Chapter 2The Framed Fiancé

Isabelle’s face went white, her eyes darting nervously. But she quickly tightened her embrace on Vincent and screeched, "That's enough, Toby!"

"I was terrified! You forced me to say that because I was afraid of what you would do to him!"

"But I see now that hiding won't solve anything! You were never going to let him go!"

"You just want to strangle our love in its cradle!"

"True love?" I arched an eyebrow. "So your version of 'true love' involves wheeling your lover into a public gala to be pitied by strangers? This is how you protect what you have?" I let out a soft, contemptuous chuckle. "Your love seems rather cheap."

"You—!" Isabelle choked on her rage.

Vincent quickly grabbed her hand, patting it soothingly before turning his pained gaze back to me. "Mr. Crane, I know you hate me. I ruined your future with Isabelle, and for that, I am truly sorry. I accept any revenge you have planned."

"Humiliate me, hurt me, do whatever you want. But please, don't tarnish the memory of the love she once had for you."

My brow twitched. "You both keep calling me ruthless, a monster who forced you into this marriage…" I paused, my eyes turning to ice. "Since I’m already wearing the label, wouldn't I be disappointing everyone—including you two—if I didn't live up to it?"

I stepped closer, looming over the "star-crossed lovers." Vincent instinctively tried to wheel himself back, but he was trapped. Isabelle threw herself in front of him, her voice a mixture of fear and bravado. "What… what do you think you're doing? You wouldn't dare hurt him in front of all these people!"

"Relax," I said, my tone deceptively light. "I won't lay a finger on him. Not right now, anyway." My eyes drifted down to the plaster cast on Vincent's leg. "A broken leg needs time to heal," I said, my words dripping with insinuation. "After all, you might have a long road ahead of you."

"Or perhaps… you're headed somewhere you won't be needing your legs at all."

Without another word, I turned my back on their shocked faces and the sea of judgmental eyes. I walked straight out of the ballroom.

The moment I got in my car, Isabelle's father called.

"Toby, my boy… about Isabelle… her mother and I spoiled her rotten. She can be so impulsive." His voice was slick with false apology. "You were wronged tonight. On her behalf, I am deeply sorry."

He paused, clearly expecting me to offer a polite platitude. I remained silent.

He cleared his throat and continued, his tone shifting to one of helpless inquiry. "But Toby, no matter how angry you were… you shouldn't have… you really shouldn't have sent men to break Vincent's leg."

"That was… a bit extreme, don't you think? It's not good for the Crane family's reputation."

I cut through his carefully constructed act with a cold laugh. "Mr. Slate, which one of your eyes saw me send anyone to break his leg?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then his voice rose, filled with the righteous indignation of an elder. "Who else could it have been? Toby, let's be realistic. The moment Vincent and Isabelle got a little close, this happened. We're not fools."

My laugh was devoid of any warmth. "Fine. If you're so certain it was me, Mr. Slate, then I'll wear the accusation. In fact, I'll claim his other leg, too. You should tell him to get comfortable in that wheelchair."

"You—!" The mask of the concerned father finally cracked, his voice turning sharp and shrill. "Toby! Are you trying to burn everything to the ground? After all these years between our families, you'd destroy it all for an outsider?"

"I am," I replied, my voice clipped and final. "Mr. Slate, your family chose a side. I'm simply honoring your decision. Let's tear it all down. It's cleaner that way."