Dumped By My EX, I Picked Up A Tycoon

Isabella’s POV

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I recognized the couple bathed in the spotlight—a spotlight that should have been mine.

My heart shattered, each beat like a blade twisting deeper, as I watched Damon, the man I’d loved for five years, drop to one knee… for someone else.

And not just anyone.

Giana. My high school best friend.

Like a cliché movie, I was trapped in a miserable explosion of truth before my eyes, and it’s killing me every passing second. My soul screaming for a pause button—for someone, anyone, to see my pain. But the crowd only sighed in delight, lost in the bliss of a moment that had destroyed me.

“Marry me, honey.” Damon knelt on one knee, gazing up at Giana with the same adoration he’d once reserved for me—the same look he’d given me every time his lips met mine.

“Yes!” Giana’s voice was just as sweet as it had been in high school, her radiant smile lighting up the room. That smile had once been my lifeline. Now, it felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

No. No, this isn’t happening.

Damon and Giana? It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be real.

I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp sting a brutal reminder—this wasn’t a nightmare. This was reality.

My thoughts spiraled. Damon had been with me just yesterday. I could still feel his hands on me, his body claiming mine with a desperation that had felt like devotion. He’d devoured me like it was the end of the world—and it was for me now.

I had thought his passion last night was his way of making up for missing our anniversary today. He’d been distant lately—buried in the family business—but I hadn’t questioned it. After all, I never doubted his love. Not when his touch still set my skin on fire. Not when his whispered promises felt like vows.

So what led me here? My vision blurred as I stared at the engraved invitation crumpled in my shaking hand - the cruel summons from Damon's father himself.

[Dear Isabella, You are cordially invited to witness this momentous occasion for our family.]

My chest tightened, remembering how my heart had fluttered when the envelope first arrived. Mr. Sanchez—the closest thing I had to family after my parents died - had personally requested my presence. I'd been so sure this was Damon's doing that his recent distance was just a ruse while he planned some grand romantic gesture for our anniversary.

I'd spent hours preparing tonight—smoothing on the emerald dress Damon loved, fastening the pearl necklace he'd given me last Christmas, imagining his eyes darkening with desire when he saw me. Every brush of mascara, every curl carefully pinned, had been an act of hope.

The surprise came indeed. Just not the one I'd dreamed of. The carefully constructed fantasy of our future shattered like a dropped crystal, and so was my heart.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but their joy only sharpened the blade twisting in my chest. Damon pulled Giana into his arms, sealing their engagement with a kiss as golden ribbons rained down around them. I squeezed my eyes shut—just a nightmare, just a nightmare—but when I opened them, the scene remained.

Cruel, undeniable reality.

Damon had betrayed me. And not with some stranger—with Giana. My best friend. My confidante.

Liar. Bastard. Fury burned through my veins, hotter than the shame flushing my skin. They didn’t get to humiliate me like this. Not while I still had breath in my body.

I surged forward—only for a hand to clamp around my wrist, yanking me back.

Damon’s sister, Daniella, stood before me like a princess in her elegant gown—arms crossed, perfectly arched brow raised. She might as well have been a castle gatekeeper. I’d never been welcome in this family, not when they all saw me as some gold-digging intruder.

“How surprising,” she purred, her smile razor-sharp. “I didn’t think you’d show up.”

I met her gaze head-on. “Save your theatrics, Daniella. I don't have time for your boring game today.”

“Don’t be a killjoy, Isabella," she pitched her voice louder, drawing glances from nearby guests. “Don’t you want to see my brother’s happy ending with the woman he actually loves?” A mock gasp. “Wait—you were dreaming about marrying him, right?”

The crowd’s murmurs crescendoed. Then, like a spotlight swinging onto me, two familiar faces turned our way. Damon went pale. Giana? She lit up like fireworks.

Before I could react, she was sprinting toward me, the champagne flute nearly toppling in her haste. “Belly!” She crushed me in a hug, her joy so palpable it stung.

“You’re here! I was devastated you might miss this!” She pulled back, eyes sparkling. “It’s happening! I’m marrying the love of my life!”

I should’ve been happy for her.

If only that love wasn't for my boyfriend of five years.

I clenched my jaw to trap the tears burning behind my eyes and turned to Damon. His expression was icy, his gaze warning me not to make a scene—but I refused to obey him anymore. I needed answers.

Gently disentangling myself from Giana’s embrace, I forced the words out: "So... Damon is the one you're in love with?"

"Yes!" She beamed, oblivious to the devastation in my voice. "We’ve been together two years. I’m sorry we kept it secret, but it was Damon’s idea—he wanted to surprise everyone!" She clasped her hands, eyes shining. "Look how shocked you are! It worked perfectly!"

"Perfectly," I echoed, my voice cracking.

Two. Years.

Every syllable from her lips was another knife twisting in my chest. Two years of lies. Two years of me playing the fool while they laughed behind my back.

Rage ignited in my veins. I raised my hand, ready to slap the smug indifference off Damon’s face—

A runaway dessert cart careened toward us. Instinctively, I reached for Damon—but he shoved me aside, yanking Giana safely against him as I hit the floor.

The world tilted in slow motion.

The towering wedding cake toppled, smashing onto me in an explosion of frosting and fondant. Icy buttercream splattered my face, my hair, my ruined dress—the crowd’s laughter roared in my ears, sharp as shards of glass.

Humiliation burned hotter than the tears streaking through the mess on my cheeks.

In that moment, I didn’t just want to disappear.

I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

"Oh my God!" Mr. Sanchez's voice cut through the crowd as he rushed forward, concern etching his features. He reached down to help me up, his grip steady despite the frosting slipping between our fingers. "Isabella, are you hurt?"

"She totally destroyed the cake," Daniella drawled, her voice dripping with venom. My hands clenched into fists at my sides - how I longed to wipe that smug smile off her face. She'd always treated me like some unwanted intruder in their perfect world.

"Enough, Daniella!" Mr. Sanchez's sharp rebuke silenced the murmuring crowd. "I didn't raise you to be cruel to our guests."

Guests. The word stung more than the cake now hardening on my skin. After all the past years, that's all I was to them - just another guest. The bitter taste of humiliation flooded my mouth, mercifully hidden beneath layers of buttercream.

Giana took a hesitant step forward, her white dress pristine against my ruined one. "Let me help—"

"No," Mr. Sanchez interjected gently but firmly. "You and Damon are the stars tonight. Mingle with your guests. I'll take care of Isabella."

His kind eyes met mine, and the genuine warmth made me more confused. "Come, let's get you cleaned up." He guided me toward the grand staircase.

Numb with shock, I followed mutely.

"Why did you send me the invitation?" The words tore from my throat the moment we escaped the crowd's hearing. My hands trembled at my sides, sticky with frosting and betrayal.

Mr. Sanchez had been my father's closest friend, my guardian after my parents' tragic death. He'd funded my education, welcomed me into his home, and dried my tears when the world felt too cruel. And he'd known - he'd known about Damon and me. That secret smile when he'd found us holding hands two years ago, the way he'd never objected when society whispered I wasn't good enough for his heir... I'd taken it all as silent approval.

Now his broad shoulders stiffened. When he turned, his sigh carried the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets. "Belly," he murmured, reaching for me like he had when I was a grieving child. "No matter what happens, you'll always be family."

"Don't!" I recoiled, my voice breaking. "You knew we were in lo—"

"Enough!" His sharp tone froze me mid-sentence. For the first time in all my years knowing him, his kind eyes turned flinty. "Whatever promises Damon made don't matter. His wife will be Giana. That's not negotiable."

The floor tilted beneath me. This couldn't be the same man who'd taught me to ride bicycles, who'd tucked me in after nightmares. That beloved face had become a stranger's mask, his parting words—"The maid will bring clean clothes"—landing like a judge's gavel.

Alone in the opulent guest room, I finally understood: every birthday gift, every pat on the head, had been charity. Not love. Never love.

"Miss Belly..." Johanna's gentle voice broke through my numbness. The motherly maid who'd bandaged my childhood scrapes now looked at me with the same worried expression.

I forced my lips upward. "Really, I'm—"

"Child, don't lie to me." Her calloused hands gripped mine, warm against my icy fingers. "There's something you need to know."

When she leaned in, her whisper carried the weight of an executioner's axe. "The Sanchez family has been planning this engagement for two months."

The air left my lungs. "Everyone... knew?" My voice sounded alien to my own ears.

Johanna's eyes glistened. "The entire household. I kept waiting for Master Damon to end things properly with you first, but..." She trailed off with a helpless shrug.

Two months of secret preparations. Two months of smiles and lies while they decorated my funeral pyre. The Sanchez family's "kindness" had been nothing more than elegant cruelty, their affection as carefully staged as this wretched party.

I fled to the bathroom, tearing at my ruined dress like I could strip away the betrayal with it. The silk pooled at my feet, along with every illusion I'd cherished. They didn't want me? Fine. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of watching me beg for scraps of their affection.

Freshly dressed in borrowed clothes that smelled of someone else's lavender detergent, I yanked open the door—and froze.

Damon stood silhouetted in the hallway light, his once-beloved face now the portrait of a stranger.