Chapter 153

Lucas shot Isabella a doubtful look.

The photo was clearly manipulated. He remembered dozing off on the private lounge's sofa after an exhausting poker game.

Someone must have snapped the picture then, but the room had been full of people. There was absolutely nothing between him and Isabella.

Noticing Lucas's hesitation, Isabella rushed to explain, "My phone was hacked! I swear I didn't know about this photo—"

Evelyn's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you think Lucas is stupid? Or do you take the rest of us for fools?"

Isabella bit her lip and stayed silent.

Evelyn turned to Lucas, arms crossed. "The proof is right here. Every problem between you and Claire traces back to her. How are you going to fix this?"

Lucas glanced at Claire, then stepped toward her, reaching for her hand.

She recoiled as if burned.

"Don't touch me!" Claire spat, her voice trembling with disgust. "Just looking at you makes me sick!"

Claire's vision blurred with unshed tears, her chest tight with anguish and resolve. Lucas had crossed a line this time—one she couldn't overlook.

She brushed past him without a word, her heels clicking sharply against the hospital floor as she marched toward the ward. Lucas moved to follow, then halted, his gaze flickering to Isabella still lingering nearby.

Isabella clutched her leg, her voice trembling. "It hurts so much, Lucas. You can't just leave me here!"

Lucas didn't even look at her. "Call a cab."

Her lips quivered. "But my performance is in two days! You promised you'd be there!"

His expression hardened. "We're done."

Isabella's breath hitched. "What?"

The finality in his tone was unmistakable. He was cutting her off—completely.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "After everything I did for you? How can you—"

Lucas lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his cold eyes. "Drop the act. You're the troupe's lead now. You've rubbed shoulders with half the industry because of me. Consider your debt paid."

The words hung between them, heavy and final. Isabella's sobs echoed down the hallway, but Lucas was already walking away, his silhouette swallowed by the sterile hospital lights.

Isabella's face drained of all color.

Nathan exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze icy. "You orchestrated this entire charade, chasing after something that was never yours to begin with. My mistake was letting you believe there was a chance—and hurting Claire in the process. It's time you accepted reality."

His words extinguished the last flicker of hope in Isabella's eyes.

With a curt nod toward Alexander and Evelyn, Nathan turned on his heel and strode back toward the hospital entrance.

Evelyn moved to follow, but Alexander caught her wrist.

"Give them space," he murmured.

She hesitated, worry gnawing at her. Claire had been through enough—what if Nathan made things worse?

Alexander squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Trust me. He might be stubborn, but he's not stupid."

Evelyn exhaled slowly. He was right. If Nathan were truly blind to his mistakes, he wouldn't have just cut ties with Isabella so decisively.

A bittersweet ache settled in Evelyn's chest as memories of their tangled past resurfaced.

Five years ago, Claire Dawson was the prima ballerina, the shining star of the dance company.

Isabella Rhodes had been nothing more than an understudy—a nameless newcomer with no hope of ever taking the spotlight.

That night, Claire had planned to confess her love to Lucas Bennett.

But fate had other plans.

Moments before her performance, she collapsed backstage, struck by a sudden, debilitating illness.

Her confession was left unspoken, and Isabella was thrust onto the stage in her place.

Then, disaster struck.

A rigging malfunction sent heavy stage equipment crashing toward Lucas.

Isabella didn’t hesitate.

She shoved him out of the way, taking the full impact herself.

The injury left her hospitalized for weeks.

From that day forward, Lucas treated her differently—softer, gentler, indebted.

The cruel irony?

Two years later, history repeated itself.

During a solo performance, Claire fell from a great height, shattering her leg.

She and Lucas had just married.

Doctors insisted she recover overseas, far from the pressures of the stage.

But the damage was permanent.

Claire would never dance again.

And Isabella?

She stepped into Claire’s role—and never let it go.