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Watching her crumble, something slammed into my chest.

"Isabella." I approached her, softening my voice. "I know this is hard. But Ruby's innocent. She genuinely didn't know I was your father."

"So what?" Isabella looked at me, pain flooding her eyes. "So what happens now? You stay together? I call her Mom?"

"Isabella, it's not like that. Look at me. No one's asking you to call anyone 'Mom,' but you need to calm down and hear me out."

"No!" Isabella screamed. "There's nothing to talk about. I'll never accept this!"

She turned to leave.

"Isabella." I stopped her, voice low. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to say." Isabella didn't look back. "You two carry on. I don't care anymore."

She slammed the door behind her.

The sound shook the walls. Ruby's knees buckled, and she crumpled onto the carpet, staring at the crushed coffee cups and the spreading stain, like all her strength had drained out.

She was shaking.

"Ruby." I went to her, crouched down, and tried to help her up.

"Don't touch me." She pushed my hands away, voice raw. "Don't touch me."

"Ruby, listen—"

"Enough!" She staggered to her feet, trembling, eyes hollow. "Enough, Marcelo! All of this is enough!"

She stumbled toward the door.

"Ruby!" I caught her wrist.

"Let go!" She fought me, tears streaming. "Please, just let me go..."

Her voice broke with sobs, with despair.

I watched her fall apart and slowly released her.

She lurched out of the office and disappeared down the hall.

I stood in the wreckage of my office, coffee stains still steaming on the carpet, the air thick with the salt of her tears and the cold edge of her perfume. I stared at the empty doorway, right hand clenched into a fist at my side, knuckles white, palm stinging where my nails dug in.

Everything had gone to hell.

Chapter 24

Ruby

The metal elevator plummeted. My stomach lurched into my throat.

I pressed myself into the cold mirrored corner, breath tearing through my lungs like a broken bellows. The woman staring back at me in the reflection looked wrecked—hoodie collar yanked sideways, lips swollen and blood-red, mascara clumped in wet spikes, face drained white as bone.

Isabella's scream still ripped through my skull. "I thought you were my best friend! I told you everything! And you—you were fucking my dad?"

My throat felt packed with broken glass. Even breathing hurt. When I watched her storm away, I couldn't force out a single "I'm sorry."

Marcelo's cedar-and-tobacco scent still burned on my mouth, but now it felt like a brand searing straight into my gut.