Chapter 79

ISABELLA'S POV

Ford’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.
“Isabella. Hurry.”
I rolled my eyes. Here we go. Another lecture. Pain. Fear. Rage. They mixed together in a sickening swirl in my gut. If he scolded me again, I just might quit on the spot. Or maybe jump off the damn building. I was so done.
“Yes, Ford?” My voice was flat, detached, but my feet dragged as I stepped toward him.
I barely made it two steps before I heard the low, lewd whistles.
I stiffened.
A group of men, sprawled out at a round table near the edge of the bar, openly leered as I passed. One let out a long whistle, another muttered something under his breath—something I didn’t need to hear to understand. The way their eyes clung to me, like I was a piece of meat laid out on a silver platter, made my stomach turn.
It took everything in me not to react. Not to shatter.
I felt Levi’s eyes on me then. A quick glance—so fast I might have imagined it—but it was there. A flicker of recognition? A hint of something buried deep?
I didn’t know.
I didn’t want to know.
I was already falling apart—I couldn’t afford to shatter any further.
Ford approached, fast and furious, his brows drawn tight with frustration. His mouth barely moved as he hissed, “Do you have any idea who you just insulted?” His voice was low, tight with urgency. “That man could shut this place down if he wanted.”
I arched a brow, forcing a smirk. “Do you owe him money? Why would he want to shut this place down?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know exactly what kind of power Levi held.
Ford exhaled sharply, staring at me like I’d lost my damn mind. “What kind of foolish question is that? I don’t need to owe him a cent for him to shut this place down. He could buy it and never step foot in it again just for fun.”
Seriously? I scoffed. “That’s not going to happen, Ford. Stop overreacting. And did you even bother to ask me what actually happened?”
His jaw twitched. “I am not supposed to ask you. You are supposed to do whatever the fuck you have to do to keep the customers happy. That’s what you’re paid for. You sure as hell don’t get to talk back.”
My breath hitched.
Not even a second of consideration. Not even a chance to explain.
“Do you ever think that maybe I’m human too? That I deserve even a shred of respect?” My voice cracked, betraying me. God, don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Ford scoffed, shaking his head like I had just asked him to perform brain surgery. “You have all the rights in the world when you’re not working your shift here. But when you’re on the clock, you leave all that bullshit at the door.” He crossed his arms, eyes sharp as knives. “Now, go serve him his drink and apologize. Or you’re fired.”
And just like that, he walked away.
I stood there for a moment, legs trembling, hands curled into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms.
Apologize?
To him?
I turned toward the bar, my steps slow, unsteady. My chest ached, and not just from the humiliation. I felt small. Like I was being shoved back into a version of myself I had fought so damn hard to escape.
Dave was already waiting, leaning against the counter with a lazy smirk.
“Let me guess,” he drawled, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ford sent you to do damage control?”
I didn’t answer. My throat was too tight.
His smirk faltered as he studied me, like he could see straight through the fragile veneer of control I was desperately clinging to.
“What’s his drink?” His voice was quieter now, the teasing edge gone. “You sure you’re up for this?”
No.
Not even a little.
But Ford was still watching. I could feel his gaze drilling into my back, waiting for me to move.
I swallowed hard. “Just get him the most expensive cocktail you can make.”
Dave exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. He turned, grabbing a sleek glass and filling it with a deep amber liquid. With a small clink, he set it down in front of me.
“A Vieux Carré,” he said, wiping his hands on a bar towel. “Expensive as hell. Hopefully, he likes it—and maybe it’ll thaw that icy exterior of his.”
I stared at the drink, my fingers twitching. The swirling mix of rye whiskey, cognac, and vermouth looked so smooth, so effortless. Meanwhile, my insides were a complete war zone.
I should have walked away.
I should have thrown the damn apron in Ford’s face and quit.
But instead, I picked up the glass snd out it on the trya.
It felt heavy in my hands, like all the weight of my past was pressing down on me at once.
And then I walked toward the table.
Toward Levi.
The air around him felt different. Quieter, heavier.
I reached the table and set the glass down. Maybe a little too hard because the liquid inside sloshed dangerously close to the rim.
Levi looked at it. Then at me.
And for a second—just a second—his expression faltered.
I saw something flicker in his gaze. Something I recognized.
Then, it was gone.
I turned to leave before I could break apart right there in front of him.
But his voice stopped me cold.
“You’re not the first one to act like they know me.” His tone was dismissive, cutting. “This tactic is overused. Try something else if you want to beg me for money.”
My breath caught.
I gripped the edge of the table to keep myself from collapsing.
Beg him for money?
Beg him?
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The words just died.
Because what was I supposed to say?
That I wasn’t here to beg? That I wasn’t some stranger trying to scam him? That I had once been everything to him?
That he had been everything to me?
I swallowed against the ache in my throat, turned on my heel, and walked away.
This time, I didn’t stop. I think I finally have the courage to do what I have always wanted to do since I lost it all.