IMOGEN'S POV
It was not the sun that roused me up. It was the incessant buzzing that came from the front door.
In my sleepy state, I hoped whatever was making the alarm yell would just die. I hadn't slept till past three in the morning and now I was dealing with a bad migraine and a sore face.
Whoever was hitting that button however seemed to enjoy the torture they were putting me through because I eventually got off the bed and marched to the front door, prepared to have them taste a little bit of what I was going through.
However, the second I opened the door to their face, I was met with a pretty smile from the kindest woman I had ever seen.
"Breakfast," the woman said, pushing a trolley towards me.
I looked at the trolley in question. All the dishes were covered. Probably a part of the five-star treatment we were to receive but I could smell toast and my stomach growled in response.
"Thank you," I managed, shocked at how downcast and strained my voice sounded as I made way for the woman to push the trolley inside.
I watched her make her way to the dinner table that I hadn't even had the time to notice yesterday and dropped all the plates she had on the table. She then proceeded to push the trolley away from the table.
"Once you are done with the food, you can drop the dishes in the trolley and leave it outside." She informed me before bowing curtly and going on her way.
I followed her back to the door and shut it from my end once she was out.
I sighed again and made my way to the table. I needed my strength at least. Part of the reason for my body weakness and the overwhelming migraines aside from the obvious was that I was working on an empty stomach.
Looking back at the gown I had tossed on the floor somewhere, I cursed out loud. All that time looking good for nothing.
Today, I intended to just focus on getting myself together. When I was strong enough, I would call Elijah and ask him how the divorce papers were coming up. The bastard would also have to make a press conference defending my honour because there was no way I was walking around with shame like I had done something wrong.
I opened the first dish to get my hands on the toast when I noticed the girl had also dropped a rolled-up newspaper.
I let out a light chuckle before picking up the paper and unwrapping it.
The first thing to catch my eye in the morning paper was the headline written in bold red.
The bride that never was. In all capital letters.
The picture was what did the damage it felt like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from my lungs.
There I was, captured in a moment of raw despair, my wedding gown clinging to me as rain poured down, mixing with the tears streaming down my cheeks. It was a scene from yesterday, a moment I had thought was private, a moment I had hoped to forget.
But now, it was splashed across the newspaper for all to see.
"The bride that never was?"
I felt the colour drain from my face as I stared at the snippet written in smaller letters just beside the printed mess that was the picture of my face.
"Trouble in paradise. Imogen Rossi, the new addition to the Rossi dynasty abandoned by her husband on her wedding night."
There was no more thugging it out. I screamed because the weight of it all crashed down on me.
The shame and humiliation washed over me in waves.
Who would do this? How could they do this to me? How could they expose my pain for the world to see?
Tears blurred my vision as I clutched the newspaper to my chest, feeling as though my heart was being ripped apart all over again. The memories of yesterday flooded back, the humiliation of being left in front of a hotel like some cheap whore, the agony of realizing that the man I loved was never mine. And now, to have it all laid bare for the world to see...
Everyone knew now. The secret I had tried so hard to keep from my mother was now out in the open. She must have gotten a heart attack seeing the headlines. If the shame from the insidious rumours that people would spread from this didn't kill her first.
***
ELIJAH'S POV
"You look beautiful, Mi Cielo," I whispered in Deborah's ear as I pulled her closer to me.
I liked how thin she was. I liked how her skin prickled when I whispered in her ear. Nothing could come close.
"I know I am beautiful. I will also make a beautiful bride too," she told me, turning so she could face me. "I let you get married to that woman because you said that it was necessary but that is done now, isn't it? You can divorce her and just marry me."
"Deb, it's only been a day. Not only will my parents cut me off the will, the media will lynch me. Be patient love. All good things come to those who are patient."
I was going to go for a kiss again when the telephone rattled insistently on the bedside table where it sat. With a sigh, I extricated myself from her grasp and reached for the phone, expecting another mundane message or perhaps a reminder of some trivial appointment.
The second I placed it in my ear, I heard a shrill yet familiar voice.
"You fool!"
She was mad and the reason could only be because of her perfect project, Imogen.
"Mother," I greeted her, my voice carefully neutral.
"Elijah, darling," she replied, her tone switching to that of concern. "Have you seen the news? They're saying that Imogen is the bride that never was. I understand you were against this marriage but dumping your wife in a hotel when all eyes are on you and just when your father is about to step down from his position is foolishness. Is that how much you despise this union?!"
"Mother, what are you talking about? I did not abandon Imogen. I simply–"
"Save your lies for your whores, insolent brat and fix this. The second your father has to put an end to this madness for your sake, know that you are done for."
My heart sank as her words registered. Imogen... The mere mention of her name was enough to send rage pumping through my blood.
"There are no lies. I understand what I stand to lose if I don't act accordingly. I would never jeopardise that. Whatever the papers are saying, it is a Iie," I forced from clenched teeth, my voice faltering slightly despite my efforts to remain composed. "I'll look into it and get back to you, Mother."
With that muttered excuse out in the wind, I ended the call.
"What happened?" Deborah asked.
I ignored her. My mind was currently racing with a whirlwind of emotions. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.
I immediately put in a shirt and stepped outside onto the balcony, I took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, my gaze drawn instinctively to the rolled-up newspaper resting on the floor.
With trembling hands, I tore it open and scanned the front page while my heart hammered like a caged wild bird in my chest.
And there it was, in bold red letters that seemed to mock me from the page: "The bride that never was."
Beneath the headline, a photograph captured Imogen in a moment of raw vulnerability, her tear-streaked face looked hauntingly beautiful even in her distress. Had to be camera magic.
It was the scene from yesterday. A scene that should have remained private. But now, it was splashed across the front page of every newspaper in the city, for all the world to see with the aim of making me the villain.
Only one person would come at me in this insidious manner. I looked to the top right corner of the paper and almost chuckled.
The Portland informant.
Isaac's paper. Of course, he would be the one to do this.
"A bastard is always a bastard even if they are dressed in fine clothes."