CHAPTER 36

I paced back and forth in my tiny living room, my thoughts spiraling out of control. My encounter with Alexander earlier had left me shaken, my emotions all over the place. Anger, longing, disgust, and an odd flicker of hope—how could I feel so many things all at once?

His sudden concern for my baby didn't make sense. This was the same man who practically demanded I get rid of it, who treated me like I was disposable. And now, all of a sudden, he cared? I scoffed at the thought.

He's just trying to clear his conscience, I told myself. Too little, too late.

But I couldn't dwell on Alexander, not now. I had more pressing matters to focus on. My plan to tear his perfect little life apart was finally starting to take shape, but I needed proof. Angelina's dark past was my way in, and I wasn't going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

I grabbed my phone and dialed John. He picked up on the second ring, his voice laced with exhaustion.

"What now, Isabella?"

"I need a favor," I said, ignoring his tone.

He groaned. "Of course you do. What is it this time?"

"I need one of your burner phones."

"What?" His tone sharpened. "Why?"

"I need to contact Angelina. Anonymously."

"Isabella, this is insane. Do you realize what you're doing?"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," I snapped. "I just need the phone, John."

There was a long pause, and I could practically hear him debating whether or not to argue with me.

"You're pregnant," he finally said, his voice softer but still tinged with frustration. "Do you really want to do this? If Angelina finds out—"

"She won't," I cut him off. "That's why I need the phone. Are you going to help me or not?"

He sighed, a long, defeated sound. "Fine. I'll bring it to you tomorrow. But I'm warning you, Isabella—this is a bad idea."

"Thank you, John," I said, hanging up before he could lecture me further.

The next day, true to his word, John dropped off the phone. I wasted no time. Sitting at my desk with my laptop open beside me, I took a deep breath and typed out the first message.

Hello, Angela Whitaker?

I hit send, my heart pounding. I didn't have to wait long for a response.

I think you have the wrong number. I don't know anyone by that name.

I smirked. Of course, she'd deny it. I was counting on it.

Really? Because I know all about your dark past. I know about the Fire that killed your parents and that you were responsible, you fooled the police but not me. And your abortion. I have proof—clinic records and photos taken the day you ended your pregnancy unless you want the world to know.

I stared at the screen, watching as the message sent and the little "delivered" notification appeared. I imagined her panic, the way her heart must have skipped a beat when she read my words.

Minutes ticked by with no response. I drummed my fingers against the desk, my mind racing with possibilities. Was she trying to figure out who I was? Was she debating whether or not to respond?

Finally, the phone buzzed again.

Who is this? What do you want?

I smiled to myself. She was taking the bait.

What I want is simple: money. In cash. Deliver it to the park on Main Street. Someone will collect it.

More silence. I could almost hear her breathing heavily, her mind working overtime to process what was happening. She had no idea who I was, and that was exactly how I wanted it.

Her next message came through after what felt like an eternity.

Fine. I'll do it. But if you're lying about this, you'll regret it.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Of course, she agreed. She couldn't risk someone finding out about her past, especially not someone like Alexander.

I took a screenshot of the entire conversation and sent it to my laptop for safekeeping. The money she'd agreed to deliver was just a bonus. The real prize was the proof I now had.

This was just the beginning. I'd plant the seeds of doubt, and when the time was right, I'd watch everything Alexander and Angelina had built crumble to the ground.

Two birds with one stone. Their marriage, his image, all of it—gone. Angelina would probably expose Alexander if Alexander decided to divorce her after finding out about her past. And when it was over, Alexander would come crawling back to me. He'd have no choice.

I smiled to myself, leaning back in my chair as a wave of satisfaction washed over me.

Let the games begin.