Chapter 14 Turn Her Reality Into A Living Hell
Bella’s POV
It had been exactly one week since the plane carrying "Bella Moretti" had crashed.
In that week, I had scrubbed every trace of the submissive, fragile wife from my soul. I spent every waking hour in the gym, pushing my body until my muscles screamed and my vision blurred. I wanted to be strong…not just strong, but dangerous as well.
I needed to regain the peak fighting shape of Eva, the woman who could snap a man’s wrist without blinking. My focus was like a laser beam, centered entirely on one goal, the total destruction of the Ricci and Moretti families.
I was currently mid-set on the heavy bag, my fists wrapped in tape that was already stained with small blooms of blood from my knuckles.
Left hook…Right cross….Roundhouse kick. Every strike was for a lie they told me and every drop of sweat was for a tear I had wasted on Lucas.
“Enough, Bella. You’re going to tear a tendon.”
I didn't stop, I launched a knee into the bag, the impact echoing through the quiet gym. Naomi and Lyra were walking toward me, their expressions a mix of admiration and annoyance.
“I’m not tired,” I snapped, my breath coming in short gasps. “I have work to do. Lucas is out there rebuilding his reputation with orphanage donations while I’m hiding in the dark…I need to be ready.”
“You’re ready enough for tonight,” Lyra said, reaching out and grabbing the bag to stop it from swaying. “You’ve been in this basement for seven days straight. If you don't breathe some real air, you’re going to lose your edge. A blade that’s sharpened too much becomes brittle.”
“I don't need air,” I muttered, reaching for my water bottle.
They didn't listen…Naomi stepped in close, her eyes flashing with that stubborn streak I remembered from our years together. Without another word, they both grabbed my arms. I could have fought them off but I knew they were right. My mind was really starting to loop.
“We’re going back to your room,” Naomi commanded. “You’re getting dressed and we're going out.”
They dragged me back through the winding corridors of the organization. I didn't put up much of a fight and once we reached my room, Lyra pushed me toward the shower while Naomi started rummaging through the wardrobe.
“Where are we going?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe as I wiped the sweat from my brow. “If this is some pity party for the 'dead girl,' I’m not interested.”
Naomi tossed a bundle of clothes onto the bed. “We’re going to a party, but not yours. We have a specific place in mind, and believe me, Bella, you’re definitely going to enjoy the entertainment.”
I looked at the clothes. A pair of tight, black leather trousers and a white, stylishly cut shirt that looked elegant. I didn't ask any more questions. I knew from the look in Naomi’s eyes that something was up.
I showered quickly, the hot water washing away the grime of the gym but doing nothing to cool the fire in my chest. I dressed in silence, pulling on the leather trousers and buttoning the white shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror. The woman looking back wasn't the girl who had been married to Lucas. Her eyes were harder, her jaw set in a line of cold resolve.
As we walked toward the garage, I noticed someone was missing. “Where’s Paige?” I asked. “She’s usually the first one ready for a night out.”
“Sent on a special intelligence mission,” Lyra replied, her voice dropping into a professional tone. “Ethan has her tracking the Mayor’s digital footprint. We need to know exactly how much Haley has compromised him.”
I nodded, I knew how things worked here. Information was the currency of survival and If Paige was on a mission, it meant the endgame was approaching faster than I thought.
Lyra drove the sleek black sedan through the city streets. I watched the familiar landmarks of my old life pass by…the boutiques where I had bought dresses to please Lucas, the restaurants where we had sat in staged silence. It all felt like a dream. Or a nightmare I had finally woken up from.
We arrived at a high-end club in the heart of the entertainment district. ‘The Gilded Lily.’ It was the kind of place where the entrance fee was more than a normal person’s monthly rent. The line outside was long, but Lyra drove straight to the VIP valet.
Before we got out, Naomi reached into her bag and handed me a small, flesh-colored packet. I opened it and saw a skin mask, a high-tech, ultra-thin prosthetic that could subtly alter the shape of my face.
“Put it on,” Naomi said. “It’ll change your cheekbones and jawline just enough. It’d be a lot of trouble if some paparazzi or a Moretti lackey recognized you having a drink.”
I took the mask without a word. I applied it with practiced ease, feeling the cool material bond to my skin. I checked the mirror. I looked like a stranger,still beautiful, but unrecognizable as Bella Moretti.
As we entered the club, the heavy bass of the music thumping through the floorboards, the smell of expensive perfume and premium alcohol hit me. It was a world of excess, a world I used to belong to. Naomi and Lyra led me toward the private VIP section, navigating the crowd with confidence.
We reached a hallway leading to the private suites. Just as we turned the corner, the door to the first suite flew open. A girl stumbled out, her hair a mess, her expensive silk dress bunched up at the hips. She was clutching a bottle of champagne and laughing a slurred, ugly laugh.
At first, I just looked away, disgusted by the display of wasted privilege. But then, she spoke.
“I told him… I told him I’m the queen now!” she shrieked at a man following her. “No more Bella! No more boring, perfect Bella!”
My head snapped in her direction and my eyes narrowed at her.
It was Sasha.
The girl who had celebrated my death. But she looked so pathetic, drunk, arrogant, and completely oblivious to the fact that the woman she was mocking was standing five feet away.
A raw wave of rage crashed over me. My fingers twitched, my muscles tensed, and for a second, I wanted to lung across the hallway and wrap my hands around her throat. I wanted to show her exactly how "boring" I could be when I was breaking her bones.
Naomi caught my arm with a firm grip. She leaned into my ear, her voice barely a whisper over the thumping music.
“Don't waste it here,” she murmured. “Not yet.”
She leaned closer, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Go to the restroom at the end of the hall. Take off the skin mask…. Then, wait for her. Sasha seems to be heading that way.”
My heart skipped a beat, and a slow, predatory smile spread across my face. The anger didn't vanish, but it transformed into something more calculated.
“Have fun playing ghost with her, Bella,” Naomi whispered. “Give her a reason to never sleep again.”
I felt a surge of pure excitement, as this was better than a fight in the gym. This was psychological warfare. Lucas had spent fifty million dollars to fix Sasha’s image, to make the world forget her cruelty. Tonight, I was going to make sure Sasha never forgot what she had done.
I turned and walked toward the restroom, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet. I entered the lavish, marble-lined room and locked the main door. I stood before the mirror and slowly peeled away the skin mask, revealing my true face.
I loosened my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders in the same way I used to wear it for Lucas. I bit my lips to bring the blood to the surface and paled my skin with a bit of powder from the vanity.
I looked like a real ghost and couldn't hide my excitement.
I heard the door handle jiggle outside. Then, the sound of a keycard. The door swung open, and Sasha stumbled in, still giggling to herself, her eyes glazed over with alcohol.
“Stupid… stupid locks…” she muttered, heading for the stalls.
I stepped out from the shadows of the vanity area, standing directly in the center of the room, illuminated by the soft, ethereal glow of the overhead lights.
Sasha stopped, she blinked, squinting through her drunken haze. She looked at me, then looked away, then her head snapped back, her eyes widening until the whites showed all the way around. The bottle of champagne slipped from her hand, crashing onto the marble floor and spraying foam everywhere.
“B… Bella?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
I didn't say a word. I just stared at her, my expression frozen in a hollow, haunting gaze. I let the silence of the room stretch out, broken only by the muffled beat of the music outside.
“No…” Sasha whimpered, backing away until she hit the wall. “You’re dead…You’re dead! Lucas said… the plane… it exploded!”
I took a single, slow step toward her. The terror on her face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
“Sasha,” I whispered, my voice sounding like the wind through a graveyard. “Why were you so happy I was gone?”
“Ahhhhh!” Sasha let out a strangled, blood-curdling scream that was swallowed by the thick walls of the restroom. She sank to her knees, her hands over her ears, her body shaking with a raw fear.
I stood over her, savoring every second of her agony, as this was just the beginning.
“Why do you hate me?,” I hissed.