Chapter 155
ISABELLA
For an instant, the world around us dimmed—the chandeliers, the painted ceilings, the murmuring crowd—all dissolved into the hum of blood in my ears and the taste of him. Bliss. Sin. Wine. So sweet it stole the ground beneath me, left my knees weak, my balance unsteady.
His hands burned at my waist, steadying me, anchoring me, and yet that touch sparked a panic deeper than anything I had known—the panic of losing him. It struck me then, brutal and clear: I could not lose Levi. Not again.
I would have to fight for him. Fight for us. Find a way.
When I finally broke the kiss, breathless, I found her staring.
Jenna.
Her face was a flawless mask of composure, lips fixed in a practiced smile, but her eyes betrayed her. Fury simmered there, unguarded and wild, like a storm pressed against glass. She was seething—so tightly coiled I could almost hear the grind of her teeth as she forced herself not to snap.
And for the first time that evening, I didn’t look away.
Levi turned to her then, tongue slipping briefly over his lips as if to savor the taste of me. His gaze cooled, sharp. “And how do you do, Jenna? It’s been ages.”
The words landed like a double-edged question, cutting both ways. Because we all knew—it hadn’t been ages.
Jenna’s eyes darkened, rimmed with heat, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. But the laugh still bubbled up, treacherous, tugging at my lips. And before I could stop it, Jenna’s gaze snapped to me—searing, furious, venomous. Heat crawled over my skin. I coughed, trying to smother the sound, but too late. She knew.
For a heartbeat, I almost pitied her. Until I remembered the way she had ignored me. Dismissed me like I was nothing. She didn’t deserve my sympathy.
The tension wound tighter, stretching until the room itself seemed to pulse with it. I half-expected her to cause a scene right there, to unleash the storm simmering behind her eyes.
But then—salvation.
“Sorry, ladies,” Julio’s voice cut through the heavy air. He stepped into the circle with his usual charm, smile smooth and practiced. “But I need to borrow Levi for a moment.”
He tipped his head politely toward Jenna, but his eyes lingered on her a fraction too long, and I caught it. Not from her—her gaze was still locked hungrily on Levi—but from him. Julio was smitten, though he tried to hide it under that easy civility.
Levi’s hand lingered at my waist, reluctant to leave, but his attention shifted when Mr. Antonio beckoned from across the hall, surrounded by a cluster of men in animated discussion. Julio nodded toward him, and after a second’s hesitation, Levi released me and followed.
And then it was just us.
Jenna and me.
The music swelled, violins gilding the air, but the space between us thickened instantly, sharp enough to slice. The crowd blurred into a smear of color and sound. She turned to me, and I knew her polite façade was about to crack.
Her smile sharpened, shedding all pretense. “So, you’re his new plaything,” she said sweetly, though poison laced every syllable. “Not bad.”
“Sorry?” My tone was even, but a ripple of rage coiled through me, hot and fast.
Her smirk widened. Her eyes glittered with the satisfaction of the strike. “I mean, he couldn’t have me, so he settled for you. Who can blame him? A man doesn’t get me twice. Still—” she tilted her head, voice softening into mock sympathy—“I wonder how Levi can go from having a woman like me… to a woman like you.”
The words hung in the air like venom. I blinked, stunned not by their cruelty, but by the sheer audacity. A moment ago she had been all sugar and charm. Now she bared her fangs—and I realized she had only been waiting for the perfect moment to sink them in.
She extended a hand that dripped mockery. “Jenna. His former fiancée.”
She said it like it was a crown, like the title alone gave her dignity. How pathetic. I almost pitied her—she was obviously unwell.
When I didn’t take her hand, she withdrew it with a smug little smile. “I love the stunned look on your face.”
“All this anger won’t do you any good, Jenna. And I have no intention of fighting you over someone who is already fully mine. Though it’s clear you’re still in denial about that.” I lifted my chin, offering my hand this time. “Isabella. Isabella Ferrari.”
Her eyes widened, her smile cracking into something brittle. She didn’t take my hand.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, turning away. My heels struck the marble with sharp clicks, each step steady despite the thunder in my chest.
Behind me, I could feel the heat of her fury chasing after me—sweet as victory. And it made me smile.
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