Page 59 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"I didn't strip," she said quickly. "Maybe you didn't notice—last night I wore a slip. The strap slid down. I only cared about getting us in the same frame. I didn't think the angle would look like that."

I replayed last night. My head had been full of the video. I hadn't paid attention to what she wore.

"Then why did Elena get it?"

"I meant to save it in a private album. My head was killing me. I hit the wrong contact." She thrust her phone at me. "By the time I realized, it was already sent. I couldn't take it back. I deleted the original, cleared the recently deleted. Check."

I took her phone. The photo wasn't there.

"I know it sounds insane," she kept going. "But I swear I didn't do it on purpose. Once she read it, I didn't know how to explain without making it worse. Kiryan, I wouldn't deliberately destroy your marriage."

"You should've told me first."

"I was scared." Her voice shook. "This morning she called. I even told you to answer. But the second you saw her name, you changed. I shouldn't have talked about her at all."

She wasn't lying. She had told me to pick up when Elena called. And I'd been drowning in that sour, grinding mood. The more she insisted the mistake wasn't Elena's, it was hers, the more I snapped. So I'd hung up.

"I'm sorry." Isabella forced back tears when I didn't respond.

She turned and went into the bedroom, came back fast dragging a suitcase, and started shoving the clothes off the couch into it.

"Wha're you doing?"

"Packing."

"You're leaving New York?"

"The photo already made Elena think the worst," she said, head down. "If I stay, you two would keep fighting. I should go. Maybe it's better for everyone."

The fire in me lost its footing, little by little.

If Isabella had been trying to wreck my marriage, she would've cornered me, made me choose. She wouldn't have packed a bag and offered to disappear.

I pressed a hand down on the suitcase. "Stop."

"But Elena will be furious. She thinks I'm trying to steal you."

"That's mine to handle. You don't have to go."

"Then what about Elena?"

"If someone has to leave," I said, "it won't be you."

The moment the words landed, I expected relief. Instead, my chest sank heavier, like I'd just cut something loose with my own hands.

Isabella stood and wrapped her arms around me, cheek against my chest, holding tight.

"I thought you'd never be on my side again."

I didn't hold her back.

I'd just decided to believe her, but Elena was my wife. Elena's voice—crying, begging me to stay—still rang in my ears. If I hugged another woman right now, no excuse in the world would keep me from crossing a line that was mine to guard.

I peeled Isabella's hands off and stepped back, putting the right distance between us. She looked thrown, but she didn't push.

"Since I don't have to leave," she said, wiping her tears and forcing a smile, "could you go out with me? That riverside place we used to go to. We won't talk about anything. We just eat."

I should've said no. But I'd barged in, accused her, and practically shoved her into packing.