Chapter 135
ISABELLA
I hadn’t stopped laughing since I got home at first light. Not once.
And not the quiet, dignified kind of laugh that fades with time. No—this was the unhinged kind. The kind that bubbles up from somewhere deep in your gut, hijacks your lungs, and shakes your body until you can’t breathe. Wild, involuntary, feral. The kind that won’t let go.
Maybe I was possessed—because the longer I thought about what I’d done, the more the laughter slipped into something manic.
I had walked out of Levi Ferrari’s estate with everything: his shirt, his pants, his boxers, his shoes—God, even the socks. The belt, too. The whole damn outfit. Draped over my arm like war trophies, relics from a night I’d never forget. And the shoes—thinking of the shoes nearly sent me off the bed in hysterics. I could still see myself tiptoeing down that long gravel driveway, holding his entire wardrobe like a deranged fashion thief in the middle of the night.
Now I was sprawled on my bed, body wrecked in the best way—buzzing with soreness, heat, and the remnants of last night’s chaos. What we did. What *he* did.
A sweet, shattering kind of destruction.
I buried my face in a pillow and screamed into it—breathless, high-pitched, half-laughter, half-something else. My body still ached in all the right places. My breasts were tender. My thighs marked. The bruised swell of my ass throbbed where his belt had kissed skin with precision that felt more like worship than punishment. Every inch of me wore his signature.
And I wanted more. More pain. More heat. More of him. Like I was some kind of blessed masochist.
I flipped onto my back and stared at the cracked ceiling of my tiny apartment, heart still racing. A jagged paint line split the plaster like an old scar. But all I could see was Levi—his eyes molten with hunger and rage. His mouth claiming. His voice, wrecked with desire, whispering things that would echo in my mind for a long, long time.
I’d done something insane.
Standing outside the wrought-iron gates of the Ferrari estate this morning, grinning like a lunatic, holding his clothes—it had felt like a fever dream. Matt and Caroline had picked me up. Poor Matt nearly crashed when he saw me—barefoot, hair wild, arms full of Levi’s designer wardrobe like a woman fleeing the scene of an erotic heist.
The estate guards hadn’t stopped me, though they definitely should’ve. They exchanged glances, clearly wondering if they should call someone. *Probably Levi.* But they didn’t. Thank God.
What would I have said?
*Hi, yes, don’t mind me. Just running away after committing a very hot crime. No big deal.*
It was ridiculous.
But underneath the laughter—beneath the adrenaline, the giddiness—was something else.
Panic.
The hysteria was just a mask. A cracked, desperate shield. Because I knew what I did wasn’t just reckless.
It was my only move left.
The only play I could make.
Because after last night—after the sex—I *felt* it. A shift. A spark. Something slipping loose and trying to reattach itself in Levi’s mind. His memories were coming back. I could see it in the way he looked at me after we collapsed. In the way his hands lingered. In the way he held me all night, breath synced to mine, like he’d known me in another life. And maybe he had.
And if his behavior was any indication, he was starting to become *himself* again. *Mr. L.* Possessive. Focused. Dangerous.
I knew he wouldn’t want to let me go—not now. Not after remembering what we were.
And, God help me, a part of me didn’t want him to.
There’s a version of this story where I let him stay. Where I let him hold me tighter, where I stop running and fall into the gravity of him. Where we forget the past and rewrite it with our bodies. Because my feelings for him—whatever’s left of them—are starting to override everything else. And I don’t even know how to stay angry anymore. Not with the way he looks at me. Not with the way he *touched* me.
But then… there’s his father.
And that man? That man is capable of unspeakable things. Twisting lives. Erasing minds. Shattering people from the inside out without ever raising his voice. Knowing what he’s done—what he *could* do—that’s what stops me from surrendering completely.
Because while Levi’s pull is powerful, his father’s reach is *lethal*.
So I had to obey. I had to follow his instructions. I had to pretend I wasn’t unraveling. Pretend I had a choice.
Because this wasn’t just about lust or memory or even love. This was survival. And I wasn’t ready to lose myself. Not yet.
Even though I knew what would happen.
Levi was going to be furious. Maybe worse than furious. I knew him—knew how his anger burned under the surface, slow and merciless. He might never look at me the same way again. He might never speak to me again.
But none of that changed the truth.
I had no choice.
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