He Chose His Ex, I Chose Vengeance

Isabella POV:

The whispers followed me like shadows, clinging to my skin. I kept my face a placid mask, my posture straight. Let them talk. Their words couldn't hurt me anymore.

The party reached its crescendo when a servant brought out a sky lantern. Sofia clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, Gio! It's beautiful. Let's make a wish together."

They held the lantern between them, their heads bent close. "I wish," Sofia said, her voice carrying in the quiet night, "that we can be together like this, forever."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with adoration. "Kiss me, Gio," she whispered. The guests around them started to cheer, a chorus of "Kiss her! Kiss her!"

Giovanni's eyes flickered toward me for a fraction of a second, a hint of conflict in their depths. But the pressure of the crowd, the weight of Sofia’s expectant gaze, was too much.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

It wasn't a hesitant, polite kiss. It was deep and hungry. A kiss that spoke of years of pent-up longing. I saw his hand tighten in her hair, pulling her closer.

I couldn't watch. I turned away, the image burned into my mind, and started walking toward the darkness at the edge of the garden.

"Going somewhere, Isabella?" a sharp voice cut through the air.

I stopped. A group of Sofia’s friends, women I barely knew, had surrounded me. Their smiles were predatory.

"It's over," the leader, a redhead named Chloe, said with a sneer. "Can't you take a hint? Their love is fate. You were just a placeholder."

"You should leave quietly," another one added. "Don't make a scene. It's pathetic."

I said nothing. I tried to walk past them, but they blocked my path.

"Look at you," Chloe taunted, her voice dripping with venom. "So calm. You think you're better than us? Giovanni used to write Sofia poetry. He flew to Paris for a day just to buy her favorite macarons. He never did anything like that for you."

Her words were meant to be daggers, but my heart was already numb.

"He's done with you," Chloe hissed, her face close to mine. "And so are we."

She shoved me hard. I stumbled back. Another girl grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing tray and dumped it over my head. The cold liquid streamed down my face and soaked the front of my dress. Then, strong hands grabbed my arms and dragged me toward the ornamental lake at the edge of the property.

They threw me in.

The icy water shocked the air from my lungs. It was deeper than I expected. My heavy dress pulled me down, tangling around my legs like a shroud. I kicked and struggled, my head breaking the surface for a moment.

Through the splashing water, I saw Giovanni. He had seen the commotion. His eyes were wide with alarm. He started running toward me. For a second, a tiny, stupid flicker of hope ignited in my chest.

Then Sofia screamed. "Gio! Help! I slipped! My ankle!"

She was on the ground by the lake's edge, clutching her leg, her face a mask of pain. It was a lie. A blatant, manipulative lie.

Giovanni stopped dead. He looked from me, drowning in the lake, to Sofia, crying on the shore.

He hesitated for only a heartbeat.

Then he turned his back on me and ran to her.

The last thing I saw before the dark water closed over my head was the sight of Giovanni lifting Sofia into his arms and carrying her away from the lake, away from me.

I woke up in a hospital bed. The harsh smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils. A nurse told me one of the estate guards had pulled me out. I had almost drowned. My heart had stopped for nearly a minute.

Giovanni visited once, for five minutes. He stood by the door, looking uncomfortable. He said he was glad I was okay and that he had to get back to Sofia, who was deeply traumatized by the "accident."

The next day, Sofia herself came to see me. She brought a bouquet of cheap carnations.

"I'm so sorry about what happened," she said, her expression a perfect blend of innocence and concern. "Chloe and the others told me it was just a silly prank that went too far. They didn't mean for you to get hurt."

A prank. They called nearly killing me a prank.

"Don't worry about it," I said, my voice flat.

She perched on the edge of my bed, chattering away. "So, tell me more about your new fiancé, Dom. He seems so serious all the time."

"He is," I said.

She sighed dramatically. "It's so different with Gio. He's so passionate. I remember one time, he got into a fistfight with another guy just for looking at me for too long. He loves so fiercely." She smiled, lost in a happy memory, a memory that was a lie.

Her words were a confirmation of what I already knew. Giovanni was capable of a deep, all-consuming love. He just hadn't felt it for me.

"It's a shame I can't remember the accident," she said, her expression turning thoughtful. "Gio refuses to talk about it. Says it's too traumatic for me." She leaned closer. "What really happened that day, Bella?"

The question hung in the air between us. This was my chance to tell her everything. To shatter her perfect fantasy.

Before I could answer, the door swung open. Giovanni stood there, his face tight with alarm.

"Sofia, the doctor is here to see you," he said, striding into the room. He shot me a look, a clear, silent warning. Don't you dare.