Chapter Four: A House of Knives
"Can't believe it…" The knock came early… Isabelle hadn't slept.
Standing in the hallway in her robe, Isabelle's eyes felt heavy, heart was pounding stronger than it usually was would.
She already knew who it was… The kind of dread that curled in your stomach didn't need confirmation. She opened the door without checking the peephole.
And there he was again, Reign... All six-foot-something of arrogance, with his black coat placed over the arm, sharp jaw tighter than necessary.
Isabelle noticed that behind him sat two leather suitcases and a briefcase. He looked like a man ready to ruin someone's week.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kraus," he said.
Isabelle didn't move. Her fingers curled around the door edge. "You're not staying here."
"You read the letter," he replied. "You know that's not true."
Her lips tightened. "I didn't invite you."
"You didn't have to. Your sister did."
She stepped aside, not because she wanted to, but because she didn't want to have this fight in front of neighbors. He walked in without another word, dragging his bags across her wooden floors like he owned them.
"Nice place," he said, looking around. "You've got that tragic widow aesthetic down."
"Don't touch anything."
"No promises."
He dropped the bags by the couch and looked around with cold eyes.
Isabelle hated how expensive he looked, like he belonged to a world that didn't bleed. She was always humble with her looks even after billions of dollars profit.
Then suddenly some memories of Charlotte crying after she left him. Of her father slamming files across a desk, swearing Reign's name. Of Isabelle, at fifteen, watching it all happen in front of her…
'Damn you, flashbacks!' She gritted her teeth.
"I'll be taking the master bedroom," Reign stated casually.
"No, you won't."
He turned to face her. "Would you prefer I sleep in your bed?"
"I'd prefer you rot outside."
Reign stepped closer, just enough to make her flinch. "That's not very welcoming."
"I'm not trying to be."
They glared at each other, heat started rising between them like a tide.
His face looked like ice, and hers was fire. Neither one moved now…
Then she walked past him and dragged his suitcases down the hall. Straight to the guest room.
She let them drop with a satisfying noise.
"That room's yours," she said. "Stay out of mine. Stay out of my kitchen. Stay out of my way."
He followed her slowly, hands in his coat pockets. "And yet, I'm still your husband."
She laughed once, dry. "Not by choice."
"Doesn't change the title."
Isabelle turned, and she felt her angriness bubbling behind her eyes.
"You think this is a game? That my sister's death is just some sick inheritance clause you can twist to your favor?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You think I wanted this?"
"I think you wanted something," she snapped. "And you're using Charlotte's grave as a front door."
His face didn't move…Reign also didn't shout. But something stricter slid into his voice. "You think you knew her better than I did?"
"I did know her. She was my sister."
"Then why did she never tell you about my brother?"
Isabelle stopped for a second... Just long enough for him to know it landed.
"Right," he said. "You were estranged. Guess she needed someone she could actually trust."
Isabelle wasted no time and just slapped him.
It was fast, and pretty clean. The sound cracked the hallway…
For a moment, she wasn't sure he'd react. He didn't lift a hand…didn't raise his voice.
Reign's lips only formed a slow smile…
"Feel better?" he asked.
She shook her head and walked away before she did something worse. Like scream…or cry even more…Or maybe both?
The next morning, he was already in her kitchen.
He'd made coffee. Not for her, but just for him. The smell of it filled the air like a mocker.
"Didn't touch your things," he said when she walked in. "I brought my own."
"I don't care."
"You keep saying that. Starting to think you care a lot."
She grabbed a mug and poured herself water instead. She wasn't about to drink anything he touched. Who knew what kind of poison this man carried?
They sat in silence. He was on the counter stool. She was standing by the sink.
Then she said, "You're not staying long."
"That's not what the lawyers said."
Isabelle frowned. "What lawyers?"
He slid a folded document across the counter. "Your sister and my brother made sure this marriage couldn't be undone easily. Apparently, if we divorce, neither of us gets access to the trust or the estate. Not even the kids."
She stared. "They did what?"
"Legally locked us into hell."
Her hand trembled as she picked up the paper. She didn't even read it. She just stared at it like it might burst into flames.
"Why would they do this?" Isabelle whispered.
Reign shrugged. "Maybe they knew we'd need each other to survive."
"Or maybe they hated us."
He smiled again. "Now that, I'd believe."
That night, she moved his bags again.
He moved them back.
She changed the Wi-Fi password.
He reset the router.
She played loud music outside his door.
He knocked on her wall for twenty minutes.
It was war…so quiet, bitter, childish war.
And neither of them could win.
Two days in, it broke again.
They were standing in the hallway, both trying to get to the bathroom at the same time.
"You first," Reign said, leaning on the wall.
"No, you go ahead," she said sweetly. "Wouldn't want you to cry if I take too long."
He smirked. "You're right. You do take your time. All that vanity to cover up the guilt?"
She stepped forward. "Excuse me?"
"Charlotte trusted me, Isabelle. She trusted me with everything. You? She didn't even call."
Isabelle's hand shook on the doorknob. "You don't know anything about us."
He leaned in and decided to lower his voice just out of spite. "I know she didn't want to come back here. Not to this house or your crazy family."
"You're disgusting," Isabelle frowned.
"And you're delusional," he snapped. "You think I'm the villain in your family's story? Look around. Your father's in jail. Your company's gone. And your sister died with more secrets than any of you can stomach."
Silence fell heavier than any collapsing mountain...
She opened the bathroom door and shut it in his face.
She cried in the shower at least for a couple or hours quietly, so he wouldn't hear…
Their wedding was announced at the end of the week, and of course people had their own speculations about this.
Some said she was marrying him for money…others thought their public hate towards each other was just a publicity stunt to get married in a more scandalous way.
But that one percentage…this one damn percentage of people knew something wasn't right…
That night, it stormed.
Thunder surrounded the windows. The wind whistled through cracks in the walls.
Isabelle was awake, staring at the ceiling, counting heartbeats and thinking about the letter.
About Charlotte…About the man in the room down the hall.
'Why him?'
Why the one man she was raised to hate?
And why was her heart racing now, just thinking of him?
She got up, needing water or maybe it was her body telling her that she was in need of some fresh air.
Isabelle padded barefoot down the hall and stopped walking once she saw him near the kitchen's window…
Reign wasn't wearing any shirt, and was casually drinking from the bottle.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He didn't turn. "Listening."
"To what?"
He took another sip. "The house."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course. The haunted billionaire routine."
He finally looked at her, and Isabelle noticed that his eyes looked tired. Or maybe the shadows just made it look like that.
"You feel it too," he said. "Don't lie."
Isabelle refused to answer. She just opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.
When she turned, he was staring, but not in a way she liked. But it was not in a way she hated either.
"Don't look at me like that," Isabelle furrowed her eyebrows.
"Like what?"
"Like you see something."
"I don't. I just heard something."
"Go to bed, Reign."
"You first, Mrs. Kraus."
She turned, walked out.
Neither of them slept that night…the grief of their lost siblings made them both suffer in silence at night.
Isabelle didn't even have time to mourn and bury her sister…it was only tomorrow when the agents would return Charlotte's body after their investigation.
The next morning, his bags were back in the master bedroom.
And Isabelle slammed the door so hard the picture frame cracked.
"Damn you, Isabelle…"