The grand ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton was holding its breath, a collective inhalation of expensive perfume and nervous anticipation. In exactly thirty minutes, Mark Sterling, the city’s most eligible tech CEO and a man I had once shared a cramped dorm room with, was set to marry Isabella. She was a woman whose beauty was undeniable, matched only by the abruptness of her arrival in his life six months ago. She was like a sudden storm—captivating, destructive, and impossible to predict.
