Chapter 144
LEVI
We were supposed to be at the venue already—smiling, posing, playing the perfect couple for the cameras and the clingers. That was the plan. That was the job. At least, it was mine. Most of the guests were there because of me. Isabella had only invited her siblings.
Last night, I’d had the planner call her—just to confirm, one last time—if there was anyone else she wanted to invite. And she’d said no.
“No one,” she’d repeated when the planner gently pressed, assuming it was the short notice that made her hesitant. The planner even offered to arrange a jet, ready to fly in anyone from anywhere. “Even if it weren’t last-minute,” Isabella had said softly, “I still wouldn’t.”
I’d been there when she said it. Sitting across the table from her, pretending not to listen as we finalized the menu for tonight.
And for a second, something hit me—harder than I expected. She really didn’t have anyone else.
A strange sort of sadness curled in my chest. That she had no friends. No extended family. No community. Just her siblings. Just this. Just me.
But then I remembered Caroline and Matt.
Granted, I wasn’t their biggest fan—especially not Caroline—but they were hers. And that counted for something. More than some people had. More than I had, really.
I wasn’t in a position to pity anyone.
Still, I wasn’t walking out of this house without Isabella. Not until she came down those stairs and slipped her hand into mine would I even consider stepping outside.
I stood there, restless, tugging at the cuffs of my shirt. My hand hovered over my phone, about to dial the stylist again—one last time—when I heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate. Graceful. The click of heels on marble echoed down the staircase. First faint, then sharp. Like the ticking of a divine clock counting down to something inevitable.
I looked up.
And forgot how to breathe.
Isabella was descending the stairs like a dream I didn’t know I’d had. Time slowed. My mind blanked. My body froze.
She looked... unreal.
Her blonde hair was swept into an elegant twist, with just enough loose tendrils to soften the look. Her makeup was flawless—subtle, luminous, except for those glittering shadows that turned her gaze into something dangerous. Lashes long and dark, fanning out like blades. Lips painted a red so deep it bordered on forbidden. Bloody. Lush. Tempting.
And the dress.
God, the dress.
It clung to her like it had been poured over her skin. Blood-red silk, liquid and alive, hugged every curve. It bared her shoulders, dipped scandalously down her back, and made me jealous of the very air that touched her. Around her neck glittered a diamond necklace I’d handpicked myself—designed to impress royalty—and the matching earrings caught the light like secrets whispered in the dark.
She looked like fire.
Like temptation wrapped in grace. Like the kind of woman men go to war over. Or betray kingdoms for.
Red. Red was definitely her color.
Her eyes locked on mine as she stepped lower, each heel-strike deliberate, like a countdown to impact. I caught the scent of her before she even reached me—warm vanilla and something darker. Floral. Spiced. It hit my chest like a drug.
I was gone.
Transported. To a world where she ruled. And I knelt.
Whatever grudge I’d been nursing? Gone. Whatever petty punishment I’d been pretending to enforce? Worthless.
I wanted to say something. Anything. But my mouth had gone dry. I couldn’t speak.
If I tried, I would’ve sounded like a boy seeing a woman for the first time. Maybe that’s exactly what I was.
She smiled.
A sly, knowing little thing—just the barest curve of her lips—but enough to mock me. Enough to let me know she knew what she’d done to me.
“You might want to close your mouth, master,” she murmured, her voice light and playful. “Before something flies in.”
Only then did I snap it shut, heat rising to my cheeks as I realized I’d been gawking. Drooling, probably. I was mortified.
But she didn’t let me recover.
“Shall we?” she asked, batting those long lashes—yes, fake, but perfect on her. Like everything else.
I didn’t hesitate.
She was in control now. She didn’t need to say it. She didn’t need to flaunt it. She knew it. And she was enjoying it.
I reached for her hand. It slid into mine—soft, warm, familiar. Like silk. Like something I’d held before in a dream I should’ve run from… but didn’t.
We walked together, toward the car. Toward the flashing lights. Toward the cameras my father had no doubt arranged to catch this “spontaneous” moment of affection. Strategic intimacy. Public illusion.
We were just about to descend the final steps when Isabella slipped.
But I caught her. Instantly.
One arm around her waist. The other steadying her shoulder. Her eyes locked onto mine, the flashbulbs exploding around us.
And then... that smirk.
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