight of her face made my stomach heave. She sauntered to my desk and deliberately nudged my sketches to the floor with her elbow. "Oops, so sorry," she said with hollow contrition. "These are taking up so much space. You should just throw them out."

I crouched down to gather the scattered sheets. Those were my life's work. My dreams.

But Olivia stepped on them. She pressed her heel down deliberately, grinding it in. The sole of her stiletto left a black smear across the paper, as if stamping out my dignity.

"Leave them," she said, sneering. "You can't hold on to a man's heart—these are no use to you anyway. Sooner or later, everything in this house will be mine."

She walked to my bookshelf and picked up the crystal paperweight my mother had left me. My most treasured keepsake.

She looked straight at me. The vicious smile on her lips said everything. Then she tossed it.

It hit the floor with a crack and shattered into pieces.

I stared at those fragments, and something inside me shattered with them.

I bit down hard on my lip and forced myself not to cry. I couldn't show weakness in front of her. I couldn't let her see my pain.

"And that room," she added, gesturing toward the study. "That's mine from now on too. Sebastian wants to turn it into a painting studio for me."

I watched her standing there, drunk on her own victory, and the rage inside me burned white-hot.

But I didn't explode. Instead, I turned and walked into the study.

I had to stay calm. I had to move.

I closed the door behind me and pulled a remote control from the desk drawer. I pressed a button. Behind the bookshelf, a hidden camera blinked red. It could capture everything in the living room—including every ugly thing Olivia had just done.

I opened my phone, linked to the camera feed, and watched her on the screen as she paraded around the living room. I saved the footage as evidence.

Then I picked up the backup phone and sent a message to the Ghost Protocol team: Move up the timeline.

A reply came within seconds: Received. Ready.

I set the phone down and looked out the window. Olivia was still outside directing the movers, thinking she had won.

She had no idea her end was coming.

Right then, the doorbell rang. Olivia rushed to answer it. Sebastian walked in. He noticed me in the study and frowned. "Isabella, why are you still here? Olivia needs to rest. Go get her a glass of water."

I looked at him, revulsion coiling through me. But I nodded and walked out of the study. As I passed Olivia, she flashed me a taunting smile.

"Thank you, sister," she said sweetly. "I'll be counting on you to look after me from now on."

I swallowed the urge to slap her and walked into the kitchen.

I was done tolerating this.

My revenge had only just begun.