Chapter 77

ISABELLA'S POV

Levi sat alone, his posture weighed down by an unseen burden, his head cradled in his hand as though the very act of holding himself together was exhausting. He looked lost. Broken, even. As if he were suffering just as I was.
But I knew better.
Ferrari had only grown after I left. At first, they had stumbled, struggled, but then—then they had thrived. Prospered in ways I never thought possible, as if my absence had been a blessing rather than a loss. As if I had never mattered at all. And that realization cut deeper than I could bear. To watch from the shadows, hoping to see cracks in their perfect façade, hoping—pathetically, desperately—that I was missed. But I wasn’t. Not even slightly.
And yet, seeing Levi now, my heart clenched so painfully I thought it would burst from my chest. I had convinced myself I was over him, told myself that if I ever saw him again, I would feel only anger. Fury at the man who had discarded me. But the truth was far crueler.
Pain. So much pain. A raw, suffocating sadness that made my ribs ache, my breath hitch in my throat. I thought I had known pain before. That I had grown numb to it. But this? This was a different beast altogether. It hollowed me out from the inside, gnawed at my insides like a starving animal.
I forced my feet forward, step by agonizing step, approaching the table by the window. The dimly lit bar flickered with the dull glow of old bulbs, shadows dancing along the walls. A place where people came to forget. To drown in liquor and regrets.
And yet, as I neared him, it was I who felt the sudden weight of self-consciousness. My crisp uniform, freshly ironed yet entirely out of place here, made me feel stiff, artificial. The scent of spilled liquor clung to the air, mingling with the hushed murmurs of the late-night patrons—those who, like me, had nowhere else to be.
I suddenly despised the way I must look. My blonde hair, tightly pulled into a ponytail, did nothing to conceal the dark smudges beneath my eyes. Days of restless sleep and relentless crying had left them swollen and puffy.
My reflection in the glass was almost unrecognizable. A ghost of who I used to be.
And for a fleeting, bitter moment, I hoped Levi would see it. That he would take some twisted satisfaction in my suffering, as if that would somehow justify the agony he had put me through. That he would realize just how much I had changed—how much I had lost—and it would hurt him.
Hurt him enough to take me back.
Swallowing back the thick knot of emotion in my throat, I forced my voice into something neutral, detached.
“What would you like, sir?” I asked, faking a yawn even as my heart threatened to shatter.
The jukebox hummed softly in the background, the bartender clapping along to Celine Dion’s “The Power of Love.” A cruel joke. Love had no power. If anything, it was a sickness. A curse. And yet, here I was, its willing victim.
Levi lifted his head, and my breath caught in my throat.
His eyes.
That piercing blue, the kind that once made me weak, now only made my knees tremble for an entirely different reason. He looked older. Sharper. More refined. His face was a study of time and fortune, of a man who had only improved in my absence.
Fine Wine.
And yet, as his gaze roamed over me—from my worn dress to my scuffed black flats—there was nothing in his expression. No recognition. No flicker of memory.
Nothing.
My stomach twisted. My vision blurred, my fingers curled into my palms, nails digging into my flesh. How dare he? How dare he forget me when I had suffered because of him? When I had spent years trying to put myself back together, haunted by the ghost of his absence? How dare he be fine while I was drowning in loneliness and regret?
“Get me the most expensive cocktail you have,” he said finally, his voice devoid of emotion.
I swallowed hard, turning to leave. My legs felt unsteady, my chest tight, but I refused to let it show.
Then his voice stopped me.
“What if I don’t like it?”
Frustration flared, licking at the edges of my patience. I spun around, my carefully constructed mask cracking under the weight of my anger.
“Then you should’ve thought of that before asking for the most expensive one,” I shot back, my voice unsteady but laced with defiance.
His expression darkened. “Is that how you speak to your patrons?”
I could already hear Ford’s warning in my head, urging me to rein it in. When he had offered me this job, he had told me— Keep your mouth shut. Whatever the customers say is right. They’re drunk, useless, but they bring in the money, so just take it and move along.
I had been doing that. But now, it was different.
It was Levi.
It was my master.
I was too exhausted to care. Too shattered. Too broken.
“You don’t get to order me around,” I said, my eyes locking onto his, glossy but unwavering. “I don’t work for you anymore.”
His eyes flickered, the first real sign of emotion crossing his features. Surprise? Confusion? I couldn’t tell. But he wasn’t used to being challenged—I knew that much. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have dared.
But now? Now, I owed him nothing.
“Do I know you?” he asked, his voice cool, detached. Almost believable.
Was he messing with me? Was this a game? Did he really forget me? Am I really that insignificant?
A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, sharp and unrestrained. “FUCK YOU.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I felt his stare bore into me, as if trying to piece together something he had long since discarded. He looked confused, like he was watching a mentally ill person unravel.
Before he could speak, movement in my periphery caught my attention—Ford, approaching fast.
I needed to get out of here before this escalated any further.
Before I shattered completely.