Dying, I Left His Ruthless Bed

Isabelle POV

The silence that followed my internal declaration was deafening, even amidst the swelling crescendo of the orchestra. Kade's fingers were still digging into my hip, his eyes searching mine for the fear he thrived on. But he wouldn't find it. Fear requires a future to lose, and I had none.

"I've already signed the papers, Kade," I said. My voice was soft, barely a breath, but in the vacuum between us, it hit with the force of a gunshot. "I want a divorce."

The word hung in the air, alien and forbidden. In our world, marriage wasn't a contract; it was a life sentence. You didn't leave a Cameron unless you were in a casket.

Kade's movement arrested instantly. The cruel sneer on his lips froze, replaced by a blank, uncomprehending shock. It was as if his favorite hunting dog had suddenly spoken Latin. He couldn't process the defiance, the sheer audacity of the creature he deemed his property.

"What did you say?" The question was a low rumble, dangerous and unstable.

"Go home and check your study," I whispered, my eyes locking with his pitch-black ones. "You'll find them on your desk."

For a split second, his grip on me slackened—just a fraction, born of pure disbelief. That was all I needed.

I wrenched myself away from him. The sudden movement sent a jolt of agony through my chest, my lungs protesting the exertion, but I didn't stop. I stumbled back, putting precious feet of polished floor between us.

The spell over the ballroom broke. Whispers erupted like wildfire.

Kade's shock morphed into a terrifying, cold fury within a heartbeat. His face twisted, the predator reawakening. "Isabelle!" he roared, taking a step toward me, his hand reaching out to drag me back into his hell.

Before he could close the distance, a figure in shimmering white stepped into his path.

"Kade, stop!" Carla Shaw placed a manicured hand on his chest, her voice pitched perfectly to sound like a concerned peacemaker while her eyes gleamed with calculation. "Not here. Think of the family. Everyone is watching."

Kade halted, his chest heaving against her hand, his gaze burning a hole through her to get to me. "Move, Carla."

While he was momentarily obstructed, a wave of warmth suddenly enveloped my shivering shoulders. The scent of expensive cologne and tobacco—distinctly not Kade's—filled my nose.

I looked up to see Devon Walter, the Underboss of the rival family, draping his tuxedo jacket over me. His expression was tight with concern, completely oblivious to the death warrant he was signing by touching me.

"Let's get you out of here, Isabelle," Devon murmured, his hand hovering protectively near my back without making contact. "You look like you're about to faint."

The sight of another man's jacket on my skin, covering the red dress Kade hated so much, snapped something inside my husband.

"Take your hands off her, Walter," Kade snarled, his voice dropping to a lethal register that made the nearby guests recoil. He shoved Carla aside with zero regard for her delicacy. "She is mine."

"She is a human being, Cameron, not a dog," Devon retorted, his jaw set. He began to guide me toward the exit.

I didn't look back at Devon. I couldn't. I just let him lead me, my legs moving on autopilot. Every step away from Kade felt like tearing stitches from a fresh wound—painful, but necessary for healing.

"Isabelle! You take one more step and I swear to God—" Kade lunged forward, his intent murderous.

CRASH.

The sound was explosive, shattering the tension like a hammer through a mirror. A high-pitched scream pierced the air, followed by the sickening, wet noise of glass cascading onto the floor.

I froze near the heavy mahogany doors and turned back.

Near the edge of the dance floor, the towering champagne tower lay in ruins. And in the center of the wreckage lay Carla. She was sprawled amidst the shards, her white gown rapidly soaking up champagne and bright, arterial red blood.

"Kade!" she shrieked, clutching her arm where a jagged piece of crystal had sliced deep. "Help me!"

Kade stopped dead in his tracks. He looked from me—standing at the exit, wrapped in another man's coat—to Carla, bleeding out on the floor because he had shoved her. The entire room was gasping, phones were out, and the eyes of the New York elite were judging the Cameron Underboss.

He couldn't leave her. Not without destroying the family's reputation completely.

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white. For a second, I thought he would step over her bleeding body to come for me. The hatred and possessiveness radiating from him were palpable, a physical heat wave across the room.

But then, duty won. It always did.

With a guttural growl of frustration, Kade turned his back on me and knelt beside Carla.

I watched him lift her from the glass, his expensive suit staining with her blood. He was the monster who had broken me, now playing the hero for the woman who helped him do it.

A bitter, hollow laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

"Come on," Devon urged gently, his hand firm on my arm.

I turned away from the chaos, from the husband who would never love me, and walked into the cool, dark embrace of the night. I had won the battle, but as I stepped onto the pavement, I knew the war had only just begun.