es was the last th

metal, the shatter of glass, and

a mangled wreck on the Brooklyn Bridge. We were on our way to the mediator's of

h coming in ragged gasps. Blood tr

, and she whispered, her voice a g

d do it al

were slo

ulian... lived a real art

ss hours on Wall Street to fund her dream gallery, the blue-collar ki

starving arti

aching emergency vehicles swam in and out of fo

I bl

The low murmur of polite conversation buzzed around me. I was standi

party. The Hamptons co

s the room and saw Isabella, radiant in her white dress, la

dified, a commotion eru

li

jeans, a wild look in his eyes. He cut a path through t

uddenly silent ballroom. "Don't do this. Don't th

with me. Live a life of passion, of real

first life, Isabella had looked mortified, cl

time was

ulian to me, a strange mix of recognition a

ky breath and

, her voice trembling b

ing from her finger. She didn't even look at me. Sh

twisted metal ring from his pocke

ng near the back, looked like they wa

choice. And this tim