Chapter 124
LEVI
I felt like a fool and had nothing to say as I watched my father and Isabella disappear into his study. But it wasn’t just the awkwardness that rooted me to the spot—it was the sudden, jarring wave of déjà vu. A sharp, disorienting pull twisted deep in my gut, leaving me unsteady.
The hallway looked the same. Every polished surface, every echo in the silence, every subtle note of scent in the air—oak, aged leather, and something faintly floral—struck too close. Too familiar. My breath caught as my pulse began to race.
I had stood here before.
Not exactly like this, but close. Close enough that my heart remembered what my mind couldn’t. There had been someone else—another woman. Not Isabella. But someone whose presence in this house had ignited something equally volatile. And my father had been there too, arms folded, that same quiet watchfulness behind his eyes.
Her name...
It had been whispered along these walls. I knew it. I could feel it like a ghost brushing past my skin.
But who?
I couldn’t recall any woman who would have left such a mark—at least, not in the life I remembered. Which meant only one thing: I had forgotten her. Willfully or not. And that realization unsettled me more than I could say.
Had I loved her?
My gaze drifted to the television, glowing mutely in the corner behind the armchair. The news anchor’s mouth moved soundlessly as Breaking News flashed in a crimson bar across the screen. But it wasn’t the news that pulled me—it was the sudden, stabbing pain that split behind my eyes.
A flash.
A face.
Laughter.
Red lips.
Shattering glass.
It wasn’t déjà vu anymore. It was memory. A buried one, clawing its way back to the surface. One that left me breathless, just as it had in the car days ago.
I stumbled forward, drawn to the television like it held answers to questions I didn’t even know I was asking.
But before I could reach it, footsteps echoed back through the hall.
They had returned.
Isabella and my father—smiling.
But their smiles were wrong. Too perfect. Too polite. The kind of smiles that weren’t worn, but wielded. The kind people used when hiding something dangerous, something sharp enough to tear lives apart.
I ignored it. Reaching for Isabella, I took her hands—eager, almost desperate to pull her back to me. At my touch, she shivered, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. The nerves were still there. But when I raised a brow, silently asking what happened, she met my gaze with a manufactured calm and pasted on that same practiced smile.
The one I was beginning to hate.
“We’ll be on our way,” I said, voice clipped. “It’s getting late.”
“You won’t stay for dinner?” my father asked, arching a brow. “Imelda made something special.”
“Maybe another time,” I replied evenly.
Isabella turned to him with that same too-smooth smile. They embraced—too naturally. A hug. A kiss on the cheek. Like they were old friends. Like they’d known each other far longer than the thirty minutes I’d watched them speak.
It rattled me. My father had never shown warmth so easily—especially not to someone without pedigree. His acceptance wasn’t just suspicious. It was unnatural.
And it killed whatever flicker of joy I could have felt.
“Remember what we talked about,” he told her, still smiling.
“Of course.” She met his gaze evenly. “I dare not forget.”
He turned to me then. “Levi, we have a lot to discuss before the next season. I’m hoping once this marriage is settled, you’ll have your head back in the game.”
“My head hasn’t left the game, Dad. I’m on it.”
He gave a short nod, and we stepped outside. The tension inside slipped off my shoulders like a heavy coat. The air was cool, refreshing in a way that felt necessary.
Imelda stood at the foyer, watching with a curious smile, but I merely waved at her. Another debt I’d settle later.
For now, I needed answers.
The car waited at the curb, idling. I took the keys from the driver.
“I’ll take her home,” I said.
He nodded and stepped away. I rounded the car, opened the passenger side door, and Isabella slid in silently. I joined her, shutting the door with a soft thud.
And then the anger I’d been swallowing finally surfaced.
“You could have messed up everything,” I snapped, not even looking at her.
She didn’t shrink back. She didn’t flinch. Her arms folded across her chest, and her jaw tightened—not in fear, but defiance. That same flame I’d seen in her during our first meeting was burning again. She looked like someone who had been dragged through fire and walked out standing.
“Now it’s my fault?” she shot back, voice low and brittle. “Tell me—who’s the bigger fool? You, who gave me no instructions? Or me, who told the truth and still got your father’s approval? Go ahead. Tell me.”
Her words hung between us, cutting sharp through the space.
And still, that feeling nagged at me.
That something was wrong.
That somehow, they both knew something I didn’t.
Something I needed to remember—before it destroyed us both.
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