Chapter 6
Samantha
Three days after Ryan's proposal, the Four Seasons rooftop glittered with two hundred of Hollywood's elite.
This was our official engagement celebration—the public spectacle to cement our love story in the media.
I adjusted my custom white evening gown, the engagement ring catching every camera flash. After the confusion with Isabella's identical ring at the party, I'd convinced myself it was just a coincidence. Tonight was about us.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the couple that defines true love in Hollywood!" the host announced, and champagne glasses raised across the terrace.
Ryan squeezed my hand as we stood before the crowd. The doubt from three nights ago felt like a distant nightmare. This is real. This is our moment.
"Thank you all for celebrating with us," Ryan spoke into the microphone. "Samantha taught me what real love means. She's not just my fiancée, she's my soulmate."
'See? He loves me. The ring thing is nothing.'
We were cutting the seven-tier cake when the elevator doors opened with a soft ding. The crowd's chatter gradually died as heads turned toward the sound.
Isabella emerged in a blood-red gown that seemed to drain color from everything around her. My stomach dropped.
She moved through the crowd with predatory grace, photographers automatically swiveling to capture her entrance.
"To the happy couple! May your love be as eternal as... a photograph," she called out, raising her glass.
The ring. She was still wearing that fucking identical ring.
"Is that Isabella Laurent?"
"Why is she here again?"
"Didn't she crash the proposal too?"
Ryan's jaw clenched. "Isabella, what are you doing here?"
My hands began to tremble as she approached our cake table, that same mocking smile from three nights ago playing on her lips.
Isabella positioned herself right beside me, close enough that her perfume made me dizzy. The cameras loved the visual—bride in white, mystery woman in red.
"Beautiful ring, darling. Still matches mine perfectly," she said, deliberately holding her hand next to mine for the photographers.
My throat constricted. "Ryan said it was a coincidence..."
"Did I?" She pulled out the limited edition Leica—Ryan's Leica that he'd claimed was broken. "And this camera, still taking such intimate photos. Would you like to see the latest ones?"
'No. Not here. Not in front of everyone.'
"I don't understand what you're implying..." My voice came out strangled.
"Oh, you want to see the photos Ryan took of me? They're quite artistic..." Isabella's fingers danced over the camera's display screen.
Before I could stop her, she angled the camera toward the surrounding crowd. Crystal clear images of Ryan and Isabella—intimate, passionate, her wearing nothing but my engagement ring. The timestamps read from yesterday. This morning.
This fucking morning.
"Stop it! Stop lying! He loves ME! We're engaged!" The words ripped from my throat.
Isabella's laugh cut through the party noise. "Are we though? Check the date on these photos, sweetie."
The knife from cake cutting lay gleaming on the table. My vision went red.
"I'll cut off that hand! You don't deserve to touch his camera!"
Everything slowed to a nightmare crawl.
Isabella deliberately stepped forward as I raised the knife, pressing her wrist against the blade just as every camera in the room flashed. The cut was shallow but perfectly positioned—blood immediately bloomed across her pale skin.
"Help me! She's trying to kill me!" Her scream shattered the night air as she collapsed dramatically into Ryan's waiting arms.
Chaos erupted. "Call 911!" "She's bleeding!" "This is insane!"
I stood frozen, knife still in my hand, watching blood drip onto the white cake, onto my white dress, onto everything that was supposed to be perfect.
Ryan cradled Isabella against his chest, his eyes blazing as he looked at me. "Baby, are you okay? Don't worry, I'll protect you."
Then his voice turned to ice. "You're fucking psychotic! I can't believe I thought I loved you!"
"Ryan... I'm your fiancée... How can you..."
But he was already whispering comfort to Isabella, playing the protective hero for the cameras.
Paramedics arrived with police close behind. Every angle had been captured, livestreamed, uploaded.
#EngagementNightmare was already trending.
"Ma'am, witnesses say you attacked Miss Laurent with a knife?" The officer's tone was clinical.
The guests were already spinning their stories:
"She was completely out of control!"
"Poor Isabella was just congratulating them!"
"I always thought she was unstable."
I tried to explain about the photos, the rings, the three years of deception. But my voice was lost in the chaos of sirens and clicking cameras.
"Hollywood engagement party turns into bloody nightmare..." the reporters were already writing their leads.
After Isabella was wheeled away with Ryan holding her hand, after the police finished their questions, I stood alone in the hotel parking lot.
The engagement ring felt like a weight around my finger—this ring that meant nothing, that was just one of a matching set.
"I'm sorry everyone... I just... I love him so much... I couldn't control myself..." I whispered to the empty air.
A reporter approached with her camera still rolling. "Miss Rodriguez, do you regret attacking Miss Laurent?"
I looked into the lens, seeing my reflection—mascara streaked, dress bloodstained, dreams murdered.
"I regret... believing in fairy tales."