Chapter 3
Robert was in so much pain he couldn't say a word.
Ian quickly tried to smooth things over. "Ms. Taylor, don't mind him. Let me walk you out."
Watching Isabella leave, Robert seethed with anger but didn't dare follow her.
If Ian was treating her with such respect, it had to be under orders from the Moore family.
He wasn't dumb enough to provoke the Moore family, so he had to swallow his pride and endure the humiliation for now.
Isabella walked out of the company, feeling pretty pleased, like fate had finally smiled on her.
Even if Matthew was useless, being his wife was enough to ensure she lived well.
Meanwhile, Matthew was reviewing a report from his team, repeatedly watching the surveillance footage of Isabella's kick. A slight smile tugged at his lips, but he quickly pressed them together.
Matthew: [Keep an eye on her.]
His man: [Yes, sir.]
Isabella returned to her hotel, thinking about renting a small apartment. Even if things didn't go well with the Moore family, at least she'd have a place to call her own.
Just as she was browsing listings, a call came in from an international number.
She jumped up and eagerly answered.
"Isabella, are you okay?" The voice on the other end was urgent.
Hearing the familiar voice, Isabella felt a bit more at ease. "I'm fine. How are you doing over there?"
Bianca Taylor was Isabella's younger sister, who had gone abroad for school early on.
Thankfully, she was abroad, so the family's upheaval didn't hit her as hard.
Bianca's voice wavered with a hint of tears. "I'm okay, but I feel so guilty thinking about you facing everything alone. Maybe I should catch the earliest flight back..."
"No need. I can handle it. You stay put," Isabella hurriedly interrupted, not wanting her sister to worry or see her in such a difficult situation.
To ease Bianca's mind, Isabella quickly changed the subject, talking about other things until Bianca was reassured, and they ended the call.
She stared at her phone in a daze until it rang again, this time from an unknown number.
Isabella's heart tightened, and she immediately hung up.
The number persisted, calling over a dozen times.
Unable to take it, Isabella blocked and deleted the number.
Moments later, her phone buzzed with a message from another unknown number: [Isabella, where are you now?]
Isabella's eyes reddened instantly. She read the message several times before resolutely blocking and deleting it.
She would never see him again.
Isabella stared blankly at a photo of her parents on the table, feeling a heavy sadness.
But the mood didn't last long, interrupted by a notification from the Moore family: the wedding was set for tomorrow.
Isabella was shocked. "So soon?"
"Yes, the sooner, the better," replied the Moore family butler.
That evening, they sent over a dress. It wasn't extravagant, barely even a formal dress.
Clearly, the Moore family didn't value her.
Isabella didn't care and didn't want to dwell on it.
The next day, a car from the Moore family was waiting downstairs early to take her to the Moore Manor.
The car was unadorned, as if picking up a regular guest.
As they drove into the Moore Manor, everything looked as usual—no decorations, no extra staff.
Everything was normal, except today she was officially marrying Matthew.
In the hall, a few elders were seated. Before she could get a good look, Ava led her to Matthew's side.
Matthew sat in his wheelchair, looking as indifferent as ever, dressed in casual clothes instead of a suit.
It seemed he didn't like her. Isabella felt a pang of sadness.
But then she thought, maybe it was for the best. At least it was just a business arrangement, and she wouldn't be too troubled.
Following Ava's instructions, Isabella performed the simple ceremony step by step.
Afterward, Ava handed Matthew's wheelchair to her. "Take Matthew for a walk."
Isabella nodded. "Sure thing, Mrs. Moore."
Ava frowned slightly but didn't correct her address.
Since Isabella was half the protagonist today, and pushing the other half, the guests were polite, introducing themselves.
"I'm Matthew's second aunt, Cleo Moore," a glamorous woman introduced herself.
Isabella nodded. "Nice to meet you."
Cleo then introduced a man about Matthew's age. "This is Matthew's cousin, Chase."
Isabella looked at Chase Moore, who eyed her with a mix of scrutiny and malice, reminding her of Robert.
She lowered her gaze and greeted him. "Hi."
Chase stepped closer, smirking. "Hey there."
His oily tone was off-putting.
But in this public setting, Isabella had to grit her teeth and shake his hand, intending only to touch fingertips. But Chase suddenly grabbed her hand, his fingers sliding suggestively over her palm.
Isabella jerked her hand back, looking to Matthew for help, but he seemed oblivious, lost in his own world.
She abandoned the idea that life with the Moore family would be easy.
"I'll take Matthew to rest," Isabella said, using Matthew as an excuse to escape, pushing him toward a corner bar.
"What would you like to drink?" she asked, looking at the array of beverages, forgetting for a moment that Matthew couldn't hear her.
Realizing her mistake, she turned to him, frantically signing.
Matthew watched her flailing hands, sighed, and pointed to a drink.
Isabella misinterpreted and handed him the wrong one, muttering, "What's with your cousin? First meeting, and he's already being inappropriate. Didn't you see him harassing me?"
She knew Matthew couldn't hear, so she was just venting.
Matthew held the drink without sipping it—it was his least favorite flavor.
He looked at Isabella's moving lips, then pointed to a room, signaling her to push him there, away from the meaningless socializing.
Isabella saw his hand gesture and thought he needed the restroom.
"Do you need to use the bathroom?" She quickly set down the drink and pushed him in that direction.
Before they got far, Chase blocked their path, swirling his drink, his eyes roving over Isabella. "Isabella, leaving so soon? The party's just starting, and everyone wants to see the beautiful bride."
Isabella frowned. "Matthew needs the restroom."
"There are servants for that."
"I don't trust them." Isabella didn't want to argue. "Or do you want to see Matthew wet himself?"
The surrounding chatter quieted, guests exchanging awkward glances.
No matter how low Matthew had fallen, mentioning "wetting himself" was too humiliating.
Chase's mockery intensified. He leaned in close, whispering, "Isabella, you know he's a helpless cripple. Why stick with him?"
The scent of his cologne was overwhelming. Chase glanced at the unresponsive Matthew and, under the guise of helping, reached to touch Isabella's waist.
Just as his fingers brushed her, they were abruptly seized.