Chapter 123
LEVI
The moment we crossed into the grand entrance hall, I felt the oppressive silence close around us, thick with memories I’d spent years trying to bury. The polished mahogany dining table stood at its center like an altar to legacy—majestic, immovable. To the side, the mini bar glimmered under a dim chandelier, a quiet temptation I’d resisted many nights. The double staircase rose on either side in a graceful arc, sweeping upward in a way that seemed to celebrate my family’s legacy—or curse it, depending on how you chose to view it.
My trophies were still there in their glass display, perfectly polished. Awards from years past. Accolades I could barely remember. None of them earned for myself—they were offerings to the Ferrari name. There were no family portraits. No birthday snapshots. No laughter frozen in time. Only victories. Because that was the Ferrari way.
Beside me, Isabella trembled.
The silence unsettled her—like a thing alive, threatening to crack with the slightest touch. As though the walls themselves might swallow her whole. She held her breath. I tightened my grip on her hand in a silent vow. This was my domain. Flawed. Hollow. Cold. But it was mine. And she was under my protection now.
Then I heard it—the familiar rhythm of my father’s polished leather shoes descending the staircase. Precise. Measured. Unrelenting.
Mr. Antonio Ferrari.
The man who ruled not just the household, but my entire future.
As much as I hated to admit it, my pulse picked up. I’d fought a thousand battles to prove I was my own man, but none of them ever seemed to matter when it came to him. His approval—or lack of it—had shaped me more than I cared to admit. And still, I didn’t understand why that year I’d lost... the one year I couldn’t recall… seemed to fracture it even more.
Isabella’s hand tensed again.
I glanced at her, protective rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Whatever doubts she had about this marriage—whatever fear gnawed at her—I would carry it for both of us. She wouldn’t face him alone.
My father stopped at the final step; his gaze already fixed on me. “Levi.”
“Father…” I straightened. “Meet Isabella.”
There was no surprise on his face. Just a tight-lipped, businesslike smile that instantly put me on edge. Almost like he had been expecting us. Expecting her.
I felt her falter slightly beside me, unsure whether to offer her hand or simply nod.
He made the decision for her with a single nod, slicing through the moment with that surgical stare of his. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Lies and flattery. His preferred currency when direct attack was ill-timed. I pressed my lips together. I knew that game too well. I hated it.
But I let the silence hold. Let him speak.
“Please, have a seat,” he said. A command, not a suggestion.
We obeyed, sitting side by side on the sprawling white couch while he took the armchair opposite us, a king surveying his court.
“Dad, I’ve called off the engagement to Jenna.” The words spilled faster than I intended. I paused, unwilling to offer more. “Isabella is the woman I want to marry now. I brought her here to introduce her to you.”
The words hung thick in the air. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath.
But my father didn’t so much as blink. He turned his eyes back to her.
“Who are your parents?”
I felt her shrink under his scrutiny. Naturally, I tightened my grip—a silent warning, a quiet plea to lie if she had to.
But she didn’t.
“My parents died a few years ago,” she said softly. “They were very ordinary people.”
Honesty. I hadn’t prepared for that. Vulnerability, exposed and raw. And for a moment, I squeezed her hand too hard.
Then came the questions. Her education. Her job.
She answered each one, her voice low but steady. A waitress at a bar. Caregiver to her siblings. A degree in public relations.
Middle class—if that… poor…
I tried to intervene. “Father—”
But he lifted his hand, silencing me instantly.
“Let her speak for herself.”
So I fell back, letting her voice fill the room. Trembling at times. Brave at others. And as she spoke, I felt my grip loosen—confused, disbelieving.
And then something strange happened.
My father nodded.
Not in dismissal.
In… approval.
“Young, beautiful women like you,” he said with a sharp smile, “are usually out on the streets selling themselves for money.”
I stiffened, furious. Ready to rise, to protest, to tear the room down if I had to.
But then he added, “I’m impressed.”
I didn’t know what to say. For the first time in years, I was speechless.
The man who demanded perfection from me, who once rejected a girl I loved because her laugh was too loud, was now praising Isabella. Her authenticity. Her simplicity.
It rattled everything I thought I knew about him.
But I didn’t trust it. I could see Isabella didn’t either. There was something unspoken between them—a silent exchange I wasn’t part of.
And just when I thought it might end there, he stood up and offered her a hand.
“Isabella, may I speak to you alone?” Then he faced me. “I hope you don’t mind if I take your fiancée for a short tour. Since she’ll soon be part of the family.”
“For God’s sake, Antonio...” I muttered under my breath. Yes, I minded.
But aloud, I said nothing.
“It’s a reasonable request,” he said calmly.
My pulse kicked up. A thousand ways this could spiral flashed through my mind—each one more dangerous than the last.
This whole performance was delicate. One crack, and it would all collapse.
“Father...” I said quietly, keeping my voice controlled. “Isabella doesn’t like to be apart from me.”
He turned to her then, smile still in place. “Is that so?”
Silence.
The kind that sliced through bone.
He raised a brow, letting it stretch longer than necessary. His eyes flicked to me, then back to her.
“Would you like Levi to hear everything I have to say?”
The question settled like a challenge between them—one I was completely cut out of.
I kept my expression impassive, though the words hit something deep. A test. A pressure point. I was so used to following his lead, so used to letting him choose my paths.
But not this time.
This time, I was the one choosing.
And Isabella... she didn’t let go.
My hand stayed wrapped around hers, firm. I felt her tremble ease just slightly—a silent acknowledgement. Not of safety, perhaps. But of solidarity.
And for the first time since we entered that house, I realized: this wasn’t just an arrangement anymore.
It was war.
And we were going to fight it together.
Or so I thought.
Until she let go of my hand and stood, taking my father’s hand. She smiled at me.
“Father is right, we should get some time to talk.”
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