Chapter 122

LEVI
The mansion loomed in the distance—white, grand, and immovable. A fortress of legacy, expectation, and ruthlessness. Every inch of it screamed power and precision. The kind of place where weakness was not only unwelcome—it was devoured.
Beside that monstrosity of wealth and modernity, she looked… small. Too small. Like someone about to be swallowed whole.
And yet, I hadn’t picked her by accident.
She might be trembling now, but I’d seen something else in her—a steel beneath the softness—and I was counting on it to get her through the night. Us.
The driver parked, and I turned to her. Her head was still lowered, shoulders tight.
“All you have to do is let me speak,” I said firmly. “I’ll lead the conversation. In there, you are exactly who I say you are, and nothing more. Do you understand?”
She didn’t look up. Just nodded.
“Don’t talk unless you have to. Nod when necessary. My father will be looking for a crack. A weakness. And right now…” I paused, studying her face, “you’re wearing it all over you.”
Her shoulders tensed again. I hated how visible it was—how easy she’d be to tear apart in front of a man like my father.
“So we wait here for a moment. Breathe. Let your heartbeat slow. You can’t go in there looking like prey.”
Still, she didn’t speak. Just nodded again.
I watched her for a second longer, then turned away, resting my elbows on the door.
I told myself it was about the plan. About control. About protecting the narrative.
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just that.
I didn’t want to watch her fall apart in front of him.
And I wasn’t ready to ask myself why.
“Are you sure you can do this?” I asked, my voice lower now, more careful than I intended.
She nodded.
“Use your words,” I told her, my gaze involuntarily flicking to her mouth.
I swallowed hard.
God help me—I would lose my mind if I didn’t taste it today. That mouth. That defiance. That fire she didn’t even know she had.
The thought dragged me back into the chaos I’d spent yesterday controlling.
“I promise…” I started, then stopped. “This is mere formality. There’s nothing to be scared about. Or else you are hiding something. Are you?”
Now she whipped her head up to look at me.
The driver stepped out and moved quickly to open my door.
“No…”
She said it at once, the cool night air drifting into the car. She held herself tighter, and I could tell she was cold.
I got down from the car and circled it, opening her door. Once she was out, I took off my suit and draped it around her, loving that my scent would be on her.
“Come with me,” I said tightly, offering my hand. “And stop looking like a lost kitten.”
She seemed to still, to stop with the gesture—almost weakened.
My tone came out sharper than I intended. It was meant for me, not her—for the part of me that was slipping.
She took my hand anyway, seeming like a whole different person today. She was scared, afraid, lost. Letting me win all the arguments—almost like whatever silent battle existed between us had become second place to something much more important. Or fearful.
Was this all about meeting my father?
The thought slipped when her fingers fit perfectly into mine. Too perfectly. Like they were supposed to be there.
I closed around them before I could think twice.
“You are what I say you are,” I reminded her quietly. “Let me speak.”
She nodded again, her expression unreadable, but I had a sinking feeling she was going to do whatever she wanted anyway. Isabella was stubborn—that much I’d already learned. And even if she was aloof tonight, it was not a guarantee that she wouldn’t spring up surprises on me inside.
And that’s when the mistake became obvious. The error we’d made by not rehearsing our story before showing up here. This could ruin everything. We were supposed to be aligned, polished, prepared. Now I realized it.
This was supposed to be an arrangement—an engagement designed only to get my father off my back. To force him to hand over the company reins once and for all, so I could finally do things my way. Without interference. Without expectations.
Without ever needing to get married again.
Without ever getting close to another woman after Isabella.
But now, walking beside her toward the entrance, I felt that fragile illusion start to unravel. She walked behind me, her steps slow but steady, her nerves almost tangible.
When I felt her falter, I turned sharply, took her hand again—more firmly this time—and leaned down to murmur in her ear, my lips brushing just close enough to make her breath catch.
“Tonight, you are mine. Completely—soul, body, and mind.”
Her lips curved into a smile. A weak, trembling one that didn’t reach her eyes. But she tried.
The front doors opened just as we reached the last step, and there she was—Imelda. I had expected to see the butler, but it was nice having to see her face instead. She was my favourite. She greeted us with the warmest smile, all warm charm and hovering curiosity. She was too polite to ask questions, but her eyes flicked over Isabella, then to our linked hands, and I could already hear the questions beginning to swirl in her head—especially because just a few weeks ago I had been here with Jenna.
I gave her a curt nod, not even meeting her gaze. She would hear about it all at the right time.
I tightened my grip on Isabella’s hand again and pulled her in behind me, like a prince dragging his reluctant bride into the lion’s den.
Imelda’s brows rose, but she said nothing as the heavy doors closed behind us with a final, echoing thud.
The house swallowed us whole.
And just like that, it began.