Marrying My Cheating Fiance's Ruthless Uncle

Isabella POV

The brief summer storm had turned the Trinity College shooting range into a miserable pit of wet earth. My resolve from yesterday was currently drowning in the mud beneath me.

Damon’s cruelty was calculated. To break the aristocratic pride of the girls, he had ordered fifty standard push-ups in the muck. Any failure was met with immediate punishment. It was a brutal filtration of the weak, and my body was failing me.

My arms, still screaming from the weight of the Springfield rifle, gave out completely at fifteen. I collapsed face-first into the cold mud, gasping for air, my muscles burning with a pathetic, agonizing fire.

Valentina Mendoza, who had completed her set with infuriating ease, sauntered over. The tip of her expensive leather boot nudged my trembling arm.

"Look at our future Mrs. Falcone," she sneered loudly, making sure her voice carried over the heavy breathing of the other girls. "Not even fit to be a Soldier's wife. With stamina like this, how will you ever please your... uncle?"

She dragged out the word 'uncle', lacing it with venomous implication. A chorus of muffled giggles erupted around us.

Humiliation burned hot in my throat, choking me. "The ground is too soft here!" I snapped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

It was a pathetic, weak defense, and Valentina knew it. She threw her head back and laughed, a sharp, triumphant sound.

Before she could twist the knife further, Damon’s voice cut through the damp air. He hadn't moved from his position, his storm-blue eyes entirely devoid of pity.

"Isabella Rossi," he commanded, his tone absolute. "Twenty more."

The public execution of my pride was complete. I bit my lip, tasting mud and copper, and forced my trembling arms to push my chest off the ground. Through the haze of my exhaustion, I caught sight of Kianna Falcone standing a few feet away. She wasn't laughing. Her dark eyes were fixed on Valentina, her brow furrowed in unmistakable disgust. The unbreakable alliance of the elite girls was fracturing.

By evening, the mud was washed from my skin, but the sting of Damon's punishment lingered. I needed an outlet. I needed a victory, however small. Grayson was the perfect target.

According to my friend Alice, my little "food poisoning" plan had left him bedridden. I had no idea he had nearly died from anaphylactic shock—I only knew he was suffering, and I wanted to witness my masterpiece. I wanted to play the devoted fiancée, twisting the knife of his misery.

Carrying a silver tray with a bowl of clear broth, I approached the opulent Art Deco doors of Grayson’s wing with my maid, Gina. The air in the corridor smelled sharply of antiseptic and stale cigars, a stark contrast to the usual scent of expensive cologne.

Leo, Grayson’s stoic valet, stepped into the doorway, blocking my path like a stone wall.

"Miss Rossi," he said flatly, his face a mask of professional indifference. "The young master says he doesn't want to see anything 'unclean.' Especially you."

I forced my eyes to widen, summoning a sheen of unshed tears. "But... I made this broth myself," I whispered, my voice trembling perfectly. I pressed the tray into Leo's hands, looking up at him with desperate innocence. "Please, just make sure he drinks it. He needs his strength."

I turned away, letting my shoulders slump in mock defeat. But the moment my back was to Leo, the tears vanished, replaced by a cold, triumphant smile.

Later, in the safety of my room, Gina brushed out my damp hair.

"He went mad, Miss," she whispered, her eyes wide with residual shock. "I lingered in the hall. I heard him screaming and throwing things. He told Leo to dispose of the soup like a plague."

I smiled at my reflection in the vanity mirror. Perfect. Grayson’s hatred and fear were exactly what I needed. He was terrified of me, disgusted by me.

"Let him scream, Gina," I murmured, tracing the edge of my vanity. "The more he hates me, the faster he'll break the engagement himself. We just need to figure out how to use this new attitude of his to our advantage."