Chapter 30: THIRTY

Chapter 30

“Is he coming for my birthday?” she mumbled.

A nurse nearby gave Isabelle a gentle look. “She’s just delirious, speaking nonsense. Don’t pay it any mind.”

But Isabelle couldn’t ignore it.

Then, out of nowhere, Sophia whispered through cracked lips, “I don’t want to go to Greece, Mummy.” She paused, tears welling in her eyes. “Daddy says he’s getting married again. I hate him. I don’t want to go. I hate him.”

“No, darling,” Isabelle murmured, leaning down to kiss her clammy forehead, trying to soothe her. “You don’t hate him.”

But even as she whispered those words, her own eyes flicked to her phone screen—still blank. No missed calls. No messages. No sign of Nic.

Minutes later, Sophia drifted back into sleep, her small body finally resting.

Isabelle stood quietly, her mind made up. She turned to Eleni, who had been waiting nearby.

“Can you stay with her for a little while?” she asked softly. “I need to go. I need to find him.”

They were still near the port. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the map on her phone. Two hours by car to Athens. She had no idea if he was home, or even in the country—but she had to take the chance.

She couldn’t sit here waiting anymore.

“Sophie needs him,” Isabelle whispered, more to herself than to Eleni. “I’ll be back in a few hours. If she wakes up again—call me immediately.”

Eleni nodded firmly, settling beside the hospital bed as Isabelle turned and walked out into the night.

The roads were mostly empty at this hour, and with no traffic, the taxi sped through the dark, winding routes toward Athens. An hour and forty-five minutes later, they pulled into the quiet, upscale street where Nic’s house stood. The main house was dark—its windows black, its entrance silent.

But behind it, across the vast estate grounds, was a completely different world.

The land stretched wide behind the house—acres of lush, manicured lawn—and it was lit up like a midsummer night’s dream. Twinkling fairy lights crisscrossed above silk canopies. Laughter and the soft hum of music floated through the night air.

Isabelle froze for a beat, staring at the surreal scene unfolding just beyond the hedges.

He was partying. Out here, in the middle of the night, with his phone switched off—while their daughter lay sick in a hospital bed, asking for him with fever-glazed eyes.

Fury surged through her.

She quickened her pace, her worn jeans and faded blue T-shirt a stark contrast to the world she was walking into. Guests strolled the grass in sleek evening gowns and tailored suits, their champagne flutes catching the glow of the lights. Laughter tinkled in the air like silver bells, and designer perfumes mingled with the scent of manicured jasmine hedges.

Heads turned as she passed. Curious glances. Judgmental stares. She didn’t care. She wasn’t here to blend in.

The event was clearly exclusive—elegant but understated, refined yet private. No photographers. No red carpet. No media circus. Just a curated gathering of the elite in Nic’s own backyard.

But he was nowhere in sight.

Isabelle kept walking, her eyes scanning the crowd, pulse pounding in her ears. She wasn’t going back without answers.

She wandered through the glittering maze of silk-draped canopies and fairy lights, scanning every face. Her heart pounded with a mix of fury and desperation. She had nearly circled the grounds when a man in a sleek black suit stepped directly into her path.

He wore a name tag and an expression that screamed polite suspicion.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, tone smooth but firm. “Are you looking for someone?”

Isabelle didn’t bother to mask her irritation. She knew exactly what he thought—a woman in scuffed flats, no makeup, and wrinkled clothes didn’t belong at a party like this. She looked like trouble. Or worse—an intruder.

“Yes,” she replied flatly. “My husband.”

The manager blinked. “And may I ask his name?”

Her patience was hanging by a thread. She was running on no sleep, her child was sick in a hospital bed, and now she was being interrogated like a gatecrasher.

“Nikolaos Dimitriou,” she said, slowly and clearly. “I’d be very grateful if you could find him for me. It’s an emergency.”

The man’s face flickered—just for a second—with recognition. Then his expression hardened.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, miss,” he said quickly, eyes darting to someone behind her. That’s when she noticed the two security men, now inching forward, waiting for a signal.

“I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the manager continued smoothly. “This is a private event.”

Isabelle exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a brief second. “Just call Nic for me,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “His phone’s switched off. He’ll explain everything.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, ma’am.” The manager’s tone was sharper now, less patient. He gestured again. “Kindly come with us.”

The security men stepped closer, their looming presence a silent warning.

Isabelle’s heart pounded in fury. She felt the last of her patience burning away.

“Why can’t you just call Nic?” Isabelle’s voice rose, cracking with desperation. “It’s his house—he’ll—”

But they weren’t listening anymore.

“I’ve already told you, that’s not possible,” the manager cut in coldly. “Mr. Dimitriou is busy.”

Another subtle shake of his head—and then the security guards moved.

Before she could react, one of them had grabbed her arm, the grip tight and impersonal. “Ma’am, please come this way.”

His voice was low, calm, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable. Move on your own, or be forced to.

Frustration burst in her chest like wildfire. “Please,” she begged, twisting to look at them both. “I just need to tell Nic—Sophie’s sick. She’s asking for her daddy.”

The guard blinked at her, expression unmoved, as if she were speaking another language. “It’s an emergency,” she repeated, her voice raw.

But the hold on her arm only tightened. And then, suddenly, she was yanked forward, dragged through the crowd like a criminal.

Humiliation washed over her in a hot, dizzying wave. If people had only been staring before, now they were glaring—watching the disheveled woman being removed from a polished event where she so clearly didn’t belong.

The difference was staggering.

Class. Money. Education. Upbringing. Style. It had always stood between her and Nic like a thin invisible wall—but tonight, that wall had become concrete.

And now, it was dragging her out by the arm.

Tears pricked at her eyes—not just from humiliation, but from a deeper, older pain. The realization that no matter how many years had passed, no matter how close she and Nic had once been, she would never truly belong in his world. Not the way others did. Not the way they expected.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been looked down on. Not the first time she’d been dismissed. But tonight, it was louder. Public. And it cut deeper than she could ever admit.

But little did Isabelle know—the worst moment of the night was still waiting.

She was almost at the gates, being dragged without pause, when a sudden eruption of applause broke out around her. The grip on her arm didn’t loosen, but her head turned instinctively toward the sound. People were clapping, smiling, faces turned toward a small stage set at the center of the grounds. Soft, romantic music swelled behind them.

Two figures stood beneath a spotlight.

“Please welcome our newly engaged couple—Nikolaos Dimitriou and Daphne Karistou!”

Loud cheers and more applause rang across the estate.

And Isabelle froze.

Time seemed to fracture around her. The noise faded into a dull hum, the lights blurred, and her legs nearly buckled beneath her. On stage, Nic leaned in and kissed Daphne’s forehead, smiling as the crowd roared their approval.

And just like that—Isabelle’s world collapsed.