"You didn't build this empire alone, Gabriel," Isabelle said, her voice chillingly quiet. "I didn't just sew your dresses. I bought your first factory. And I did it without ever letting you know, because I knew your pride couldn't bear to be saved by a woman."
The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. The entire narrative of my life—the self-made billionaire, the visionary who rose from the gutters of New York, the titan who had grown so grand he could look down on his quiet wife—shattered into ten thousand pieces.
"Isabelle..." I choked out, looking up at her through a blur of realization.
Before I could speak another word, her phone rang. She looked at the display, and for the first time that evening, the cold stillness in her face softened into genuine warmth. She picked it up.
"Julian," she said softly into the receiver. "Yes... I'm almost finished here. I'll meet you downstairs in ten minutes."
