Chapter 40: The Lies He Told

Kristoff did not let her finish.

"But then again," Kristoff interrupted, his voice hard as steel, "if you had any dignity at all, you wouldn’t have sold yourself to me for money in the first place."

The words cut deeper than any slap could. Isobel’s breath caught painfully in her throat.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even defend herself.

He of all people should have known. He knew exactly why she had accepted that money.

He knew the sacrifices she had made.

The desperation.

The impossible choice she had been forced to make.

Yet he stood there looking at her as if she were something dirty. Something beneath him.

The tears she had been fighting finally broke free.

One slipped down her cheek.

Then another and another, until they were like torrents.

Kristoff’s anger evaporated the instant he saw them. His chest tightened.

Isobel quickly looked away, refusing to let him see any more of her pain.

Without another word, she slipped past him.

This time he didn’t stop her. He could only watch as she ran out from the room.

The door closed behind her. And suddenly the silence felt deafening.

Kristoff stood frozen in place.

The image of tears streaming down her face replayed over and over in his mind.

Damn it.!

He dragged a hand through his hair.

What had he just done? Every word he had thrown at her came rushing back.

Cruel and unforgivable.

And worst of all...they were not true.

He did not meant the words he said. He only spoke out anger and jealousy.

The realization settled heavily in his chest.

He pressed a hand against his heart as though it could ease the strange ache growing there.

Why did seeing her with Morgan affect him so much? Why had the sight of them together felt like a knife twisting inside him? Why had jealousy consumed him so completely?

The answer lingered at the edge of his thoughts, one he stubbornly refused to face.

Because no matter how much time had passed...

No matter much he denied it...

A part of him still wanted Isobel. Not beside Morgan. Not with anyone else.

But he wanted her for himself.

And that terrified him more than anything.

...

Back in the ballroom, Charlotte’s smile never wavered. But beneath the elegant facade, unease gnawed at her.

For what felt like the hundredth time, her gaze drifted toward the massive double doors through which Kristoff had disappeared earlier.

He had been gone far too long.

The soft music, the laughter of guests, and the clinking of champagne glasses blended into meaningless noise around her as anxiety slowly tightened its grip.

Then another realization struck her. Isobel was gone for a long time too.

Charlotte’s fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute.

Was it just coincidene or could they be together?

The thought sent a surge of panic through her chest.

"Charie."

Denise’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"Where’s Kristoff? He hasn’t come back yet."

Charlotte immediately forced a smile onto her face.

"He said he needed to take a call," she replied smoothly. "Maybe he stopped by the restroom afterward."

The lie rolled off her tongue effortlessly. The truth was she hadn’t even noticed when he left.

One moment he had been standing beside her, accepting congratulations from guests.

The next, he had vanished. And when she searched for Isobel, she was gone too. She was not sure if it was Isobel who left first or Kristoff.

Charlotte’s stomach churned.

Then suddenly, movement near the entrance caught her attention.

Her heart skipped. Kristoff had finally returned.

Relief flooded her for a brief second before she noticed the storm brewing on his face.

His expression was dark. His jaw was clenched. And he looked as though he had just walked away from a battlefield.

Charlotte’s smile stiffened.

She quickly crossed the ballroom with Denise following close behind.

"Kristoff, you’re finally back."

Her voice was sweet and affectionate as she slipped her hand through his arm.

The moment she drew closer, something caught her attention. Her smile faltered for the briefest second.

Kristoff’s lips were slightly swollen. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But Charlotte noticed.

Her heart skipped a beat.

A cold suspicion slithered through her chest.

Then years of practice took over.

The expression vanished, replaced by the picture-perfect look of innocence and concern everyone expected from her.

"The call took longer than expected," Kristoff said flatly.

His voice carried little interest.

Then, almost unconsciously, his gaze shifted across the ballroom. Toward VIP Table One.

He was searching.

Charlotte followed his line of sight.

Her pulse quickened.

When she saw Isobel was nowhere to be found, she quietly released the breath she had been holding.

Good. At least they weren’t together now.

"Come on," she said brightly, tightening her hold on his arm. "I want to introduce you to some of my classmates from high school. You haven’t met them yet."

Without waiting for an answer, she gently tugged him toward a nearby group of guests.

Kristoff allowed himself to be led away. But his mind wasn’t in the ballroom.

It wasn’t with Charlotte.

It wasn’t with the guests eager to congratulate him on his engagement.

His thoughts remained trapped in that small meeting room.

In the image of Isobel’s tear-filled eyes.

In the way her face had crumpled when he hurled those cruel accusations at her.

The devastation in her expression haunted him.

And no matter how hard he tried to focus on the celebration around him, one question continued to echo relentlessly through his mind:

Why did hurting her feel so much worse than hurting himself?

Kristoff took a slow breath and forced his expression back into place.

He needed to stop thinking about Isobel. She was no longer his concern.

Tonight belonged to Charlotte, the woman wearing his ring.

Tonight was the beginning of the future he had promised her.

Maybe if he immersed himself in Charlotte’s company, he could finally bury the feelings he refused to acknowledge.

Maybe the ache in his chest would disappear.

Maybe he could forget.

But deep down, a part of him already knew he was lying to himself.