CHAPTER 180
ISABELLA
Then she turned toward her walk-in closet, humming softly as she hung the dresses I hadn’t chosen. The sound was low and unhurried, the kind of melody that came naturally to someone at ease in her own world. Watching her move—graceful, certain, effortlessly elegant—I felt something stir inside me. A fragile reminder of who I used to be.
Even as an intern, I’d done well for myself once. My apartment had been small but bright, my wardrobe neat, my shoes polished, my dreams intact. Before fear. Before Antonio’s wrath turned everything I built to ash.
My gaze drifted over Charlotte’s room. The chandelier above wasn’t just light—it floated, a sculpture of gold and crystal that scattered its glow like diamonds across the white walls. A vase of lilies stood by the window, tall and perfect, their scent faint but commanding, like wealth itself. Behind the walls, a fireplace flickered, reflected in glass and mirror, casting the whole room in warm firelight. The leather chairs gleamed softly under it—cream, high-end, stitched with precision that whispered money. Every inch of her space was curated beauty; wealth breathed here.
I turned my attention back to the dress. White. A clean slate. A beginning.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought about it sooner—rebirth, revenge, or at the very least, fighting for myself. But sometimes, you don’t know you need to fight until your back is against the wall and you have no other option but to fight or die.
My eyes wandered to the bed, where her carefully arranged makeup sat in perfect rows. Foundations, powders, lipsticks, brushes—all gleaming in the afternoon light like a painter’s instruments waiting for their next masterpiece.
She must have felt my gaze because she looked over her shoulder as she walked back into the room, brow arched. “What?” she asked, her tone teasing.
We both laughed, and I finally sank into the chair across from her large mirror and tall drawer, the exhaustion seeping through me—soft, heavy, and almost welcome.
“I’ll have to do your makeup, because one can tell you’ve been crying. Though bathing did help make you more, you know… presentable,” she said as she approached, pushing the chair closer to the bed before sitting on it. “Nothing too heavy, just enough to elevate your look.”
She perched at the edge, bright-eyed, and opened her kit. Her fingers moved deliberately over the products as she prepped my skin. The air between us was quiet—the kind of silence that hummed, tense and delicate, a reminder of how fragile our relationship still was.
“How did you get out of Italy?” she asked suddenly, the words cutting through the stillness like a pin through glass. “I came to look for you immediately I saw the news that you were cleared of all charges. I didn’t even put off my TV before I dashed out to find you at the police station, but they told me you were gone. I went to your apartment, and the security men told me you said you were traveling. I didn’t know where you went or how you were cleared, how…” she swallowed hard, her voice trembling, “…how you survived.”
I drew in a deep breath, nerves fraying, and she paused mid-motion, her hands frozen over the blender as she had started blending in the foundation. She looked at me, waiting—patient. When I stayed silent, only slowly breathing, she understood.
“I’m sorry for asking,” she said softly. “Can I continue?”
I nodded, grateful for her caution.
She resumed her work, but the silence was heavy now, almost suffocating, and I felt the need to fill it—coupled with the need to finally tell someone what had happened to me all those years ago. To bare it out and see if it would reduce some of the weight in my chest.
“I swear, after the police got that anonymous tip—God, that fucking Elena—I just knew it was her,” I said, shaking my head as the memory came flooding back. “At first, I thought it was Mr. Antonio working alone. I really did. Until one of the officers told me it was the voice of a woman who called them that night. That’s when it hit me. She’s the only one I know who could have framed me together with that man.”
I felt anger seeping into me. “Well, karma came early for her. I guess she stepped on his toes, and he had her locked in a mental home. But for Mr. Antonio—” I looked down, my hands curling slightly, “—I would be his karma.”
NEXT UPDATE IN JANUARY. PLEASE JOIN MY FACE BOOK GROUP CHAT "MIRA HARLSON BOOKS" THERE YOU CAN ASK ME ANYTHING INCLUDING HOW TO READ AHEAD. LOVE YOU ALL AND THANKS FOR LOVING ISABELLA AND LEVI.
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