Chapter 42 The first strike
The video began with tears. Perfect, glistening tears that caught the light like diamonds.
Isabelle Laurent sat before a camera, wrapped in soft cream silk, her voice trembling just enough to sound human.
“I never thought love could be stolen,” she whispered. “I gave him everything. And now his nurse, the woman we all trusted, has destroyed what’s left of us.”
Within an hour, it was everywhere.
Clipped, edited, and reposted across gossip blogs, celebrity channels, TV stations and fan accounts that called her “the fiancée wronged by betrayal.”
Sienna’s professional photo of her smiling, a portrait from the hospital website flashed beside Isabelle’s perfect face.
A bright red caption read:The Temptress Therapist.
Sienna stood in the living room, the television remote shaking in her hand. The morning light made the screen glare, but she couldn’t look away. Every word felt like a needle pressed into her skin.
“She was supposed to help him heal,” Isabelle said, voice breaking. “But she took advantage of his weakness, she took advantage of what is mine. I pity her.”
Sienna’s stomach turned.
“Turn it off,” Dante said quietly from behind her.
She hadn’t heard him enter. He was standing near the doorway, his cane pressed hard to the floor, his face shadowed.
“Did you know about it?” she asked, her voice low, trembling.
In his silence, she found the answer she was expecting.
The TV clicked off. The quietness that followed was louder than any shouting could be.
“She’s doing this because she can,” Sienna said, her throat dry. “Because you won’t say anything.”
Dante looked at her with tired eyes, guilt sitting heavy in his chest. “If I fight her publicly, it’ll make it worse.”
“It’s already worse,” she whispered. “It's already worse, she's ruining everyone.”
Dante hated the way her voice cracked when she said that. He hated the way she flinched every time her phone buzzed.
But what could he do?
He had fought Isabelle before in court, in contracts, in silence and she always won. Not because she was right, but because she knew how to bleed without getting cut.
Now the same woman who once whispered .”I’ll never hurt you” was burning his world down with a smile.
He watched Sienna leave the room, her back straight but her shoulders trembling.
He wanted to go after her. He didn’t.
Because a voice in his head whispered. “She’s only here because of me. And I’m the reason she’s drowning.”
Later in the afternoon, Sienna started receiving calls.
First, from an unknown number with heavy breathing, then laughter. Then another.
And another.
Her inbox on social media was filled with messages.
“Homewrecker.”
“Gold-digging slut.”
“He’ll drop you like he did her.”
By evening, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She dropped a glass in the sink, shards scattering across the counter.
Dante tried to help her pick them up, but she pushed his hand away. “Don’t, please. I can’t.” Her breath hitched. “I just need air.”
She ran outside. The night air hit her like a slap cold, wet, real. For a moment, she stood there barefoot on the terrace, staring out at the dark sea.
It would’ve been easy to pack her bags.
To vanish and leave the villa, the cameras, the noise. But then she thought of Dante, the way his eyes softened when he forgot to guard himself, the way his hand had trembled when he’d taken his first step.
No. She wouldn’t leave him now. Even if he didn’t ask her to stay.
Meanwhile, from Isabelle's hotel suite in Monaco, She scrolled through the flood of comments with different hashtags. #PoorIsabelle, #JusticeForLaurent, #TherapistScandal. Each one gave her a tiny dose of satisfaction.
She had cried on camera, yes. But it was a performance, like any other she’d mastered. The world loved victims. And she knew exactly how to be adored for her pain.
Her assistant entered quietly. “The video hit seven million views in four hours.”
Isabelle smiled without looking up. “Good. Make sure the next story drops tomorrow, the one about the nurse moving into his villa. That’ll finish her.”
Her assistant froze with the phone in her hand, “Miss… Miss Isabelle, yo…u you have to see this”.she stammered as she rushed to the bed to show Isabelle the comments.
When Isabelle looked at the comments again, she wasn't happy. The comments were slowing now, but it was getting views. Through the comment section,some fans were beginning to question her version of the story. A few even defended Sienna.
It infuriated her. She scrolled through more feeds. She looked up, her fists clenched. “Send the next video. The one from the villa camera. Make sure her face is clear.”
The assistant hesitated. “What about Mr. Varon?”
Isabelle’s smile thinned. “Oh, Dante? He’ll come back. He always does.” Her manicured nail tapped on the bedside table. “Just send it .”
But her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her wineglass. Because a small, sharp voice inside her whispered. What if this time, he doesn’t?
She shrugged off the thoughts. This was war. And in war, she never lost.
She waved her hand, sending her assistant away. When she was left alone, her eyes were burning with anger. The anger she didn't want her assistant to see.
She wouldn't let go of Dante without a fight. And she was willing to get dirty, if that will make her get Dante back
By the next day, even the villa staff avoided Sienna.
She could feel their eyes on her when she walked past with their polite smiles hiding judgment.
In the kitchen, the whispers were louder.
“She’s still here?”
“After what she did?”
“Poor Monsieur Varon”
She dropped her gaze and kept walking
Her phone vibrated again.A new message from an unknown number “Hope he was worth it.”
Attached was a photo of her from outside the villa gates, taken that morning.
Her chest tightened. Someone had been there watching her. For a moment, she didn't feel safe inside the villa anymore. She decided to show Dante.
When she showed Dante, his expression darkened. He took her phone, scrolling slowly through the threats, the photos, the comments.
“I’ll handle this,” he said.
“How?” she asked. “By saying nothing?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he set the phone down and walked out, the soft thud of his cane echoing in the hall.
Every headline made his stomach twist tighter. He’d built walls around his life, around the truth but Isabelle had always known where to strike.
He still remembered her last words before he ended their engagement. “If you walk away from me, I’ll make sure no one else can stand beside you.”
He hadn’t believed her then, but he did now.
In his study, he poured a drink and stared at his reflection in the window. The sea beyond was a black, endless mirror.
His phone buzzed, he picked it and checked the notification. It was a text from Isabelle. “You made your choice. Now the world knows what kind of man you are.”
He threw the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall, red wine streaking down like blood.
But when he heard Sienna’s door open down the hall, he froze ashamed of the sound, of his anger, of everything that made her afraid.
He wanted to protect her. And yet every time he tried, it only hurt her more.
Sienna couldn’t sleep.Each time she closed her eyes, she saw Isabelle’s face, perfect, trembling with fake tears glistening for millions to see.
At midnight, she walked down the hallway, barefoot and quiet. She stopped by Dante’s door. The light was still on.
Her knuckles hovered above the wood, ready to knock. Then she heard him speaking softly, his voice low, tired. “I never wanted this. I just wanted peace.”
She leaned her forehead against the door.
She didn’t want to cry again.She just wanted to understand him, to know why the man who fought to stand couldn’t fight for her.
Her chest ached. She turned and walked away.