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"That's when I understood what a complete joke I'd been." Isabella tapped ash, mouth twisting in cold self-mockery, those gray-green eyes finally crashing straight into mine. "I was blinded by betrayal. Thought you got close to me for Moretti power. Thought you wanted my father's position. I didn't know your mother was dying. Didn't know that animal was blackmailing you. Didn't know you'd run out of options."

She paused two seconds, chest rising once, tone still steady and controlled but a barely perceptible redness around her eyes.

"I checked your Venice entry records, but they'd been scrubbed too clean. Then I saw that brand called 'Wild Rose,' saw those roses with thorns you designed... I knew it was you."

"Then why didn't you come find me directly?" I asked quietly.

"Find you?" Isabella laughed bitterly, eyes churning with complicated pride and regret. "Run to a friend I personally pushed into hell and sob for forgiveness? Ruby, I didn't dare. Couldn't do it that way."

She inhaled the last of her cigarette, ground it viciously into the crystal ashtray, expression calm to the point of cold, but voice hoarse and heavy.

"I owed you. This apology's four years late. But Ruby, I'm glad you didn't give up. More glad you clawed your way to this height on your own."

I held my warm coffee cup, fingers tight.

I'd never really hated her.

In that storm that dragged everyone into hell, she'd suffered a more absurd, heavier blow than me. For Isabella, who'd trusted me completely—her best friend and her adored father tangled together—even though I'd been in the dark the whole time, even though it was all coincidence, the blade of betrayal and deception had stabbed straight into her heart. If it had been me at that age facing that shock, I probably would've collapsed harder, lost control worse.

"Isa, don't put all the blame on yourself. Back then, even though I didn't know, I did hide it from you when I was with him... I owe you an apology too. I'm sorry, Isa."

Isabella's fingers holding her lighter jerked hard.

She pressed her red lips tight, jawline taut, like she was forcibly suppressing the moisture rapidly gathering in her eyes. But she wasn't that spoiled crying girl anymore. She lifted her chin, swallowed that surging sourness down hard, mouth curving into a familiar sharp arc.

"Please, Caldwell. Don't make it like some eight o'clock soap opera. Gross."

She pulled out a napkin, wiped her fingers, but her eyes were extraordinarily soft, carrying long-lost understanding and release. "We're even. But for next week's finals runway show, my best plus-size models' schedules are locked down, ready for you to call on anytime. Don't look at me like that—I'm investing in the future grand prize winner. I don't make bad deals."

She leaned back, legs elegantly crossed, and began coldly and professionally dissecting the finals judging panel's preferences and major sponsors' conflicts of interest.

I watched her, smiling, the shadow that had hung over my heart for four years finally lifting.

My Isa. My best friend. After four years, finally back at my side.

But I never mentioned Leon.

Isabella was my friend, but she was also Marcelo's only child.

I didn't dare gamble whether she'd tell Marcelo if she knew, and whether Marcelo would then rip Leon from my hands.

Leon was the most important part of my life. I couldn't risk even the slightest chance.

"...The ready-to-wear fabric should add two more sets of hidden jacquard patterns so the lighting hits with more impact." I lifted my coffee, about to elaborate.

My personal phone on the table suddenly vibrated violently.

The screen flashed Martha's number from the children's play center.

My heart dropped, extreme foreboding shooting up my spine. I answered fast, pressed it to my ear. "Hello, Martha? I'm almost done here, I'm coming down to get—"

"Ms. Caldwell!!"

A scream of absolute terror exploded through the speaker, background noise full of chaotic, shrill shouting.

"Something happened! Leon... Leon's gone!!"

"What did you say?" The coffee cup in my hand smashed onto the glass tabletop with a crash, scalding brown liquid splashing all over my hand.