My husband’s sister told me I was too fat to stand beside him in public—then Dominic discovered the threatening notes hidden inside my dresses.

The black SUV rode silently through the gridlocked streets of Midtown Manhattan. Inside the leather-trimmed interior, the atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet. Dominic sat beside Isabella, his fingers firmly laced with hers. He hadn't let go of her hand since they left the boutique.

Isabella stared out the window at the passing skyscrapers, watching the reflections of neon signs blur against the glass. The adrenaline that had carried her through the boutique confrontation was beginning to fade, leaving behind a cold, hollow exhaustion.

"You're shaking," Dominic said softly, his thumbs gently rubbing the back of her knuckles.

"I'm angry," she replied, her eyes remaining fixated on the city outside. "I'm angry at them. But mostly... I'm angry at myself."

Dominic turned his body toward her. "Why yourself, Bella?"

"Because I let them do it to me," she said, finally turning her head to meet his gaze. Tears threatened to spill, but she refused to let them fall. "For six months, Dominic. Every time you brought me a dress, every time you asked me to go to an event, I shrank away. When Celeste told me I was too big, that my hips ruined the lines of the designer gowns, that people were laughing behind your back... I believed her. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw because I thought I was ruining your life."

Dominic felt a sharp, agonizing twist in his chest. "Bella..."

"No, let me finish," she said, her voice tight. "I returned those dresses because I thought I was protecting you from embarrassment. I thought if I stayed hidden, if I stayed small, no one would target you for having an 'imperfect' wife. And the whole time, it was a trap. They used my own body insecurity to isolate me from you."

Dominic reached up, placing his palm gently against her cheek. His thumb brushed over her high cheekbone. "Look at me."

She looked straight into his dark, intense eyes.

"You are the most breathtaking woman I have ever seen," he said, each word spoken with absolute, unshakeable conviction. "Not because of a dress. Not because of what society pages say. Because of who you are. When I look at you, I don't see a liability or a flaw. I see my strength. The moment you walked into my life, you gave me something worth protecting. Celeste and Matteo know that. They targeted you because they knew you were the only part of my world that wasn't covered in rust and corruption."

Isabella took a shaky breath, pressing her face into his hand. "They want to ruin us, Dominic."

"They won't," Dominic promised, his eyes darkening. "Because from this second on, we stop hiding."

He pulled out his phone and tapped a speed dial. The call was answered on the first ring by his chief of security, Marcus.

"Boss," Marcus’s deep voice echoed through the car speaker.

"I need full surveillance logs on the townhouse for the past ninety days," Dominic commanded. "Check every camera feed, every staff entry log, and every delivery receipt. Someone took a photograph of Isabella inside our bedroom dressing area months ago. That means we have a breach inside our home."

There was a brief pause on the line before Marcus replied, "Consider it done. I'll have the team sweep the property for hidden devices immediately."

"Do it quietly," Dominic said. "And prepare the security detail for tomorrow night. We are going to the Serrano family dinner at the estate."

"Understood, sir."

Dominic ended the call and tossed the phone onto the seat. He turned back to Isabella. "We need to find out how deep this goes. Celeste couldn't have pulled this off alone. She doesn't have the brains for high-level surveillance, and Matteo doesn't step into the light unless he's certain he holds all the cards."

"What about the note?" Isabella asked, remembering the small card from the purple dress. "Know your place. That wasn't printed like the threat on the back of the photo. That was hand-written."

"It was," Dominic agreed. "And I intend to find out whose pen touched that paper."

Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulled into the gated driveway of their Upper East Side townhouse. The wrought-iron gates swung shut behind them, sealing them off from the street.

As they stepped into the grand foyer, Marcus was already waiting near the base of the winding staircase. He held a tablet in his hand, his expression grim.

"Mr. Serrano. Mrs. Serrano," Marcus greeted them with a slight bow of his head. "We ran a quick preliminary sweep of the master suite while you were en route."

Dominic’s body went rigid. "And?"

Marcus tapped the tablet, revealing a high-resolution wireframe diagram of their home. "We found a micro-camera embedded inside the frame of the full-length mirror in Mrs. Serrano's dressing room. It was battery-operated with a localized transmitter, meaning whoever installed it had to come back periodically to service it or pick up the local signal from a vehicle parked nearby."

Isabella felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Her dressing room—the one place where she felt safe, where she tried on those dresses and cried over her body, believing she was entirely alone.

Dominic’s breathing turned dangerously slow. "Who had access to that room?"

"Only three people outside of you and Mrs. Serrano," Marcus stated clearly. "The house manager, the head housekeeper, and..." He hesitated, looking briefly at Isabella.

"Say it, Marcus," Dominic growled.

"Lady Celeste," Marcus finished. "She stayed over for three days in November while her apartment was being renovated. She had full access to the master wing."