Chapter 157
ISABELLA
I took one more look at him and swallowed, the weight of his stare pressing against me like a dare. One—I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Two—I didn’t trust his intentions. The way he lingered, circling me with his eyes as though I were prey, made every nerve in me flare in warning.
And the fact that it was Mr. Antonio’s idea that we come here did not sit well with me.
So I did the only thing that felt right. Setting my glass down, I seized the opening.
“No,” I said evenly, my tone sharper than my smile. “I’m with my fiancé.” Then I looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t think he would appreciate it.”
Something flickered across his face—surprise first, then intrigue. His smirk sharpened, a wicked curve that made his eyes gleam with mischief. I could tell he wasn’t the kind of man who heard no as a rejection. To him, it was simply a starting line.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t talk now, does it?” His voice oozed amusement. “It’s a party, after all. We’re meant to make friends and enjoy ourselves.”
The old me would have folded beneath that challenge, cowering, apologizing, perhaps even trying to laugh it off. But tonight, I felt different. In fact, I had felt different for a long time—slowly evolving.
My spine straightened, and the audacity of his persistence almost amused me.
I leaned back, my polite smile cooling into a bored, uninterested expression. “I’m pretty sure Levi Ferrari doesn’t like to share his wife’s attention.”
His smirk faltered. At the weight of Levi’s name, arrogance drained from his features, and nervous laughter tumbled out, thin and unconvincing.
“Oh… I’d better back off then.”
“Yeah.” My smile sharpened into something cutting, tinged with satisfaction. “That would be great.”
For the first time that evening, the balance shifted. For a fleeting moment, I felt a spark of control in a world that was not mine. Using Levi’s name was a weapon—heavier than I had realized. First with Jenna, now with Julian. The mere sound of it was enough to silence, to disarm.
I felt the thrill of it, of what it meant to be Mrs. Ferrari. It wasn’t just a title. It was a pedestal. A shield. And maybe—if I was being honest—a cage too.
Julian muttered something about seeing me around before slinking off, careful not to catch Levi’s eye across the room. I watched him disappear into the crowd, pulse thrumming with exhilaration. A smile tugged at my lips, as if some small part of me wanted to bask in the moment before the chaos in my mind and chest inevitably returned.
I was still smiling when it happened.
A waiter stumbled into me, tray tilting violently. Crystal glasses clattered, red wine splattering across my dress in a sharp, wet bloom.
“Fuck.” The word tore out of me before I could stop it.
“I—I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he stammered, pale as parchment. His shaking hands tried to gather what was left of the glasses, but most had already crashed to the floor. “I didn’t see—I—”
I looked down at the ruin of my dress, the deep scarlet stain bleeding into the fabric. Almost the same shade as the gown itself, but not enough to go unnoticed. Heat flared in my chest, anger swelling, threatening to combust. My first instinct was to lash out. To make him feel the humiliation I felt under all the watchful eyes that had turned toward us.
But he was so young. Barely more than a boy. And something about the look on his face—terrified, pleading—reminded me of my brother Matt. If I made a scene, he’d likely lose his job. I didn’t want that on my conscience.
“It’s fine,” I said, my voice flat but controlled as I plucked tissues from a table and began blotting at the stain with stiff fingers.
“Ma’am, I can—” he began again, desperate to help.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I cut him off.
“Left side of the hall,” he whispered. “I can show you—”
“I’ll manage.” My tone left no room for argument.
I slipped through the crowd, their eyes crawling over me as I passed. Some pitying, some amused, others simply curious. The noise dulled behind me the farther I went, the hum of laughter and music fading until silence pressed in thick and heavy.
I found the guest bathroom at the end of the corridor. Large, marble-tiled, with gilt-edged mirrors and too-bright lighting. The air smelled faintly of roses—and jasmine. I shut the door, grateful for the barrier, and turned to the mirror.
My reflection looked back at me—my makeup still perfect, though my chest was rising too quickly. I tried to focus on the practical task of cleaning the dress, dabbing water and tissues at the stain until the fabric looked presentable, after which I dried it with the hand dryer. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. At least I had a moment to myself. A moment to breathe.
The last of the women powdered her nose, gave me a sympathetic glance, and left. The door closed with a soft click, leaving me alone with the dripping faucet and my shallow breaths.
I pressed my palms to the counter, considering my next move. Maybe I’d tell Levi I wanted to go home. Maybe I’d finally admit that tonight was too much.
The door creaked open.
And my heart dropped.
Julian.
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