Chapter 154
ISABELLA
Goosebumps prickled over my skin, sharp enough to steal my breath, forcing me to drag in a deeper one. The woman in red commanded the room—her gown trailing like spilled wine, her dark shoulder-length hair gleaming under the lights, pale skin luminous against the immaculate necklace at her throat. High stilettos clicked in rhythm, gold earrings scattering glints as she moved toward us, her entire attention pinned on Levi as though he were the only man in existence.
She reminded me so much of Elena—both beautiful, both effortlessly crafted for Levi’s world in a way I never could be. I had read about her the week Levi returned to my life, combing through articles and blogs like a starving woman chasing scraps, desperate to stitch together the man who had once torn me apart. That was when I found her name. She had been his fiancée. But no one seemed to know why they had broken. Every silence in those stories deepened my curiosity, tempting me with questions I had no right to ask. Not with the secrets I was already keeping from him. Not when Levi and I were still circling each other with walls raised, still bristling against the shadow of his father.
And now here she was, close enough to remind me that answers had a way of finding me whether I was ready or not.
Jenna glided toward him, her smile syrup-sweet, her arms sliding effortlessly around his neck as she ignored me completely, acting as if I weren’t even there. Her perfume, sharp and expensive, threaded between us as she pressed herself into his space. His response was automatic, polite—an embrace without warmth, his body stiff as he pulled back almost immediately. The gesture should have reassured me. It didn’t. My stomach still churned. She saw me. I knew she did. She just didn’t care.
I wanted to approach her. To push her away from my man.
*My man?*
Did I even have the right to call him that?
My eyes tracked her every move. Her smile faltered for the briefest second—so small, so fleeting, that anyone else would have missed it. But I caught it. She had sensed his hesitation, the unspoken wall in his posture that told her she wasn’t welcome near him. Still, she lingered, clinging to the moment with a stubborn grace, as if daring him to discard her in front of everyone. Daring him to make a scene.
The room hummed with polite laughter, crystal glasses chiming, violins threading through the chatter. People gathered near the chandeliers, framed by golden light and centuries-old paintings that loomed from their gilded frames. Yet all that elegance was wasted on me. My eyes refused to stay on the art. They gravitated toward them—because I could feel the tension pressing in, tightening, making me question everything.
“I didn’t think you would make it,” Jenna said, her smile flirty-sweet, the lie too transparent to mask.
Even Levi’s expression shifted—just the faintest flicker of irritation. “Why wouldn’t I?” His reply was cool, detached, stripped of warmth.
I forced my attention back to the paintings. Anything but them. But every word between them pricked under my skin, every exchange twisting tighter until my chest felt wired shut.
And then—warmth. Levi’s hands found my waist, strong and sure, grounding me before I drifted too far into my head. My breath stilled. His eyes, however, weren’t on me—they were locked on *her.*
Jenna.
Her gaze flicked to me, sharp and burning. I caught the jealousy there, raw and unhidden, a rage that almost made me smile. My pulse leapt, not from fear but from the intoxicating satisfaction of being the one she couldn’t ignore.
“Meet my fiancée, Isabella,” Levi said smoothly, his voice deliberate.
The words rang through the space, shattering what remained of Jenna’s practiced sweetness. For a heartbeat she stood still, caught between pride and disbelief. Finally, she forced out a brittle, “Hi.” She lifted her hand in a little wave, a gesture so false it looked as if she might slice it off afterward for having betrayed her.
I did not wave back.
She didn’t seem to care. Her attention snapped back to him as if I were no more than a shadow at his side. She wasn’t ready to surrender—not yet. Her posture straightened, her eyes softened into that honeyed, practiced sweetness. A player refusing to bow out of the game.
“How have you been?” she asked, her voice lilting as if the air weren’t thick with tension.
“So much better than I was before I met her. I was miserable. And now…” Levi’s tone dipped, final and deceptively sweet, the kind of sweetness that left bruises. “Now I’m not.”
Before the words could even settle, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to my cheek—casual yet deliberate, the kind of gesture that carried more weight than a declaration. I let the warmth of it linger a heartbeat longer, then tilted my head back toward him. Our lips met, slow and soft, my kiss an answer to his claim.
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