His Greatest Sin

Julian and my father both looked at me in surprise.

"I'll do it," I repeated, my voice steadier than I felt, looking at Julian. "I'll marry you. For the good of my family... and for a new beginning for myself."

A brilliant smile lit up Julian's face. "Isabella, you won't regret this."

"I hope not," I managed a weak smile.

An hour later, Julian left, looking pleased. My father immediately got on the phone, preparing to announce the news.

I sat in my room, staring at the engagement ring Julian had left on my finger—a three-carat pink diamond, exquisite and beautiful.

Maybe this was a new beginning.

Maybe I could forget Dante Moretti, forget all the pain, and start a new life with a man who seemed to truly care.

Meanwhile, across town, Dante was with Clara at Verona's most exclusive boutique.

Clara emerged from the dressing room in her fifth outfit, a pale blue silk gown. She twirled in front of the mirror. "Dante, what do you think of this one?"

"It's beautiful," Dante replied, his eyes scanning the street outside.

"What are you looking at?" Clara asked, noticing his distraction.

"Nothing." He pulled his gaze back to her. "If you like it, we'll take it."

Just then, Dante's phone rang. It was his right-hand man.

"Boss, did you hear?" the voice on the other end was frantic.

"Hear what?"

"Isabella Rossi… she's engaged."

Dante felt his heart stop. "What?"

"They just announced it. She's marrying Julian Torrino. The wedding is in one month."

The phone slipped from Dante's hand and shattered on the marble floor.

"Dante?" Clara looked at him, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

Dante just stood there, a roaring in his ears.

Isabella is getting married.

To Julian Torrino.

"It's not possible," he mumbled to himself. "It's a trick… she's just trying to get to me…"

But deep down, he knew.

Isabella Rossi didn't play cheap games.

She was really going to marry someone else.

She was really going to be gone. Forever.

"Dante!" Clara was shaking his shoulders. "What is wrong with you?!"

Dante looked at his reflection in the mirror—a pale, hollow-eyed man who looked nothing like the cool, composed Moretti heir.

And in that moment, he understood.

He had made a terrible, irreversible mistake.

One month later.

Today was my wedding to Julian.

Sunlight poured through the windows of the Rossi estate, glinting off the white Vera Wang gown, the champagne-colored roses, and the Swarovski crystal decorations.

Unlike the disaster a month ago, there would be no surprises today.

I stood before the mirror, the pearlescent silk of the gown fitting me like a second skin.

"Ma'am, the guests have arrived," my maid, Maria, whispered. "Mr. Julian is waiting for you downstairs."

I nodded, but as I turned to go, a commotion erupted outside the estate gates.

Through the window, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

Clara. On her knees in front of the iron gates, dressed in a simple black dress, her hair a mess, her face pale and drawn.

Worse, a crowd of reporters and onlookers had gathered, cameras flashing, microphones extended.

"Dammit." I gathered my skirts and hurried downstairs.

Julian was in the living room, talking with some business associates. He saw my face and was by my side in an instant.

"What is it?" he asked in a low voice.

"It's Clara," I took a deep breath. "She's kneeling at the gates. With a pack of reporters."

Julian's blue eyes turned sharp as ice. "What is she playing at?"

I didn't answer. I just walked outside.