Divorce Failed! My Wife's Secret Identities Shock the World novel Chapter 72

Hearing Luka's familiar voice blasting from the speaker, Isla started shaking so hard her whole body trembled.

For a moment she forgot where she was and screamed into the phone, "Luka! You're disgusting, so desperate you'll even sleep with a store clerk—"

The line went dead silent.

The associate looked like she was about to cry. "Mrs. Morales, please, let me explain—"

Isla lifted the phone and hurled it straight at the associate's face.

The associate screamed, staggering back, clutching her nose. "Help! Call an ambulance! She broke my nose!"

No one dared step in. Isla had snapped.

She rushed forward, grabbed the associate by the hair, and started slapping her.

The sound cracked through the store.

In seconds, the associate's mouth and nose were bleeding.

When she realized Isla wasn't going to stop, the associate finally fought back. The two of them clawed and grappled, collapsing into a messy, vicious tangle.

More people flooded in to watch, packing the storefront until it was shoulder-to-shoulder.

Security arrived in a panic and yanked the two women apart.

Both looked wrecked—hair shredded, makeup smeared, jewelry and handbags scattered across the floor.

The associate had it worst. Her blouse was torn to rags, her bra strap yanked loose, skin exposed in humiliating swaths.

Isla hadn't come out clean either—deep scratch marks streaked her face. Whatever movie-star aura she'd walked in with was long gone.

The farce finally ended under security's control.

Everyone's attention stayed glued to Isla and the associate's brawl.

Maeve, conveniently, was forgotten.

After enjoying the show for free, Maeve decided to disappear.

Maeve withdrew the pen and brushed at Carson's jacket as if dusting off something that wasn't there. "Sir. Did I hurt you?"

Carson held her gaze, expression unreadable.

Even with her face mask earlier, he'd been able to tell she was probably beautiful.

Now that she was closer, it was obvious.

Especially her eyes—black as deep water, wide as a night sky, impossible to read.

He and Michael had grown up in the same circles, trained, fought, sparred—rarely met anyone who could outmatch them physically.

And yet just now, the two of them together hadn't been enough.

How dangerous was she, really?

Michael voiced what Carson was thinking. "Miss Vance… did you train? Fighting skills, something like that?"

And that pen—custom-made, always in her hand—didn't look like a simple toy.