Chapter 110

Chapter 110
Chapter 110

Isabella’s POV

The dress was the first thing I saw when I walked into the room.

It hung on the wardrobe door, still wrapped in a thin layer of protective fabric. White silk underneath. Soft. Perfect. Untouched.

Tomorrow I would wear it.

Tomorrow I would stand in front of David.

Tomorrow everything would end.

Or begin.

I did not know which one scared me more.

I walked closer without thinking. My fingers reached out before my mind could stop me. I pushed the fabric aside and touched the dress.

Cold.

That was the first thing I noticed. It felt cold against my skin. Not soft like I expected. Not warm. Not comforting.

Just cold.

Like it did not belong to me.

Like it was made for someone else.

Someone happier.

Someone who believed in love.

My chest tightened.

For a second, I saw another dress.

Not this one.

The other one.

Two years ago.

Different room. Different mirror. Different girl.

Same white.

Same hope.

Same lie.

My hand dropped from the fabric.

I stepped back.

No. I forced the thought away. I was not that girl anymore.

That girl died.

That girl stood at an altar and waited.

That girl believed someone would come.

That girl believed love was enough.

She was gone.

I killed her myself.

“Tomorrow is the day.”

Salome’s voice came from behind me. Calm. Careful. Watching me like she was afraid I might break if she spoke too loudly.

I did not turn.

“I know.”

I kept my eyes on the dress. It felt like it was watching me back. Judging me.

Everything I had done led to this moment.

Every lie.

Every smile.

Every step.

Every night I forced myself to be Isabella instead of Lucia.

Tomorrow was the end of it.

“Everything comes together tomorrow,” I said quietly. “Everything I planned.”

Salome did not answer immediately.

I could feel her eyes on me. Studying. Thinking.

“Is that what this is?” she asked after a moment. “The end of a plan?”

I swallowed.

My throat felt dry.

“Yes.”

But even as I said it, something inside me twisted.

It did not feel like victory.

It did not feel like the end.

It felt like something was about to fall apart.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

That question again.

Everyone kept asking it.

As if there was a right answer.

As if I was supposed to feel something strong. Something powerful. Something satisfying.

I turned slowly and looked at her.

She stood near the window, hands folded in front of her, posture straight like always. Controlled. Elegant. Strong.

She had always been strong.

Stronger than me.

Stronger than the girl I used to be.

“How should I feel?” I asked.

She did not smile.

“This is not about what you should feel,” she said softly. “It is about what you do feel.”

I stared at her.

For a moment, I thought about lying.

It would have been easy.

I had lied for two years.

I could lie now.

I could say I felt good.

Satisfied.

Powerful.

Victorious.

But the words would not come.

Because they were not true.

Instead, something else slipped out.

Something I had been trying not to name.

“Empty.”

The word hung in the air.

It sounded small.

Too small for what I felt.

Salome’s expression changed.

Just a little.

Enough for me to see it.

“Empty?” she repeated.

I nodded.

“There is nothing there,” I said. “I thought there would be something. Anything. Anger. Relief. Satisfaction. Something. But there is nothing.”

I turned away from her and walked back to the window.

The city stretched out below me. Lights everywhere. Cars moving. People living.

Normal people.

People who woke up in the morning and did not think about revenge.

People who did not pretend to be someone else.

People who did not carry two names inside their chest like a war.

“I thought when I got everything back, it would fix something,” I said.

My voice felt far away.

Like I was listening to someone else speak.

“I thought when I took it all from him, it would stop hurting. I thought I would finally feel… calm.”

I let out a quiet breath.

“But it did not stop anything.”

The memories were still there.

Clear.

Sharp.

Unchanged.

I could still see that day.

That altar.

The way the room looked when people started whispering.

The way time stretched.

The way every second felt like a knife.

The way my hands shook as I kept telling myself he was just late.

Just delayed.

Just coming.

He never came.

I pressed my hand against the glass window.

It was cold.

Just like the dress.

“Every day I remember it,” I said. “Every day I see it again. Nothing changed. Not even after everything I did.”

Salome walked closer.

I felt her presence behind me.

“You have taken everything from them,” she said. “More than they ever took from you.”

“I know.”

“You have destroyed them.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still hurting?”

I closed my eyes.

Because I did not know how to answer that.

Because I knew the answer.

And I did not want to say it out loud.

“Because it did not bring me back,” I whispered.

My voice cracked.

The truth sat heavy in my chest.

“I thought if I destroyed them, I would become whole again. But I did not. I just became something else.”

Something colder.

Something harder.

Something I did not recognize.

I opened my eyes.

My reflection stared back at me in the glass.

Not Lucia.

Not really.

Not anymore.

Isabella.

A face that had been created.

Built.

Shaped.

Perfected.

A mask.

A very expensive, very perfect mask.

“Sometimes I do not even know who I am anymore,” I said.

Salome’s hand rested lightly on my shoulder.

“You are still you,” she said.

I shook my head.

“No. Lucia would not have done this.”

Lucia would have cried.

Lucia would have begged.

Lucia would have broken.

She would not have planned something like this.

She would not have spent two years building someone else’s life just to destroy a man.

“She is still inside you,” Salome said.

I laughed softly.

There was no humor in it.

“If she is, she is very quiet.”

Silence filled the room.

Heavy. Thick.

I turned away from the window and walked back toward the bed.

The dress was still there.

Waiting.

Perfect.

Like nothing was wrong.

Like tomorrow was a celebration instead of a trap.

“I cannot stop now,” I said.

Salome did not respond.

I continued anyway.

“I have come too far. I cannot walk away from this. Not when I am this close.”

“Close to what?” she asked.

“To the end.”

“And what happens after the end?”

I froze.

That question again.

After.

After the wedding.

After the moment he realizes I am not coming.

After the silence.

After the humiliation.

After everything.

I had thought about it.

But not clearly.

Not deeply.

Because every time I tried, something inside me resisted.

Like my mind refused to go there.

“I do not know,” I admitted.

“And that does not frighten you?”

“It does.”

More than anything.

Because for two years, I had a purpose.

A direction.

A reason to wake up.

Revenge.

It kept me moving.

It kept me breathing.

It kept me from falling apart.

What happens when that is gone?

What happens when I wake up and there is nothing left to chase?

Nothing left to plan.

Nothing left to destroy.

Just me.

Just silence.

Just this emptiness.

“I thought maybe I could start over,” I said slowly.

“With Alexander.”

The name felt different when I said it.

Softer.

Real.

Not part of the plan.

Not part of the lie.

Something separate.

Something dangerous.

Salome did not react immediately.

She just watched me.

“Do you love him?” she asked.

I hesitated.

The answer should have been simple.

But it was not.

“I do not know,” I said honestly.

“I care about him. He sees me. Not Isabella. Not the mask. Me. He looks at me like I am still human.”

“And you are not sure if you love him?”

“I am not sure if I know how to love anymore.”

The words hurt.

Because they felt true.

Because I remembered what love used to feel like.

Before everything.

Before David.

Before betrayal.

Before destruction.

Love used to be light.

Easy.

Something that made you feel safe.

Now it felt like something sharp.

Something that could break you without warning.

“I told him I would come back after this,” I said.

“After tomorrow.”

“And will you?”

I did not answer.

Because I did not know.

Because I was not sure there would be anything left of me to give.

We stood there in silence.

Two people in a room with a dress that meant everything and nothing at the same time.

Finally, I moved.

I sat down on the edge of the bed.

My body felt heavy.

Tired in a way sleep could not fix.

Salome sat beside me.

Close.

But not too close.

“You do not have to go through with this,” she said quietly.

I looked at her.

Really looked.

“Do you believe that?” I asked.

She held my gaze.

“No,” she said after a moment.

“Because you would not stop. Not now.”

She knew me.

Too well.

“I need him to feel it,” I said.

My voice was steady now.

Cold.

Clear.

“He needs to stand there. He needs to wait. He needs to understand what it feels like.”

“What it feels like to be abandoned,” she said.

“Yes.”

“What it feels like to be humiliated.”

“Yes.”

“What it feels like to lose everything.”

I nodded.

“He needs to feel it the way I felt it.”

The words came out sharp.

Hard.

For a moment, I felt something.

Not emptiness.

Something darker.

Something alive.

Anger.

It flickered inside me.

Small.

But real.

Salome watched me carefully.

“And after he feels it?” she asked.

I exhaled slowly.

“Then it is over.”

“And you?”

“I do not know.”

That answer again.

Always the same.

I did not know.

I was so close to the end.

And I had no idea what came after.

That scared me more than anything.

I lay back on the bed.

Stared at the ceiling.

The dress stayed in my line of sight.

White.

Perfect.

Waiting.

My chest felt tight.

Like something was pressing down on it.

“You should rest,” Salome said.

“I cannot sleep.”

“You need to try.”

“I have tried.”

Every night.

For weeks.

Sleep came in pieces.

Short.

Broken.

Full of memories I could not escape.

The altar.

The whispers.

The silence.

David’s absence.

I turned my head slightly.

Looked at the dress again.

Tomorrow.

Everything would happen tomorrow.

“Do you think it will help?” I asked suddenly.

“What?”

“This.”

I gestured weakly toward the dress.

The wedding.

The plan.

“All of it.”

Salome was quiet for a long time.

Long enough for the answer to settle before she said it.

“No.”

The honesty hit harder than anything else.

“But you still have to do it,” she added.

“Yes.”

Because I could not stop.

Because even if it did not fix anything, I needed to finish it.

I needed to see it through.

I needed that moment.

Even if it destroyed me completely.

Salome stood.

“I will leave you alone,” she said.

“Try to rest.”

I nodded.

She paused at the door.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” she said softly, “you are not alone.”

Then she left.

The door closed quietly behind her.

The room felt bigger without her.

Colder.

Empty.

I lay there for a long time.

Not moving.

Not thinking clearly.

Just drifting.

My eyes stayed on the dress.

It felt like it was pulling me toward it.

Like it was calling me.

After a while, I stood.

Slowly.

Walked to it again.

I touched it once more.

This time, I pushed the cover fully aside.

The full dress revealed itself.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Everything a bride would dream of.

Everything I used to dream of.

I let my fingers trace the fabric.

The seams.

The shape.

“I was supposed to be happy,” I whispered.

No one answered.

Of course no one answered.

I pressed my forehead against the dress.

Closed my eyes.

For a moment, I let myself imagine.

A different tomorrow.

A real one.

Walking down the aisle.

Not with revenge.

Not with a plan.

Just with hope.

Seeing someone waiting.

Someone who actually wanted me there.

Someone who would not leave.

My chest tightened sharply.

I pulled back.

No.

That was not real.

That was a fantasy.

That was the past.

I had destroyed that version of myself.

I straightened.

Stepped away.

Forced my breathing to slow.

Tomorrow was not about love.

It was not about happiness.

It was not about dreams.

It was about ending something.

Ending him.

Ending what he did to me.

Ending the past.

Even if it meant I lost myself in the process.

I walked back to the bed.

Sat down again.

My hands rested in my lap.

Still.

Cold.

I looked around the room.

Everything felt temporary.

Like I did not belong here.

Like I did not belong anywhere.

The silence pressed in.

Heavy.

I lay down again.

Turned onto my side.

Closed my eyes.

Darkness.

But not peaceful.

Never peaceful.

The memories came again.

They always did.

The altar.

The empty space beside me.

The sound of people whispering.

The way my heart broke slowly, not all at once.

I opened my eyes again.

I could not escape it.

No even now.

Not even after everything.

A tear slipped down my temple.

I did not wipe it away.

I let it fall.

Then another.

And another.

Quiet.

Silent.

No sobbing.

No sound.

Just tears.

I stared at the wall.

“I thought this would fix me,” I whispered.

It did not.

Nothing did.

Not the money.

Not the power.

Not the control.

Not the destruction.

Nothing filled the space inside me.

Nothing made it stop.

Tomorrow would not fix it either.

I knew that now.

But I would still go.

I would still stand there.

I would still finish it.

Because it was all I had left.

Because without it, I had nothing.

I closed my eyes again.

This time, I did not try to sleep.

I just lay there.

Waiting.

For morning.

For the end.

For whatever came after.

Hoping.

Fearing.

Not knowing.

Just empty.

Just here.

Just breathing.

Just waiting.

For tomorrow.